Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's Hobbit nor Peter Jackson's Hobbit series. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Set post BOFA and revolves around the idea that come spring, amongst elves, if one's 'hearts mate' is close, they will be called to their side. It is not a common thing amongst elves due to circumstances and low birth rates, but it does happen. Only no one has ever seen it have any effect on a son of man before. But then again, Thranduil never really does anything the easy way, does he? *This story is told in the point of view of Bard and is Barduil (Thranduil/Bard) in terms of a pairing. This is my first time writing Bard as a main character, as well as this pairing, so I hugely appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer.

Warnings: Contains movie spoilers, elements of soulmate style universe, mating season (heat, animal mannerisms, scenting, rough sex, masturbation), set in an everyone lives au, naturally. Due to the nature of the story it could be considered dub-con.

Heart (like a harbour) there is only one ship for me

Chapter Three

The fire was back when he stepped foot on the other side of the lake.

He scented the air. Yes!

That scent.

That tell.

That singular plead that colored the air with the strength of its call.

It was still there, stronger in fact.

It pulled at him. Pleading and rough all at the same time. Demanding his presence but promising nothing. He was preferred. Chosen. He inhaled, taking a deep breath as he tried to keep the scent of it deep in his lungs – breathing it – as if it were some long forgotten part of himself as he allowed the barge to drift. Too caught up in the hunt as he left a trail of arousal and approval.

This wasn't his territory but that of his mate's.

The ground was saturated with it.

So familiar that the name teetered on the tip of his tongue.

He spared a moment to wonder what Thranduil might think of all this. What would happened if he met the Elf-king on the road? His plans changed, heading to Dale as he'd been expected more than a week past.

Would he think him mad?

Deranged?

The mad king, panting for something he could not name.

Something he only knew, soul deep and down to the very marrow of him.

He tasted blood on his lips as he dismissed the thoughts as easily as they'd appeared. With images of the ancient king lost to the fervor of need clamoring though him. For what had once been a distant allure, a hardly tangible sensation that in the beginning could have been explained away as a night terror or some fast approaching fever, was now a living, breathing thing. Unavoidable and nigh as the beast within postured and growled.

He skirted around the edge of the forest until he reached the main path, covering ground quickly by way of an uneven lope that had him using his hands for balance. Pushing off from tree to tree, rock to rock as the night's chill turned to steam against the heat of his skin.

The burn was stronger now.

Stinging like a spark on the cusp of life.

Threatening to consume him from the inside out.

He needed.

Oh yes.

He needed so very badly.

He slipped past the borders of Mirkwood without thought or pause, boot soles sinking deep into the loamy soil as he forced the thick undergrowth to yield. He inhaled reflexively, sensing the dark taint, yes, but relishing in the rest. This was familiar ground, shared territory. It smelled like-

There were two guards he could see, perhaps more that he could not. But he paid them little mind. Aware on a baser level that they were moving above him, flitting from tree to tree through the tangled canopy. But other than that, he spared them no interest. Traversing a rock-strewn ravine he remembered from his explorations as a child before bounding up the side, finding hidden handholds and steady placements with an ease he was certain he'd never displayed before.

It wasn't until he'd reached the top, rolling over the edge with a feat of spryness even Bain himself would have been hard pressed to manage - hitting his stride as the weight of his quiver and bow thudded like a second pulse against the small of his back – that the watchers in the trees decided they'd had enough of watching. Calling out a clipped aaye! before landing on the path in front of him - spears in hand – blocking his way.

"Quel lome," the one on the right greeted, sable haired and solemn as she inclined her head, flared breast plate accentuating her curved waist. Keen eyes roving across him as he danced back into the shadows, preferring the cover of the twisted branches as the second dropped neatly beside her. "What business does the King of Dale have in Mirkwood this night?"

There were words.

Words he could have said.

Words he probably should have said.

Words they certainly deserved considering the circumstances.

Only he didn't.

He lost them before they came to his tongue.

Instead, he reacted instinctively, addressing their attempt to dissuade him by baring his teeth. Trying to center himself as reaction and reason warred. Turning his limbs frenetic and jerky as a dark voice whispered – urging him to bite and claw, slashing with his blunt human nails until he had the taste of their blood on his tongue. Giving no answer save for the growl that rumbled from his throat like a warning.

