With the Isen's Flow
Summary: A chance encounter with Thranduil leaves Thorin mesmerized and despite the historical hostility surrounding elves and dwarves, he can't help but fall for this elf. But not all is as simple as one might think. His kin frowns upon love of the same sex. Even if the elves show ease towards that matter, they do not show ease at all when it comes to the celibacy forced upon a husband in eternal mourning for his late wife. Meanwhile, Thorin too holds a secret of his own that could cause his end. Eventual Thorinduil, M/M.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not a single thing!
Warning: This will not at all coincide with the events Tolkien had written about. So it's heavily AU'd- in cannon verse though, still. Thranduil is a widower and the celibacy he has to live by is there in many societies and even a slight wavering from it causes the person to be subjected under harsh words. So...in advance, i apologize if I might come off insulting any religion/society. It is absolutely not my intention.
AN: So, as I've said. Thranduil's wife has passed away long back but he is forced to live by rituals for a mourning husband. Now what I spoke about applied to women. Thankfully nowadays, society is much much liberal but back in the old days, they were simple douches. So I just wanna send out a message. I really wish to offend no one.
Chapter 1
Gasps could be heard in the air, loud and heavy, much like the sound of steps which accompanied it, disturbing the relative peace and calmness which seemingly shrouded the forest.
The rhythm increased. Pants became louder. The steps which were at an even pace now grew more and more frantic. The scrunch of leaves scattered on the forest floor suddenly erupted with a random sound as tired feet stumbled with exhaustion. More scrunches followed as the person himself tried gathering his bearings, stepping randomly and with great unevenness, trying to bring about a balance which he had at first.
After a while, the sound of mottled leaves beneath feet became regular once more. Once more the rhythm of feet continued—only this time, it was faster, more erratic than what it had been just a few hours ago. Only this time, the pants were swollen and strained, interrupted occasionally by gasps as the person looked over his shoulder and then by a sigh of relief as he looked ahead once more, satisfied that the path he left behind was still as isolated as the one in front.
Thorin collided against a tree, barely saving his face as his hands clumsily steadied on the trunk. His whole body ached with the rigour he had set on himself. His lungs cried for air and even though his mind told him to go on, Thorin's body refused to move a step further. Leaning against the tree, Thorin slid down on to the ground, welcoming the cover of leaves and dew-washed moss beneath his palms.
He rolled his head on either side, breathing in and out—hoping that the fresh forest air would render him a much needed stability—before he would have to resume his journey.
Finally, after a great while, the burn in Thorin's lungs gradually began ebbing away. His feet too stopped throbbing as much and the events of the whole day finally taking toll upon him, Thorin's eyelids began to be pulled down under the burden of sheer exhaustion .
He sat up suddenly, fluttering his eyes open.
Where was his head? He rebuked himself.
Had he lost all sense of caution or had he simply lost his mind? To be splayed out in open wilderness with only a sword for protection was not only stretched bravery but it was absolutely an act of stupidity!
But despite it all, Thorin found himself too lethargic. Even a simple task of getting up on one of the branches seemed to be monumental. Just the prospect of getting up caused apathy.
Giving in to it, Thorin slumped his shoulders and again leaned back against the tree.
The forest seemed safe. So far it had not presented any threats. He had not heard growls of any ferocious animals and most certainly he had not come across any warg trails which was a source of huge relief.
Moreover, it was early morning. To his knowledge, the nocturnal predators—if there were any—would not come out till hours.
With one last look over his shoulders, Thorin turned to his left and closed his eyes.
Fresh morning air hitting against his face rendered a cooling sensation. His head felt lighter now that the burden of tension he felt through many nights was slowly beginning to lift up.
From not too far away, he could hear the gentle ripples of a river. The quiet sound of water felt extremely soothing to his senses. His eyes grew heavy once more. His breathing evened out. Relieved, Thorin finally welcomed a much needed sleep.
His sleep thinned when sounds of splashes entered his ears. It wasn't anything like a massacre that had been going on—rather, the splashes were gentle at best. Still, because of the relative abruptness, Thorin's senses reacted and he sat up groggily, frowning at the direction.
Rubbing off the last bit of sleep from his eyes, he stood up.
He wondered who else was there apart from him. Perhaps it was an animal, he reckoned or even...
