Title: The King's Ire
Author (including email): Cirdan (cirdan_havens@yahoo.com)
Pairing(s): Thingol/Maedhros
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Thingol finds out about the Kinslaying at 
Alqualonde. Maedhros convinces him not to drive the Noldor 
out of Beleriand by sleeping with him.
Disclaimer: All the characters, locations, some quotes, and 
the initial conception of this world belong to J.R.R. 
Tolkien, whether it be from Lord of the Rings, The 
Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, or The History of Middle-
earth Volumes I-XII.
Warning: This is an AU PWP that contains homoerotic content.



Standard disclaimer:  All the characters, locations, some quotes, 
and the initial conception of this world belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, 
whether it be from Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, Unfinished 
Tales, or The History of Middle-earth Volumes I-XII.
Warning:  This is an AU PWP that contains homoerotic content.

The King's Ire
	At Thingol’s request, Cirdan came to Menegroth to speak of 
the Noldor, newly returned from the Blessed Realms.
	“I met Angrod, son of Finarfin, son of Finwe,” Thingol said.  
He swirled the wine in his glass.  “He looks nothing like Finwe.  He 
feels more like a stray flower of Glorfindel’s kin.”
	“It is said that Fingolfin resembles most strongly his father,” 
Cirdan said.
	Thingol sipped at his wine and looked from over his glass.  
“Is it true?”
	“Only in part.  Fingolfin has his father’s hair, and that is the 
chief reason for the comparisons between the two.  As I 
understand it, Feanor had raven black hair, and Finarfin the golden 
hair of the Vanyar,” said Cirdan.
	“So all of Finwe is lost.”  Thingol sighed heavily.  “Eager of 
face and thoughtful-eyed...  His voice and mastery of words...”
	“That is not so.  His heart, his spirit, resides still in the third 
Finwe, for so he is named Nelyafinwe,” Cirdan said.  “Maedhros is 
fair and noble, and though he has the copper hair of his mother’s 
kin, he is like Finwe in all other ways: in face, mind, and body.  
When first I heard him speak, I could only think of Finwe.”
	“Is he the one who surrendered the kingship in order to heal 
the breach in the Noldor?”
	“That is he,” said Cirdan.  “He is the eldest son of Finwe’s 
eldest son, and rightly the kingship should be his, but 
acknowledged his uncle’s leadership rather than divide his people.  
He and his brother have removed themselves to East Beleriand, 
and I believe Maedhros has done this in order to lessen the chance 
of strife between his brothers and his cousins.”
	“An odd resolution, but he does justice to his grandfather’s 
memory by doing his utmost for his people.”  Thingol finished his 
wine.  “I should like to meet him.  Perhaps I will allow him to pass 
the Girdle of Melian and pay tribute to me.”
	“Surely you are not thinking of wedding him to Luthien!” 
Cirdan cried.
	“If he is as great as you say, then I would not mind putting 
my daughter’s hand in his,” said Thingol, who never before had 
ever considered giving Luthien to any in marriage.  “I rather like the 
idea of my lineage and Finwe’s being united, and it will strengthen 
the alliance between the Noldor and the Sindar.”
	“But my King, I have of late been hearing dark rumors,” 
Cirdan said, “rumors that the Noldor may have slain our kin, the 
Teleri.”
---
	After learning the truth of the matter from Angrod and having 
driven out the sons of Earwen (for a time, for he would not shut his 
doors forever against them, his kindred), Thingol brooded long 
alone in his room.  After he had calmed, Melian came to him.
	“So it is even as Cirdan said, the Noldor have slain the 
Teleri,” Thingol said.  His visage was dark, but now sorrow rather 
than rage filled his voice.  “They are the descendants of Finwe.  It 
is hard to believe how that blood has thinned.”
	“Nevertheless, as you said before, they are great foes of 
your foe,” said Melian.
	“I find that I care less about that than the matter of the 
Kinslaying at Alqualonde,” said Thingol.  He sighed heavily.  “The 
sons of Finarfin are my kin, and the people of Fingolfin have bitterly 
atoned for such ill as they did in the crossing of the Grinding Ice.  
But the people of Feanor, I am minded to drive them out of 
Beleriand, force them east over Ered Luin.”
	“The eldest son of Feanor was tormented by Morgoth upon 
Thangorodrim for years.  Surely that is punishment enough for the 
wrongs of his father and of his people?”  Melian massaged the 
many tight places of Thingol’s back and neck.
	“Maedhros again.”  Thingol closed his eyes.  “I have allowed 
only those princes descended from my brother’s lineage to enter 
Doriath.  Perhaps it is time that I met the eldest son of Feanor.  
What think you of that, my dear?”
	“It is something that I have long known must come to pass,” 
said Melian.  “I am not adverse to it.”
---
	Maedhros came to Menegroth with neither troop nor brother.  
He had heard about Thingol’s rage upon learning of the evil deeds 
of the Noldor, and Maedhros was not surprised that the King of 
Beleriand did not allow him an entourage.  After all, he had tried to 
take Morgoth unaware in such a manner, though Morgoth’s force 
had been the larger.  The Girdle of Melian had been an invisible 
force, and upon entering, Maedhros had straightaway perceived 
that he was being watched.  As long as he dwelt in its borders, the 
Lady of Doriath knew his every thought, his every move.  Mablung 
the Heavy-hand had appeared soon after to escort him to Thingol.  
The King of the Sindar had chosen to receive him in his chambers 
rather than the Great Hall, for Maedhros’s visit was not a public 
matter.  In fact, Maedhros had not even told Maglor of it.