It wasn't until later, after the memories started trickling back, melding with embarrassment and not a small measure of private awe, that he considered what he must have looked like in that moment. They must have thought him mad! Standing before them like some feral, half-wild thing, bare chested and soaked through with sweat, facing down two fully armed elves with nothing but his stance and curled fists.

He hissed, the predator in him preening as they took a step back in shock. Using the opportunity to leave the cover of the trees and advance, hair loose around him as feverish eyes glittered through his fringe – daring them to challenge him.

If he'd been in his right mind, he might have noticed the flash of understanding in the female's eyes. The way her posture changed, standing down from outwardly aggressive to merely watchful as she planted the butt of her spear firmly in the earth.

Only the second – the younger male with corn-silk braids nestled neatly behind each ear - did not mirror her. Instead, his hand fell on his hip, ghosting the clasps that held his sword before the female stopped him. Speaking over his silent protest in a flurry of elvish – unimportant and irritating - as the need rose up within him again.

He loomed over them both, teeth bared, until the younger quailed. He held the male's gaze for an ageless second, crowding close enough that he could feel when the icy slick of false superiority radiating from his skin turn to uncertainty, then finally fear before the elf dropped his gaze.

He chuffed in approval, extending a finger across the remaining space to linger on the point of the elf's chin, lifting it by the crook, if only slightly, while in his mind's eye he saw a wolf pup nipping apologetically at it's alpha's chin. Submissive and unthreatening as he inhaled, wondering if he was imagining the tartness of youth that flooded across his tongue as the blond elf inclined his head - coloring the air with tension and uncertainty as the older one shifted protectively beside him.

No matter.

They were not a threat.

They knew their place.

He felt the corner of his lip twitch, vying with his silent snarl for a handful of beats as the guards bowed low, parting on either side, spear-butts firmly planted, so he could pass unheeded. The predator in him appeased as they maintained their submissive posture.

A mist of air curled in from the south, tangling with his sweaty curls as his pace quickened. Seeding the air with a freshness that might have made him question his course if not for the fire still burning in his breast. Following an unmarked path his soul seemed to know better than breathing.

He was aware of the strangeness of it. But it was a distant thing. Unimportant.

His one was calling.

His mate.

The only one who could sooth the fire that burned within.

He wasn't sure if the guards had sent word ahead or if it was merely the lateness of the hour, but when he reached the mouth of the River Running - stalking through halls and pavilions rich with his one's scent - he was greeted by nothing but silence and the barest flicker of half formed shadows lurking in the soaring rocky depths.

Closer.

He needed to be closer.

Almost-

A vicious snarl, something felt more than heard, reverberated through bark and bone, just on his left. He whirled without thought, pivoting on his heel as the whisper of silk glided across the bare arch of his heel.

When had he lost his boots?

He didn't know.

Or care.

All that registered was the rasp of calloused toes across the flagstones. Feeling the sting as he scraped them bloody, awareness spiking at his near miss as his heart pounded in his chest. He caught sight of an empty throne, a vast ivory cavern wrought of bleached stone and living trees, before he planted his fist on the stone floor and skidded to a stop. He scented the air, reeling and drunk on it as the spectre teased him with the echoes of his ragged breaths.

His one was here.

Watching.

Hunting.

It was a game.

The realization was arousal coiling in his gut. Enough to make his cock – already erect and interested – harden against his thigh. The laces of his breeches pulling tight. Cupping him mercilessly as he rutted thoughtlessly against the flare of carved antler. The base of the throne, perhaps? Desperate to stave off the cloying haze that was starting to spread across his vision as the temptation to lose himself to it rose like a cresting ocean wave.

He hummed appreciatively as their scents mingled, aware of the figure prowling around the dais, just out of his reach as he breathed deep. Imprinting the scent of his mate alongside those he had unconsciously chosen as his children's – individual bursts of smell that singled them out as the most important people within his territory – the four most worthy of his love and protection.

It was as it should be.

As nature had intended.

His head lolled, heavy and graceless, as their two scents deepened, growing rich and layered with arousal as his mate rumbled receptively. Still keeping to the shadows, but curious now, expectant - practiced.

