OF THE DARKNESS WITHIN (Elronduil fanfiction)

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own "Lord of the Rings" or "The Hobbit", they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, neither do I own Peter Jackson's movies, which might be referenced as well. Sadly, I don't own anything apart from my insane imagination.

Relationships (ch.2): Elrond/Thranduil - Elronduil (past)

Characters (ch.2): Elrond, Thranduil, Oropher, Legolas

Summary (ch.2): Upon battling his inner demons Thranduil remembers how his relationship with Elrond took a wrong turn, not long before the Battle of Dagorlad. The memories of his past continue to haunt him, but in his darkened state of mind Thranduil refuses to reflect on his past decision.

CHAPTER 2 – heledh gûr (crystal heart)

The Woodland King sighed and downed his third goblet of Dorwinion in one gulp. It wasn't fair. He still wasn't feeling anything, not even a slight tickle. The room was supposed to be spinning by now, but he felt nothing.

With a sullen expression he kept watching the Silvan elves sprawled out along the elongate dinner table at the center of the large clearing, festively decorated with bright-colored lanterns. His people were all drinking and laughing, many of them singing and dancing merrily, some a tad tipsy, some already wasted, but all of them clearly enjoying themselves. Thranduil couldn't help but feel disgruntled and perhaps a little jealous. Glancing around the clearing he detected his son leaning against a tall tree, silver goblet in hand. Legolas was chatting animatedly with the twins, oblivious to his father's troubled mind.

"Seems like he's having fun. Well, good for him," Thranduil thought bitterly, pouring himself another large cup of red wine and drowning it immediately. It was still quite early in the evening and he was already down to his second flagon of Dorwinion Red, one of his better known and socially acceptable vices. But he didn't feel any of its precious effects yet, neither the familiar tingling sensation coursing through his veins nor the all-possessing comfortable numbness he so desired. Damn his high tolerance for liquor!
Even if Dorwinion was considered the strongest wine of Endor, after all those centuries the heady elixir didn't do much for him anymore. Why in the name of the Valar does one get used to the effects of alcohol anyway?

Discontentedly Thranduil took another sip of his freshly filled chalice and let his eyes wander over the Silvan gathering, reminiscing what it felt like to be one of them. His desperate attempt to recall those merry years of his past proved completely pointless, he could as well have tried to remember a whole different person's life. He knew that he once had enjoyed these merrymaking sessions just as much as them, but now it only irritated him that they were having such a good time.

His gaze fell upon a young Silvan couple making out. His stomach churned as their kiss deepened and both sighed with pleasure. The sight was vexing but he wasn't able to take his eyes off their display of love. The male smiled into the kiss and Thranduil gritted his teeth in response. He despised them for forcing their aggravating happiness on him, for reminding him of what he had lost a long time ago. The repressed memories he had been meaning to erase all this time, compelling them to forever leave his memory, mercilessly imposed themselves on him in a sudden vivid flashback.


"Erain vuin, may I have a word with you about your son?"

King Oropher of Greenwood regarded his son's manservant with a slight frown on his face before allowing him into his tent with one brief wave of his hand.

"What has my arduous heir been up to now?", he asked with a sigh.

"Well, actually I'm not supposed to let you know," the young subordinate stalled. "Your son would certainly be very upset with me if he knew..."

"You will be rewarded as I see fit," the king replied impatiently, not missing the greedy undertone of the lowly Silvan elf. "Now, out with it!"

The servant nodded, a satisfied smile creeping over his face, as he spoke: "Your majesty, your son has sought an affair with one of the Noldor."

His words did not fail to have the intended effect on the King of Greenwood the Great, who grimaced, but swallowed the bitter pill.
"Who is it? Tell me," Oropher demanded indignantly, as the servant made no attempt to continue.

"Ai, you see, I had to promise your son not to tell anyone his lover's name but I will give you a hint", the servant replied with a sly smirk. "I'm waiting," the king reminded his bold subordinate, restlessly drumming his fingers on the armrest of his wooden throne.

" 'Tis a male elf of Noldor descent, of the House of Finarfin nonetheless, but not of pure origin. Let's just say, not only elven blood flows through his veins", the attendant said, smiling maliciously.