---
	Maedhros bowed low to the King of Beleriand and then knelt 
before him.  “King Elu Thingol.”
	Thingol nodded.  “Son of Feanor.  Rise and be seated.”  
Maedhros did as he was bidden to do.  “You are no fool.  You know 
why I have called you hither.”
	“I do, my Lord,” Maedhros said.  “You have heard in full the 
wrongs that my people have done.”
	“Indeed.  What say you to that?”
	“I would make amends, my King,” said Maedhros.  “I have 
heard rumors that you would drive us out of Beleriand, but here is 
where Morgoth dwells, and it is for war with him that we came forth 
from Aman.  I do not desire to remove my people from these lands, 
and so I would make amends in any way I can.  Already I have 
surrendered the Kingship of the Noldor and many supplies besides 
to my uncle Fingolfin.  I have little left, but I would offer anything 
within my powers to assuage your wrath.”
	“You speak on behalf of your people, and you think always 
of them,” Thingol said as he nodded with approval.  “My kinsman 
Cirdan was not wrong in saying that you are most like your 
grandfather, the late King of the Noldor.  But tell me, why did you 
do such great evils?  For you do not seem to me to be evil at heart 
even after your torment at the hands of Morgoth.”
	“My father was grief-stricken for the death of Finwe.”  
Maedhros sat poised and did not bend under the interrogation.  
“Thereafter, my father lost the ability to reason, and moved by his 
great grief, many of the Noldor, including myself and my brothers, 
followed Feanor into folly.  I regret what has been done, but I still 
keep to my Oath, for without the Silmarils, Finwe will never again 
return from Mandos.”
	“I understand that Elves cannot die within Arda.  Finwe’s 
spirit is with little guilt and thus will quickly be released from the 
Halls of Mandos.  Is that not so?” said Thingol, for he had learned 
much of this from Melian.
	“It is not so, King,” Maedhros said.  “It is certainly the case 
for many of the Noldor and Teleri, who were wrongly slain at 
Alqualonde for they were wrongfully misled to commit such 
attrocities; they will be re-embodied.  But Finwe was slain by 
Morgoth, and Finwe’s body is marred beyond what can be seen by 
the eye.  Only with the Silmarils can we hope to restore his marred 
spirit to life.  But once on the road, we discovered that the majority 
of the Noldor were reluctant to leave Tirion, the city of the Noldor in 
Aman, even for the pursuit of the Light of the Silmarils, and so we 
set fire to the ships of the Teleri so that the Noldor who followed 
Fingolfin had no choice but to return to where their heart in truth 
remained.  Never did we expect that they would follow us to Middle-
earth by crossing the Grinding Ice.”  Thingol couldn’t help but to 
note and admire Maedhros’s smooth transition from one difficult 
topic to the next.  It saved Thingol from having to ask of the matter, 
and this willingness to volunteer information stood in great contrast 
to the secretive ways of Galadriel and Finrod.
	“I see.”  Thingol’s expression softened.  “I am not pleased 
about the slaying of Olwe’s people, but I do understand to some 
measure the grief that drove you to such madness and the 
treachery that followed.  What you did, you did for Finwe’s sake 
and for the sake of your people.  Finwe was my close friend, and I 
am also sorely grieved by his passing.”
	“Then, King of Beleriand, please allow me to alleviate your 
sorrow.”  Maedhros left his seat and knelt before Thingol once 
more.  The son of Feanor rent his shirt.
	A burn scar covering the majority of his back was the first to 
catch Thingol’s attention, but then he noticed other marks, the 
remnants of other burns and dreadful cuts.  Still, in spite of the 
marring of his body, his broad shoulders were a marvel to behold, 
and the muscles of his upper torso were lean and strong.  His skin 
was smooth and fair, and because of that, the scars did not seem 
so repulsive.  Thingol’s gaze followed the beautiful form downward 
until he could see no more.  His blood stirred.
	“Torment me as you will, Lord, in return for the wrongs that 
we have done to your people,” said Maedhros, “but do not punish 
my misguided people and force them to leave Beleriand.”
	Thingol stopped himself from reaching out and fingering the 
thin white mark at the base of Maedhros’s neck that undoubtedly 
stretched out over his fine collarbone.  “What are you implying, son 
of Feanor?” Thingol said hotly.
	“It is not merely implication.  Do with me as you will.”  
Maedhros lowered his head still farther, and his shoulders bent in 
submission.
	“Has Morgoth turned you into one of his foul agents?” 
Thingol spat.  “Do you think that I would fall for such cheap tricks?”
	“This is no trickery.”
	“Silence!”  Thingol struck Maedhros so hard that he fell over, 
but he did not rise from where he lay.  He looked helpless, willing, 
but Thingol was not to be taken in by such evil.  I am wed to 
another, and I will not be tempted by a servant of Morgoth into 
adultery.  He kicked the son of Feanor, who only grunted and bore 
his assault.  Thingol crouched down and grasped Maedhros by his 
copper locks.  They were surprisingly soft to the touch despite their 
fiery appearance, and the hair caressed like water and was more 
supple and yielding than even the finest silk.  Thingol ignored this 
and forced Maedhros to face him.
	“I was at first impressed by your manner, Nelyafinwe, but 
now I feel nothing but contempt and loathing for one who would let 
himself fall so low as to do the bidding of his enemy.”  He slammed 
Maedhros’s head to the ground, rose, and kicked him again.  
Maedhros lifted his head barely but did not try to get up.
	“You misunderstand, King Thingol,” he said.  “I do not do 
this for the Dark Lord but for my people.  Beat me, kick me, cut me 
with knife if you will.  I will endure your rage so that others need 
not."