His eyes grew wide with dread as he deliberately left his trail of thought unfinished. Immediately, his hand reached for the hilt of his sword and with great stealth, Thorin began moving—placing his feet carefully, heel and toe, mindful of making as less sound as possible.
The sound grew louder the more he approached. A sense of trepidation was slowly beginning to shroud him. The more he got nearer, more his heart felt constricting, beating hard against the inflow of fearful possibilities as they crossed him one by one.
He let out a shuddering breath. His senses were extremely sharp, keen on picking up even the slightest of sound. His very body was on high alert, ready to launch an attack at the slightest hint of aggression.
A cold feeling of anxiety was churning deep within his heart and with every step he took, the denser that feeling became. His palms started sweating, heart pounded, mind raced with a million of foreboding thoughts.
Suddenly, Thorin paused.
His mouth hung with shock and his eyes extended so much at what he saw that they threatened to come out off his socket.
Mahal, have mercy!
He thought exasperatedly, letting out a breath which seemed to take out much off the suffocating feeling he had in his heart, only to be replaced by new ones—wild ones and those that were much stronger!
It was no animal in front of him. Nor was it any predator or hunter.
Rather it was the most amazing thing Thorin had ever seen.
Right there, a few feet ahead flowed a river, just as Thorin had guessed. Its waters gleamed brilliantly against the crisp morning sun like liquid diamond and amidst that, stood a tall, slender form with distinctive ears.
The person's back was turned towards him and Thorin could only see a view of long blonde hair, but that was more than enough.
Those tresses shone in the warm sunlight and no less intense than the gleaming waters surrounding the person. They splayed over the person's shoulder and back like a freshly melted stream of gold, moulding into their perfect shape, and slowly tapering towards the curve of that delicate lower back.
Undoubtedly it was an elf. For even if the ears had given Thorin that conclusion, there was no other race which possessed such an unearthly beauty.
The elf bathed single-mindedly, occasionally scooping up water delicately in palms and splashing it all over the slender form.
Now he realized why he had heard those sounds. And once he did, it was no longer as alarming. Rather, it was alluring. Thorin cautiously stepped behind a tree and stared ahead. No, he did not stare. he observed.
Thorin's gaze followed its every move. How gracefully it balanced itself against the gentle current! The end of its hair drifted along with the stream while its lower body remained submerged. How daintily it scooped up water onto its other hand, spreading it with perfect slender fingers which ran along the length of its long limbs!
It was then that he noticed the wet white long tunic plastered over its body. The way it fit along every line of the elf's frame was purely divine.
Slowly the elf turned sideways and Thorin's heart leapt in his throat.
The elf was not beautiful. No, he was gorgeous! He had never in his life seen such a perfect face in his life...drawn eyes, thick drawn eyebrows, a perfect straight nose, delicate pink lips...everything about him rendered this elf an other-worldly beauty which Thorin was certain the Mahal had taken great care in making.
His heart now tingled with thrill. All of a sudden, Thorin found himself wanting to approach the being wanting to talk with him...know his name at least! But he was unable to.
The view made him transfixed and his feet dared not move.
The elf now raised his head above towards the sun and seemingly soaked its warmth. After a few moments, he again hung his head down and lowered himself deep into the waters, standing up once more with inborn poise.
It was then that Thorin realized, that being was praying.
He had heard of Elven deities...he had heard about their rituals but somehow this particular one struck him odd. The elves were never known to pray to the sun! At least not by what he had heard from his mother. Oh he remembered well each and every word she spoke, tucking him in bed. She seemed to know that he had always had a fascination for the race his own had despised. And she would always speak lores and stories regarding them in careful tone and hushed words.
Thorin always wondered how his mother had come to know so much about elves but he knew one thing for certain: she was never wrong with her tales.
Yet, this being did it so perfectly that Thorin found himself not at all caring about the uniqueness of this ritual.
He was enchanted, he was thrilled...for despite their history with elves, Thorin never found such a strong desire for any of the ladies of his race as what he was feeling for this person.
It felt forbidden...it felt wrong but more so, it felt so liberating.
It was the elf who was at prayer but it was Thorin who felt that his wishes already got fulfilled.
AN: So...what do you think? I welcome any feedback. :)