"The Peredhel? The king's herald of all people?" The expression on the king's stern face, first resembling utter shock and disbelief, rapidly turned to seething anger.
"How dare he stab me in the back, his own father, and betray his heritage in such an unseemly manner", he yelled in a frenzy. "Go fetch my good-for-nothing son, I am going to beat some sense into him right away", he shouted at the servant, who grinned spitefully and even had the impertinence to ask: "What about my reward?"

At least he did have the sense to hurriedly flee the scene, as his superior shot him a death glare, roaring: "I'll have you punished too, if you don't get out of my sight right now, you impudent fool!"


"You called upon me, adar," Thranduil asked in what he considered quite a polite voice, despite having been disturbed at his game of chess with Elrond. He was too busy sulking over his last move resulting in the loss of his bishop to pay any attention to his father's gloomy mood.

"Sit," Oropher commanded in an icy tone. Thranduil reluctantly sat down, casually draping one leg over the armrest of his chair with quite a provocative attitude.

"Sit properly", his father growled, but instead of doing so a slightly irritated Thranduil shot back: "Is this urgent? I was in the midst of..."

"I don't care what you were doing," his elder barked at him.
"What is wrong with you, Thranduil?" he asked, his voice emanating cold fury. "What must I hear of your shenanigans?"

This time Thranduil got the hint, but decided to play it cool, retorting in a calm, nonchalant voice: "I don't know what you are talking abou-"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence.
"I have had it up to here with your nonsense! Did you think I would not notice? Do you mistake me for a fool?" the king suddenly raged at his son, slapping him hard across the face. Thranduil gasped at the sudden sharp pain, as his head was jerked sideways, causing his left cheek to turn a flaming red. The intense anger rising in him even outmatched the embarrassment at being scolded and slapped by his father like a little elfling.

"I know all about your affair with the Peredhel", the agitated Oropher confirmed his assumption. "What do you have to say to your defense?"

At first Thranduil remained silent, clenching his fists and fighting his rage, as he was visibly trembling with fury. When he deemed himself able to speak he lifted his chin, replying with a voice as indifferent as he could muster: "Why would I need to defend myself? As you are well aware, I have had many such flings and I do not intend to apologize for any of them, nor do I regret this one in particular."

"What was that?" asked the king in a low, rumbling voice, looming over his son's sitting form in an intimidating manner, slowly leaning down until their noses almost touched. Thranduil could feel his father's breath on his still burning cheek, his piercing blue eyes staring into his without blinking. He had to fight the sudden urge of backing away, but giving in to that impulse would be to admit defeat, so Thranduil contented himself with staring back for about a minute and then lowered his gaze. As he contemplated how to avoid an outburst of his father's infamous temper, which even Thranduil was afraid to fully unleash, without having to completely degrade himself, all of a sudden an idea dawned on him.

"What if I seduced him on purpose, to gain his trust and learn of the Noldor's secrets?" Thranduil remarked, still a little out of breath from the staring contest.

The elven king considered this for a moment, giving Thranduil some time to breathe and calm himself a little, before he snarled: "Quite a devious plot, hmh? Well, let's suppose you did, what precious secrets have you discovered so far?"

"I heard that the Noldor do not buy their weapons and armor from men or dwarves but that they have knowledge on how to forge them," Thranduil said hastily, merely earning him a disdainful snort from his father.

"Iston! Everyone knows that", snapped the king, glaring at his son with resentment, which Thranduil did not find very helpful at all for making up another plausible explanation for his affair.

"I also found out that they forged magic artifacts of great power in Eregion..."

"That is common knowledge too", Oropher rudely interrupted him, observing him closely, clearly waiting for another half-baked excuse, but Thranduil remained silent. In all his exasperation he wasn't able to think of anything else to tell him, all the while dreading the inevitable outburst.

"Have you completely lost your mind?", the king thundered, mercilessly raging on: "You moron spent that many weeks with that sad excuse for an elf and you did not learn even a single thing we could profit from? That's really quite a poor excuse for a scheme, even for your standards, Thranduil!"

"But adar, I am sure they know a lot more about our enemy than we do", Thranduil argued in an increasingly desperate tone, abruptly realizing that he didn't want his relationship with the Peredhel to end anytime soon.