	Too late, Thingol realized that he had revealed too much in 
his rage.  His cheeks burned red.  How dare he make a fool of me?  
Thingol straddled Maedhros and struck him again and again.  
Blood pounded in his ears and blinded his vision.  Maedhros bore 
his assault without resistance, without objection or cry of 
indignation.
	Calm returned at last to Thingol and he looked at the red 
welts on Maedhros's face and the blood that trickled from his 
mouth.  What have I done?  Thingol took a napkin from the table 
and dabbed at the blood.
	"I'm sorry, Nelyafinwe.  I do not know what came over me," 
Thingol said.  He helped Maedhros sit up.  I am a king, not an 
animal.  What was I thinking?
	"I think I understand to some measure," Maedhros said.  He 
rubbed his sore jaw and slipped back into his guest seat.  "You 
acted out of rage for the unjust slaying of your kinsmen and out of 
grief for the loss of Finwe.  The news is still fresh for you, and your 
feelings are in turmoil."
	"Still, that was no reason to attack you."
	“It is reason aplenty,” Maedhros said.  “Even I have mixed 
feelings about the Kinslaying at Alqualonde.  Sometimes I’ll 
rationalize its occurrence, and other times I can’t forgive myself.  
One of Olwe’s sons may have been slain.  Your anger is nothing 
that I haven’t experienced towards myself, my father, my 
brothers...”
	Maedhros sat tall and nobly despite the wounds that Thingol 
had given him.  He spoke courteously despite all that had 
happened.  Indeed, he was a far cry from Feanor, whose was 
reputed too be quick-tempered.  No, Maedhros was definitely more 
like Finwe, calm and strong even in the face of adversity.  
Maedhros even resembled a young Finwe in face: thin and fair with 
high cheekbones and white brow.  His lean and strong body also 
seemed to be as Finwe’s once was, as Thingol remembered him 
from their ancient days of friendship.
	“There were things that I’d wanted to say to Finwe, but I will 
never now have the chance to say them while I live still,” Thingol 
said suddenly.  He turned his head from Maedhros.  “How I longed 
to see him again.”
	“There is much that he had to say to you as well, and some 
of these things he said aloud to me,” Maedhros said, his voice soft 
and musical.
	“Pray tell.”  Thingol felt mesmerized by this grandson of 
Finwe who somehow spoke as if he were Finwe’s herald.  What a 
bond must have existed between grandfather and grandson!
	“Finwe grieved when the Teleri came not, and yet more 
when he learned that you were forsaken,” recalled Maedhros.  “He 
knew that he would not see you again, unless it be in the Halls of 
Mandos.”
	“And his foresight proved true.”  Thingol did not try to 
conceal the sorrow in his voice.
	“Surely you have heard that he had two wives: Miriel and 
Indis.  Feanor was born by the first, and Miriel--he said once to me 
that Miriel resembled a man he loved once long ago who did not 
come forth from the Hither Lands.”  Maedhros laughed lightly.  
“When I first met the Shipwright and saw his silver hair, I thought 
he was the one of whom Finwe had spoken, but now I know that he 
spoke of you.”
	“I find it hard to believe that he would say such things to his 
own grandson,” Thingol said.
	“He knew that I understood, or at least that I would listen 
and not judge,” Maedhros said.  “My father was very opinionated in 
all matters, but I was less so.  Besides, at such times when he 
missed you sharply, I think he had to speak of his feelings to 
someone.”
	“Surely he did not miss me so sorely, for he had a wife and it 
would be wrong to love another so,” Thingol said, feeling quite 
guilty, in truth, for making Finwe feel lonely in an otherwise perfect 
land.
	“The love between men and the love between man and 
woman are as different as the silver moon and the golden sun,” 
Maedhros said, and Thingol did not doubt that he was adopting the 
quote from one told to him by Finwe (though the original probably 
spoke of the silver and gold trees).  “’It is unlawful to have two 
wives, but one may love two women, each differently, and without 
diminishing one love by another.’  So Finwe said about the matter 
of Miriel and Indis.  But to me alone he added, ‘One may also love 
a man and a woman, each differently, and so long as my love for a 
man does not diminish my love for my wife, it cannot be wrong, for 
love is not wrong.’  Perhaps he sought to console himself for he 
desired still what he could not have even after he married another.”
	“So he did not think it adulterous,” Thingol said.  Ah, but for 
all his wisdom, Finwe was wrong.  Love itself could not be evil, but 
loving another man in the body while wedded, surely that was a 
crime.
	Maedhros shrugged.  “It does not matter.  You were not 
there, and Finwe dedicated himself only to his wives, each in turn.”
	But now hearing all this, Thingol felt his old feelings for 
Finwe rouse.  Perhaps they needed to have said their piece before 
continuing with their lives, but the opportunity had long passed.  
Finwe was dead.  Thingol covered his eyes and shook his head.  It 
was too late.
	“If you are not unwilling,” Maedhros said hesitantly as he 
leaned forward, “perhaps I can help you put this matter behind 
you.”  Maedhros took Thingol’s hand and kissed it lightly with lips 
lingering over his skin, and this time, there was no mistaking that 
Maedhros was, indeed, offering himself.
	Thingol pulled away and slapped Maedhros.  “You should 
not suggest such a thing.  Finwe and I felt strongly for each other in 
the days before we met our wives.  But I am wedded to Melian the 
Maia now, and Finwe is dead; you are no substitute for him.”
	“The idea was not mine,” Maedhros said with a hint of 
indignation.  Otherwise, he bore Thingol’s insult with surprising 
poise.  “When I first entered Doriath, I heard the Lady Maia in my 
mind, and though I did not understand her words at the time, I have 
come to see more clearly.”
	Then Thingol remembered Melian’s words to him ere he had 
allowed Maedhros entry into Doriath: “It is something that I have 
long known must come to pass.”  Must come to pass.  So his wife 
knew about Finwe.  Thingol wasn’t surprised.
	“Do you think that truly it is something that must come to 
pass?” Thingol wondered aloud.
	Though his words had been directed more to Melian than 
Maedhros, Maedhros answered, “I came to Beleriand to fulfill my 
father’s desire, and I came to you to fulfill my grandfather’s.”  He 
took Thingol’s hand again and this time only kissed his fingertips. 
Perhaps he expected Thingol to slap him again at any moment.  
When Thingol didn’t, Maedhros licked his fingertips and kissed 
them again.  Thingol relished the feeling of Maedhros’s tongue 
moving across his flesh but eventually pulled his hand away.
	"Even though you are of Finwe's lineage, you should not 
touch a king without permission," Thingol said.
	Maedhros paused then bowed his head.  "I'm sorry, King of 
Beleriand.  I did not know that such were your customs.  For my 
people, it would be unseemly for royalty to 'do the work' so to 
speak.  The one of lesser stature should be the one tending to his 
superior."
	Thingol circled the table and took Maedhros's chin in his 
hand.  "Well, grandson of Finwe, you are in my lands now, and you 
must follow the laws of my lands."  He stroked the coppery locks.  
They were as soft as the new rays of sunshine that had been born 
from the remnant of the Golden Tree.
	"And what is thy command, my Lord?" Maedhros asked.  His 
eyes were bright and eager.
	Thingol gestured for Maedhros to rise.  "Come with me.  We 
will retire to a more suitable place."  Maedhros stood, and Thingol 
could not help but to notice that they were equal in stature.  It was 
a rare thing for him, for Thingol was accounted tallest of his people.
	Maedhros was lovely beyond words to behold amidst the 
shimmering silver sheets.  Maitimo he was named in Quenya by his 
mother.  Well-formed one.  That was certainly true.  His shoulders 
were broad but not disproportional to his wide chest and sloping 
torso.  His muscles were lean and showed just enough to be 
appealing but not enough to mark him as a mere worker.  It 
seemed wrong to appreciate the look of that smooth, fair skin.  
Maedhros shifted under his gaze.  He was uncertain and untried.  
He was a virgin, clean in thought and nervous about what was to 
come, but his noble bearing made it clear that he was ready and 
willing.  The shutters were closed, and the curtains were drawn.  As 
soon as Thingol snuffed the candles out, the room became dark.
	"My King?" Maedhros said hesitantly.
	Though his eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, 
Thingol had no problems finding the bed.  His hand contacted with 
Maedhros's breast first.  He caressed Maedhros there and 
experimentally circled the nipple with his fingertip.  Then he brought 
his arm around Maedhros and drew him near.  Maedhros hung 
back for a moment, then yielded and pressed himself to Thingol. 
	Thingol's lips moved along Maedhros's shoulder and up his 
neck until he found his marvelous, shapely ear.  "Not like so," 
Thingol whispered and kissed the base of the ear.  "Remember: 
you are not permitted to push yourself upon the king's person in 
any way unless I command you otherwise."
	"Then should I just hold myself still?" Maedhros asked as he 
fought to suppress a shudder.  Thingol was very good with ears.
	"You may move; you may react; you may even withdraw," 
Thingol said softly between kisses.  "The only thing you may not do 
is move toward me," he said even as Maedhros had begun to lean 
his ear further into Thingol's talented lips.
	Maedhros stopped.  "I understand now.  I will not do that 
again, my King."
	Thingol laughed lightly, tickling Maedhros's ear horribly.  "But 
when the time comes, you are free to ask me to do more to you or 
to beg for permission to feel my body or to kiss me as I kiss you.  
And henceforth, do not address me as king but by my ancient 
name, Elwe."
	Maedhros probably would have voiced his agreement if he 
hadn't been panting from the exquisite new sensations.  Thingol's 
lips moved over his earlobe like the low tides washing over the 
sands of the beach.  He engulfed the tip of Maedhros’s succulent 
ear and sucked at it gently.  Maedhros gasped lightly and moaned 
as Thingol's every move brought goosebumps to his fair skin.  
Thingol was no less rewarded; Maedhros's taste was like the 
refreshment of water after days in a hot desert.
	Thingol ran his hand along Maedhros’s bare chest.  It was 
not the softness of Melian’s, but it was appealing in its firmness.  
He moved to massage Maedhros’s other breast.  If he hadn’t been 
so busy licking the groove of Maedhros’s earlobe, he would’ve 
tasted the tender nipple that hardened to his touch.  Thingol 
massaged Maedhros’s chest, and his hand slowly found its way 
downward to Maedhros’s unbelievable stomach.  He could’ve been 
a study of Elven anatomy.  Thingol deftly undid Maedhros’s belt 
and slipped his hand underneath the top of his pants to discover 
that Maedhros sported a total of eight fine abdominal muscles.  
Rarely were the last two so defined.  They were a delight to 
explore.  Maedhros’s breath came heavier and faster, and Thingol 
turned his attention to the other fine ear, sucking on it as he 
became increasingly provoked by what he found of Maedhros’s 
well-formed body.  Thingol placed his other hand over Maedhros’s 
clenched hand and squeezed.