"Listen closely, ionneg," began Oropher, after a minute of stony silence.
"If I am to allow you to continue this farce, you must follow three vital rules: First, I will only grant you three more days to gather any valuable information about the Noldor", he demanded unrelentingly.

"At least give me a week," Thranduil tried bargaining but was cut off immediately by his father.

"You have three days and not an hour more, then we will meet again. If it then turns out your plan did not yield any satisfactory results, I am going to terminate this liaison once and for all", he threatened and Thranduil felt the bile rise in his throat.

"Second, you are going to keep this whole affair a secret from anyone but me and the few servants who already know." Thranduil nodded grimly, clenching his teeth, trying desperately to control his temper.

"And last, you will not tell anyone of this conversation or my knowledge of your infidelity. The half-elf must continue to think that I'm oblivious to your dirty little secret. Do you understand?"

Again Thranduil merely nodded, still attempting to swallow the big lump in his throat. He couldn't help it, he felt like crying tears of rage. But he would not shed one single tear, he refused to, for nothing would make him feel more ashamed and weak than openly crying in front of his father.

"I said, do you understand", Oropher repeated in a sinister hue.

"", Thranduil finally managed to breathe in a hoarse and rather shaky voice.

"Fine", Oropher spat with contempt. "And don't you dare defy me again! If you break these three rules – and I will find out if you did – you will be punished in ways you can't even begin to imagine", his father remarked scornfully, before finally allowing him to leave.

It made Thranduil shudder to even begin imagining what his father would do to him, if he dared to let him down again. His father could be quite rigorous in his punishments, Thranduil had had to learn that at an early age. There was no way he could lie to Oropher again without him inevitably finding out, and then all hell would break loose. No, he did not have any choice in that matter. He would have to do as he was told, even if it meant acting against his own will and betraying his lover. Thranduil knew he would hate himself for it and resent his father even more, but he felt that in his current position he could do nothing to change it.


Thranduil wore a deep frown on his face, as he returned to resume his game of chess with Elrond.

"Do you want to start over?", the Peredhel offered but Thranduil just shrugged, then shook his head and stared at the chessboard. He had lost all interest in the game. His companion shot him a worried glance.
"What troubles you?" he eventually voiced his concern, as Thranduil did not even scowl at him for capturing his queen.

"Nothing," Thranduil muttered, not even sounding convincing to himself.

"You are a terrible liar, Thranduil," Elrond commented in a half amused, half sympathetic tone.

"Nae, it's just..." the Sinda prince began half-heartedly, but then remembered his father's words and grew silent again. Upon Elrond's inquisitive look he added apologetically: "I can't tell you, Elrond, goheno nin."

He turned in his seat, half hiding his dismal face in the tarpaulin shadows. Elrond said nothing for a while, thoughtfully watching him, before he cautiously noted: "It's something personal, between your father and you, am I right?"

Thranduil just nodded quietly, quite surprised by Elrond's dangerously accurate intuition, but not daring to reply. He felt relieved and disappointed at the same time as Elrond mildly stated: "Then I won't beseech you any longer. Let's take a walk, meleth-nîn, it will take your mind off things."

When he lightly put a hand on his lover's shoulder, who still sat with his back turned to him, he noticed that Thranduil's shoulders were slightly trembling.
"Thranduil, are you... crying?"

At first Thranduil did not respond, but then he finally looked up, a single tear trickling down his slightly reddened left cheek. Elrond was rendered speechless at the heartbreaking sight of those tear-filled azure eyes and at Thranduil's faint reply: "You've called me meleth for the first time..."

"Apparently it was about time I did," replied Elrond in a soft voice, gently wiping away the tear with his thumb.
"Tolo ar nin", he asked quietly, reaching out to his love. Thranduil hesitantly took hold of his hand, uncried tears still shimmering in his eyes, as they left the Peredhel's tent and made for the woods.


In a fulminate outburst of rage Thranduil threw his half empty goblet across the table, the fluid red substance splattering everywhere. Strangely satisfied he watched as the delicious crimson liquid dispersed into millions of sparkling droplets spilled out like ruby marbles, delicately dripping from the drenched table cloth. His guests' reactions amused him, the way they all abruptly turned their heads and dumbfoundedly stared at him, eyes wide and mouths ajar. He hadn't intended to seize their attention, let alone bother to explain what had gotten into him. However, everyone's confused gazes were now fixed on him, so he chose to exploit that moment of distraught awe to his liking.