	Thingol at last moved down the side of Maedhros’s neck and 
licked across the left collar that was so perfect in its slight arch.  As 
he kissed Maedhros’s breast with open mouth, he felt Maedhros’s 
tip come to touch the bottom of his hand, which had been stroking 
up and down along Maedhros’s chiseled stomach.  Maedhros’s 
entire body jerked in surprise as he felt the contact as well.  Thingol 
smiled in the darkness.  He moved his arm further into Maedhros 
pants and took firm hold of the remarkable length that had found its 
way so far upward.
	“Ah!” Maedhros said with a sharp intake of breath.  His fire 
throbbed and grew in Thingol’s hand; then it became suddenly 
doused with timidity and was like the embers of a dying fire.  
Thingol chuckled softly and nuzzled his nose and mouth to 
Maedhros’s cheek.  It would’ve been priceless to see the look on 
his face at that moment.  Thingol’s eyes had adjusted to the 
darkness, but he could not see more than the faintest shadowy 
outline of his partner.  However, he could feel the warmth that 
radiated from Maedhros’s cheeks, and Maedhros’s mouth was 
opened in surprised embarrassment.
	Thingol turned to sucking at Maedhros’s neck and let his 
hand kindle the timid fire.  Once Maedhros relaxed to Thingol’s 
caresses, the fire hardened and grew anew.  His flesh was moist, 
making movement initially slow.  When he was firm, Thingol could 
massage the skin along the fiery brand much easier.  He kissed the 
base of Maedhros neck and then moved to the right breast.  His 
tongue circled the small but hard nipple.  He sucked at it to see if it 
might also grow, and when it did not, he kissed it and licked his 
breast.
	“Ah, by the Light...” Maedhros muttered.  His thighs 
tightened and then fell open and then tightened again.
	Thingol guided Maedhros onto his back with his free hand 
and then allowed that free hand to run along the side of 
Maedhros’s body.  Once he was certain that Maedhros was fully 
reclined, Thingol straddled him and brought both hands to 
Maedhros’s hip.  Thingol remained upright as he pressed his 
scepter to Maedhros’s crotch.  Maedhros arched to meet him.
	“Don’t,” Thingol said firmly.
	Maedhros fell back and moaned briefly before he 
remembered his place, subordinate to the king, and barely 
managed, “Sorry.”  Perhaps he sought to add a “my king” to that, 
but his words were lost as Thingol moved his hands over 
Maedhros’s muscular stomach and along his hips.  He drew away 
and slid his hands down along Maedhros’s thighs.  He brought his 
hands back up and then slid underneath Maedhros’s pants to feel 
his slender hip once more.  And this time, when he moved to feel 
Maedhros’s thighs, his thumbs slid inward suggestively, and his 
arms deftly shifted the pants down.  His hands moved to rest on 
Maedhros’s chest while his crotch moved against Maedhros’s now 
exposed flame.  Maedhros panted and squirmed as he fought the 
temptation to press himself to Thingol’s greatness, and 
occasionally, a soft “oh” found voice.  Thingol rubbed himself to 
Maedhros and delighted in every movement and every moan.
	After a time, Thingol slid his hands down along Maedhros’s 
body and pulled off the bunched pants about his ankles.  As his 
hands moved back upward, they shifted to Maedhros’s inner thigh 
and parted his legs.  Maedhros inhaled in surprise, and his legs 
started to scissor shut, but he quickly caught himself and allowed 
the king to do as he would to him.  Thingol shifted Maedhros’s legs 
to his shoulders, freeing his hands to caress the bottom of his 
thighs and slip up to Maedhros’s firm buttocks.  Maedhros 
tightened nervously.  Thingol grabbed hold of the fine rear and 
squeezed.  Then he started massaging the two halves.  He brought 
his tongue to Maedhros’s belly button and licked it.  As he did so, 
his shoulders forced Maedhros’s legs to his body, and his rear 
moved off the bed.  Maedhros’s fire began to shrink as he became 
increasingly nervous.  Thingol drew himself upward again.  He 
placed one hand over the fading fire and stroked it until it slowly 
became aroused once more.  His other hand massaged 
Maedhros’s rear until Maedhros was good and hot again.
	While distracting him with firm strokes to the hard flame, 
Thingol’s free hand explored at the base of the fire.  Maedhros’s 
sac was soft and supple.  He opened and closed his hand over it.  
Then he moved his fingers between Maedhros’s legs from sac to 
anus such that his fingertips stirred Maedhros to cry out.
	“Ah, Elwe!”  Maedhros’s body arched.  Thingol rewarded him 
by squeezing firmly and pumping the flaming torch faster.  He didn’t 
ignite Maedhros though.  In all honesty, Thingol himself wasn’t 
certain how to do this.  As he pleasured the crackling fire, he licked 
his middle fingertip and reached around Maedhros’s rear to slide 
his finger along that sensitive spot just behind the sac once more.  
“Oh...  oh...”  Maedhros moaned in near-bliss.
	Thingol was not so new to the pleasures of the bed, and so 
he kept his mind on the task at hand and gingerly explored the 
Door to the Night.  The Door was shut, but Thingol pressed his 
finger gently into the entrance.  The Door did not yield readily and 
only the very tip of his finger slipped in.  Thingol kept the flame hot, 
and though it leaked, he did not allow it to spill its liquid fire.  
Perhaps he needed a secret magic word to open the Gate of 
Morning.
	When he could think of none, Thingol whispered in husky 
voice, “Relax, Nelyafinwe, relax.  Let me enter the Encircling Sea.”  
Maedhros did not answer, but Thingol felt the Door to the Night 
open slightly more.  Thingol squeezed his finger into the darkness 
beyond and felt Maedhros tighten again around him.  Maedhros 
gasped and his panting came in short, quick breaths.  Thingol 
withdrew.
	“Calm yourself,” he advised as he stroked Maedhros’s rump.  
His finger moved up to the little nub at the end of Maedhros’s spine 
and he rubbed his fingertip against it in light scratches.  He paused 
in his stroking of the fiery shaft but kept his hand closed around it.  
“You may move along my hand; I give you permission,” Thingol 
said.  Maedhros remained still and without comprehension.  A 
slight whimper escaped from his throat.  Thingol demonstrated by 
moving his hand up and down the rod of fire.  After a moment, 
Maedhros began to move in rhythm with him, pressing his length 
through the encircling hand and drawing back.  Thingol held his 
hand still and allowed Maedhros to find his own sweet rhythm.  
Thingol’s free hand moved down to the Door to the Night once 
more.  He slipped his finger along to Maedhros’s sac a few times 
and then tried to win entry through the Wall of the Night once more.
	Maedhros gasped but allowed himself to open to Thingol’s 
probing.  His fire pushed up into Thingol’s hand, away from the 
fingertip that had entered his darkness, but when he drew out of 
the encircling hand, he found himself sliding down Thingol’s finger.  
He paused when Thingol was but halfway into the Encircling Sea 
and pulled away.  His dilemma quickly became evident to him.  In 
order to enjoy the pleasures of the fire, he’d have to allow Thingol 
to penetrate into his darkness.
	“Elwe,” Maedhros pleaded, for he could find no relief for his 
pleasure but had no consolation for his pain.
	“Shh.  Very well,” Thingol said softly.  He gripped 
Maedhros’s fiery shaft hard and moved up and down its mighty 
length.  With such encouragement, Maedhros found it impossible 
to not move to Thingol’s guidance.  Now and again, Thingol 
pressed his finger into the Gate, and Maedhros would gasp and 
hold his breath, but Thingol quickly removed his finger so that the 
pain did not last long.  In the building ecstasy, Maedhros seemed to 
lose track of when he was penetrated and when he was not.
	Maedhros’s thighs tightened.  He slid harder and faster in 
and out of Thingol’s hand.  Thingol’s finger slid entirely into 
Maedhros without drawing a cry of anguish.  The heat of the 
moment had entirely taken Maedhros.  Thingol tightened his hold 
and brought Maedhros to peak, and as he did so, he slipped a 
second finger in at the same time as the first.  The Gate was too 
tight, and doubtless Maedhros would’ve voiced some kind of 
objection if he hadn’t been arching violently and bursting like a 
volcano.  The fiery shaft throbbed and pumped forth molten lava 
that spilt generously over Thingol’s hand.  Thingol drew his fingers 
from the Door ere Maedhros had finished.  Maedhros fell back onto 
the bed with a great sigh.
	Thingol rose from the bed and lit one of the candles on the 
nightstand.  This was not going to work without help.  He glanced at 
Maedhros and felt his heart skip and then beat erratically.  
Maedhros lay spent and beautiful, sprawled on the bed amidst the 
disheveled silver sheets.  His face was flushed, and he gazed at 
Thingol with an intent look that bordered between adoration and 
longing.  He propped himself up on his elbows.  Thingol could only 
stare in unabashed adulation at the beautiful form stretched out on 
his bed.  After a moment, Maedhros began to blush.  He looked 
about and took a handkerchief from the nightstand to wipe himself 
clean.  Thingol laughed, causing Maedhros to blush more furiously.
	“Don’t worry about it, Nelyafinwe,” Thingol said with a spark 
in his eyes.  “We’re not through yet.”  He absently washed his 
hands in a basin of clean water and looked about for a vial of the 
sunning oil of the Falathrim.
	With the new rising of the sun, playing upon the beaches 
and in the sunlit waters had actually become problematic for some 
of the Elves with tender, fair skin.  One of the Falathrim had thus 
devised a pleasant floral-smelling oil that protected the skin from 
searing after extended periods of time in the sun and water.  Cirdan 
regularly sent beautiful glass vials of this sun-protection oil to 
Thingol because of Luthien’s exceedingly fair and pale skin.  She 
mostly used it when she spent time by the lake rather than under 
the shade of the great trees of Doriath.  Thingol didn’t use it often 
either, but he usually had a bottle or two around.
	After a time, he found massage oil (another creation of the 
hedonistic Elves of the Falas).  It would do.  Maedhros wouldn’t 
need sun protection with his oil.  Thingol snickered to himself.  He 
turned his attention back to Maedhros, who had since covered 
himself with one of the sheets.  Thingol came to the bedside and 
was about to snuff out the candle, but then he changed his mind.  
Maedhros was beautiful.  Why shouldn’t he enjoy such beauty?  
Melian had granted him permission to do this deed that “must come 
to pass.”  He was doing no wrong.  He had nothing to hide in the 
darkness.  Thingol placed the bottle of oil on the nightstand and 
pulled the sheet from Maedhros’s body.  Maedhros instinctively 
grabbed for the sheet, but Thingol pushed his hand aside.  
Maedhros blushed as Thingol knelt above him.  He lowered himself 
onto his back and stared up at Thingol.
	“You said that when the time came, I could ask you for 
things,” Maedhros said.
	“You may.”
	“May I kiss you?” Maedhros asked timidly.
	Thingol wasn’t about to let him kiss his mouth, for that was a 
privilege that belonged only to Melian, but he did hold out his hand 
to Maedhros, who kissed it repeatedly.  Thingol had not spent his 
kingship as Maedhros had.  Now, he pressed his still-hard scepter 
to Maedhros’s softened crotch and began to rub slowly.  He 
watched and relished the changing expressions on Maedhros’s 
face as he became aroused anew.  Thingol pressed his finger into 
Maedhros’s mouth.  Maedhros hesitated for a moment, 
remembering with some embarrassment what the fingers of his 
other hand had been doing before.  But after a moment, Maedhros 
kissed the finger, took it in his mouth, and sucked on it gently.  His 
fire, encouraged by Thingol’s greatness, slowly lengthened.  