Abruptly he stood from his make-shift throne at the head of the table and elegantly turned on the spot, making the nearest servant boy almost jump in fear. Noticing the rim of his long cloak lightly brushing the young Silvan's ankle he decided to use this to his advantage to make a grand exit. He had already grown tired of the merrymaking anyway. Why should everyone else enjoy this evening, if he himself couldn't feel any of the joy? After all he was their king, they were supposed to please him and not the other way around.

Casually he moved a little to the left, closing in on his subordinate, fixating him with his piercing stare. A strange craving befell him, the need to hurt the boy's pride and make him suffer, to feel his pain as a substitute for the absence of his own, filled him with a dark and malevolent desire. Maybe he wasn't all that sober anymore.
Thranduil's inconspicuous movement caused the hem of his clothing to dip into the pool of red wine on the floor as if by chance. Glaring at the young Silvan, he thundered in an impressively outraged voice: "How dare you soil my clothes, you filthy little rat?"

"I-it w-was a-an a-accident, I-I s-swear," the cowering servant tried to explain, but Thranduil cut him off immediately. "You are going to pay for this," he threatened in a low growl, pleased to see the boy trembling violently and avoiding his gaze.

"I w-will d-do anything to m-make it u-up to y-you, I p-promise," stuttered the intimidated Silvan, still not daring to glance up. If he had lifted his head he wouldn't have failed to notice the malicious smirk flitting over his master's face.

"Good." Without giving his inferior any chance to back out he motioned the domestic to follow him. The servant obeyed diligently, as Thranduil led the way through the forest with merciless pace. He knew it was merely a brief distraction, a fleeting feeling that would leave him devastated and hollow, once again dead inside. But that didn't matter to him, as long as he would at least feel something for a change.

Only after they had entered the thick of the woods, where entangled overgrown branches hung low in the gloomy absence of sunlight and the dense sylvan air made breathing increasingly difficult, Thranduil finally slowed down. The servant timidly looked up and around, large frightened eyes silently questioning his presence at this dark and dreary place. No wonder he was confused, usually civilians didn't dare to enter these parts of the forest, for it lay too close to the dangerous spider-infested areas of Mirkwood. In his desperation the terrified boy eventually sought the king's gaze. Thranduil's promiscuous stare was enough to make him shudder, as realization hit him like a wet towel. The Sinda king teasingly licked his lips in a predatory manner before beckoning the Silvan to kneel before him. When the boy didn't react right away he was shoved to the ground impatiently and pulled closer by the hair. With his face inches away from the king's lower abdomen the servant understood at last what was expected of him and, dreading his master's wrath at disobedience, he hesitantly obliged.

Over the past few centuries Thranduil's need had once again grown overwhelmingly strong, almost like the need to breathe. His basic instincts were urging him on, continually pushing him forward, forcing him to see this through. His anger and lust and their short, rash sensations of excitement were all he had left. He desperately needed this high, was addicted to it, depended on it with his life, even if it meant hurting others.
He simply didn't care anymore.


Once again, thanks for reading, hope you liked it!
If you did, please leave a comment! ^^

Sindarin translations:

Endor = Middle-earth (Quenya)

Peredhel = half-elf, half-elven

iston = I know

ionneg = my son

nâ, no = yes ( is Quenya)

goheno nin = forgive me

meleth-nîn = my love

tolo ar nin = come with me

Remarks on LOTR lore:

The Noldor or 'deep elves' are one of three Eldar people and belong to the Calaquendi, the 'light elves', who once set foot in Valinor, the Undying Lands.

Finarfin was one of the sons of Finwê, king of the Noldor, and a relative of Elrond.

King Oropher refers to Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Elves, merely as 'king', as he refuses to accept him as his High King and superior.
At that time Elrond was Gil-galad's herald and vice-regent.

Contrary to their portrayal in the movies, the Silvan elves were very likely constricted to wooden bows and leather armor and had to purchase steel weapons, as they did not possess the Eldar's knowledge of forging metal.

Eregion was an elven realm of the Noldor close to the Misty Mountains, built and destroyed during the Second Age. Eregion was famous for its profound craftsmanship and the Rings of Power were forged there, under the influence of Annatar (Sauron in disguise).