Thingol placed another finger into Maedhros’s mouth, and he 
suckled on both happily.  After a time, Thingol drew the fingers out 
and ran their wet fingertips over Maedhros’s nipple.  Maedhros 
inhaled quickly and shuddered from the wondrous sensation.  
Thingol smiled.  He moved his greatness away from Maedhros’s 
fire for a moment to behold its quivering, growing hardness.  Ah, it 
was as beautiful as the rest of Maedhros.
	When he looked back, Maedhros was blushing from 
Thingol’s open ogling of his family jewels.  Thingol laughed.  Oh, 
the Jewels of Feanor were not the Silmarils that had captured the 
Light; they were here, in the ardor and passion of Feanor’s eldest 
son.  And now, they belonged to him.  Thingol played with the soft 
sack and ran his finger along the shrinking flame.  Thingol shook 
his head.  Maedhros was still new to this and was overly sensitive.  
In truth, Maedhros had nothing to be ashamed of, not with a fire 
that, even as a dying ember, was of such great length.  Thingol 
encouraged the flame some more and then pressed his crotch to 
Maedhros’s again.  Maedhros felt good.  There was no other way to 
describe it.  His hands moved along Maedhros’s stomach (which 
was even more fascinating in the candlelight) and chest.
	When Maedhros was suitably aroused, Thingol lowered 
himself and crawled up along Maedhros’s body, kissing and licking 
as he did.  Then he rose up above Maedhros and pulled his 
breeches down just enough to expose the King's Ire.  Maedhros’s 
mouth opened in surprise.  Though he’d had brothers and had 
undoubtedly seen their jewels, he had obviously never seen a 
scepter so thick and manly.  Maedhros was longer and thinner, but 
Thingol was strong, hard, and unspent from their previous frolic.  
Maedhros began to blush furiously again.  He was really quite cute 
when he did that.  Thingol smiled and lowered himself to 
Maedhros.  Maedhros’s eyebrows furrowed.  But Thingol didn’t give 
him enough time to turn his head or object and thrust the King's Ire 
into Maedhros’s mouth.
	Maedhros’s eyes widened as he tasted the full might of the 
King of Beleriand.  But after a moment, he recovered and needed 
no instruction.  His eyelids lowered and he looked in fascination at 
the scepter as he sucked it further into his mouth.  Thingol could 
hear Maedhros’s lower body squirm as he sought for some way to 
match the pleasure that had graced his mouth.  Thingol drew 
himself out slowly.  Maedhros hesitated.  He was not supposed to 
approach the king, and it seemed to be a lesson that he’d slowly 
come to learn.  As the last of Thingol’s greatness left his mouth, he 
realized that the King was not giving him more.
	“May I...?”  Maedhros fell silent, too embarrassed to ask for 
what he desired.
	“Call me by name, and then you may do as you wish,” 
Thingol said.
	“Elwe,” he said quickly.  He stretched his head up toward 
Thingol, but Thingol drew away.
	“Not like that.”
	Maedhros made a face then swallowed and said more 
sensually, “Elwe.”
	Thingol nodded.  “Come to me, Finwe,” he said as he put 
himself within reach.
	Maedhros’s lips slipped over his tip and then around his 
greatness.  He moaned as Thingol entered him, as he sucked 
Thingol in to enter further.  His tongue tasted Thingol’s kingship 
and moved along his scepter as more of Thingol slid into his 
mouth.  This time when Thingol withdrew, he paused before he’d 
left Maedhros’s lips and let Maedhros suck him back in.  Maedhros 
moaned and sucked eagerly.  His hand came up to hold Thingol’s 
thigh, but then he remembered his place, dropped his hand, and 
clenched the sheets instead.  He moved surprisingly adroitly along 
the King’s Ire, and any lapse was quickly compensated with his 
passionate sucking.
	At one such point, Thingol pushed himself still deeper into 
Maedhros’s mouth.  Maedhros’s eyes widened as he gagged, 
forcing the King's Ire out from his throat.  Thingol began to 
withdraw, and Maedhros seemed to think that he would remove 
himself completely for this failure.  Maedhros recovered quickly 
from the earlier invasion and pushed himself up along Thingol’s 
retreating greatness.  He sucked on Thingol mightily, and even 
Thingol could not resist such a passionate request.  He thrust 
himself into Maedhros again, and this time, Maedhros continued to 
suck on him hard until Thingol found his tip sliding down 
Maedhros’s throat.  Oh, it was too great.  Thingol pulled himself out 
and pushed back in.  Maedhros took him gladly, and his tongue did 
such marvelous things that Thingol couldn’t even identify exactly 
what was going on anymore.  It was said that Feanor’s tongue had 
great power over hearts when he would use it.  Thingol was certain 
that Maedhros’s tongue was the better.  When Thingol withdrew, 
Maedhros gave himself a moment’s rest, and when Thingol thrust, 
Maedhros was ready.  Though they were not in the Blessed Realm, 
there could be no bliss greater than this.
	Thingol did not waste his kingship on this though.  Before he 
lost control, he drew out of Maedhros’s mouth.  He moved down 
Maedhros's body and rubbed their crotches together.  This was 
really the best vantage point.  He delighted in grinding his King's Ire 
to the Jewel of Feanor and watching every contortion of his face, 
every twist of his body, every ripple of his sleek muscles.  Thingol 
took the glass bottle from the nightstand and poured the massage 
oil generously over Maedhros's fire.  Ah, Thingol should've known 
that oil only fueled fire.  Maedhros squirmed as the oil ran along his 
skin and laughed.
	"Oh, that tickles!" he protested.  His laughter was like silver 
bells on a crisp autumn night, and his bright eyes and smile were 
more intoxicating than even the cocktails of the Falathrim.
	Thingol stopped the oil dripping down the sides of 
Maedhros's body and scooped it back to the fire.  The fragrance of 
the Sea filled the air.  Thingol firmly stroked the hard length, and 
the slick oil made the experience even more pleasant for both of 
them than the first time.  Thingol's other hand did the more 
important work though.  His finger traced down between 
Maedhros's legs, where oil had also dripped.  Thingol again sought 
entrance through the Door of the Night with his slippery finger and 
found admittance much easier this time.  Maedhros moaned but 
did not withdraw.  Thingol rewarded him with good, strong strokes 
to the fiery brand.  Then Thingol slipped another wet finger into the 
Wall of the Night.  And then a third.  It was tight, but the oil made it 
doable.
	Maedhros was ready.
	Thingol pulled away and repositioned himself.  He pushed 
Maedhros's legs up and was surprised when Maedhros held them 
in place with his arms.  Well, there was no reason Maedhros 
couldn't help so long as he didn't touch the King.  Their eyes met.
	"I'm ready, Elwe," Maedhros said, and it was exactly as how 
Thingol would've imagined Finwe to say it.
	Thingol smiled crookedly.  "You most certainly are."
	This was going to get messy.  Thingol took off his pants and 
poured the rest of the massage oil onto himself and slicked his 
sword.  His thumbs pulled open the Door of the Night.  Maedhros 
panted in anticipation.  Thingol touched the tip of his sword to the 
opening and felt Maedhros force himself to relax.  Then Thingol 
pressed himself into Maedhros.  Or so he tried.  There was too 
much oil present, and Thingol's thrust missed, and his sword slid 
up between Maedhros's legs.  So this was going to prove trickier 
than initially anticipated.  Thingol used one hand to hold the Door 
open and his other hand to guide his sword in.
	Maedhros gasped and held his breath as the sword's tip 
penetrated his Wall.  Once a third of the King's Ire was thrust into 
the Encircling Sea, Thingol stopped holding the Door open and 
instead moved to take Maedhros's fire in his hand.  One hand 
kindled Maedhros to madness, while the other guided Thingol's 
greatness deeper into the darkness.  It seemed Maedhros was 
well-formed inside and out.  Thingol restrained himself and 
withdrew when he'd penetrated Maedhros with little more than half 
of his sword.  Maedhros sighed, but he could find no real rest so 
long as Thingol's hand controlled his fire.
	"Elwe..." he half-pleaded, half-moaned.
	Thingol was more than happy to oblige him.  He thrust the 
King's Ire into Maedhros once more, and this time when he 
withdrew, he did not draw himself out but thrust himself back in.  
Maedhros could barely stay still from the attack.  He twisted and 
squirmed, and his eyes were squeezed shut and face contorted in 
pain.  But he did not ask Thingol to stop.
	Instead, Maedhros moaned such that Thingol was the one 
kindled to fiery passion.  "Ah...  ou...  ah."  When Thingol finally 
drew out, Maedhros begged, "Don't stop, Elwe."
	Thingol hadn't been planning to.  He shifted himself into a 
better attack position and then entered the sweet, tight darkness 
once more.  Oh, Maedhros was nothing short of superb.  Thingol 
gripped Maedhros's fire hard and practically used it as a handle to 
pull Maedhros closer to him.  Maedhros twisted slightly to 
accommodate him, and the King's Ire was lost in the night.  
Suddenly, Thingol felt his kingship pooling.  He pressed himself 
ever into Maedhros and held there.  Sure enough, his kingship 
spilled out into Maedhros in violent throbs.  Maedhros's eyes were 
closed but his mouth was open wide in something between a silent 
scream of pain and ecstasy.  His fire also burst out as he reacted to 
Thingol's exultation.  When they were both spent, Thingol withdrew 
his kingly sword and lay resting beside Maedhros.
	"You came here for a reason," Thingol said after he'd rested 
for some time.
	"Did I?" Maedhros said sleepily.
	"Indeed you did.  You came to beg for forgiveness on behalf 
of your people and to ask leave to continue to dwell in East 
Beleriand," Thingol reminded him.  "The Kinslaying will not be 
forgotten, but it will be forgiven.  You and your people may dwell in 
East Beleriand and continue to fight against our common foe."
	"Oh, that's nice," Maedhros mumbled with absolutely no 
interest.  He dozed off again.  After a moment, he awakened again, 
rolled onto his side, and embraced Thingol.  Apparently he'd 
forgotten the laws of the land in his exhaustion, but Thingol decided 
to ignore this transgression this once.  "I remember.  I did come 
here for a reason."
	"Oh?"
	"I came to fulfill my grandfather's destiny," Maedhros said.
	Thingol smiled and patted Maedhros's bare rump.  "And so 
you have."
	"Yes, I have."  Maedhros snuggled closer.  "Now I must fulfill 
my father's destiny by recovering the Silmarils."
	So he would fulfill the destinies of two dead men.  "And 
then?" Thingol asked
	"Then, at last, I fulfill my own destiny."  Thingol felt uneasy at 
Maedhros's words, but before Thingol could say anything more, 
Maedhros had fallen asleep in his arms again.