The smile that spread across his lips was wicked, the only hint to the resulting action when he suddenly moved – slicing through the air like the downturn of a sword strike – catching the male by surprise as he changed the rules and let himself be hunted. Or at least let the other think as much as he searched out the place where the scent of his mate was the strongest.

A den.

A nest.

Yes, this was it.

He only had enough time to seize the high ground, streaking to the other side of the room, partially protected by a massive birch bed woven amongst a living tree, piled high with pillows and soft sheets before his mate exploded through the door in his wake, showing himself fully for the first time.

Recognition sparked like a grass fire in a thatch of fallow wheat. Spiraling down into a singular grunt of surprise as the emotion graduated without his consent. Morphing into a satisfied sort of pleasure that made him wonder why he wasn't more surprised as he cocked his head - the points of his canines sharp against his bottom lip as the male's name left his tongue like the tail-end of a well-meant prayer.

"You," he hissed – forgetting himself - beyond thought or reproach as he let the syllables air out, lingering far longer than they should have in the still air as the Elven-King materialized from the sullen dark in a whirl of loose mahogany silks. "Mine."

"Yes..." Thranduil purred, arching within his own skin like one of the great cats of the east. Like every rasp of skin was a pleasure in and of itself as an elegant hand reached out, broaching the space as a delicate finger crooked, beckoning him closer. "Yes."

The starlight flickered, wreathing the room in moon-lit shadows as he kept his feet firmly planted. Ignoring the base-line pulse thrumming under his skin, urging him to go and find his pleasure. To tear apart and remake as the world continued turning around them, unimportant and timeless.

It seemed important to resist.

To prolong the moment.

To speak words he didn't know he was capable of uttering anymore as his throat tightened.

Body betraying him – inch by inch – as the siren call of red started to fog his vision once more.

"You're late," he murmured, throaty and deep, enjoying the way the Elf-king's pupils dilated at the sound, widening the slightest of bits as the male took a step closer, then another. Gifting him with a flash of memory as he recalled the smooth, effortless way the creature had moved that day in his tent. Pouring him a glass of wine as the scent of the wizard's pipe weed lingered heavy in the air.

It made him think of the den he'd spent so long creating. Unaware that his body had recognized the dance of courtship long before the pull – the tug on his body and soul that had sent him careening into madness. His teeth scored bloodlessly across the inside of his cheek as he remembered. A muted growl rumbled, issuing like more of a purr as Thranduil cocked his head, sensing the vibrations in the air as a hand – all graceful arcs and pale ivory – reached for him instinctively.

But again he forced himself not to take it, sensing the intention behind it as his mind bought up flashes of memory from the past few days. Like the attention he'd given to the smallest of details and the long days he'd spent waiting, spurned, only to have his mate draw him to a place of his own choosing.

It was a show of superiority and strength that both enraged and aroused him.

His mate was worthy - strong.

And not to be underestimated.

"And you-" Thranduil began, tone biting like chilled starlight on a winter's night as loose blond hair flared out around his shoulders. "-are out of your depth, bargeman," the Elf-king hissed, feet deliciously bare underneath his robes, exquisite and so wholly unexpected that he could barely resist the desire to sweep him up and examine him - inch by torturous inch, until he had him bared and pinned underneath him. He wanted the fair creature merciless to his scrutiny as he uncovered every secret, every scar, every perfect part of him if only to proclaim to the world that out of everyone, he knew him best.

That he understood.

That he loved-

"Overconfidence does not become you, dragon slayer," Thranduil snapped, voice cracking like lake ice in mid-winter, keeping himself well out of reach as he watched him lean back against a set of drawers, scenting anger and arousal like they were the same animal as the Elf-king twitched restlessly – wanting.

But he just grinned, seeing all the way to the end. To a chase won and the air thick with the sound of impassioned moans and the scent of his lover heady above them. It was a self-made conclusion. A new beginning only hastened by nature, not created by it. Sooner or later they would have found themselves here. That much was certain.

"Am I?" he returned, dancing just out of the Elf-kings reach, feeling the glow of his precious stars upon him, sparking with the pure assurance of it as the usually austere male was forced to turn to keep track of him.

He ran his hands down the wooden curve of the bed frame, breathing deep as he scented his mate's frustration. Of long nights tossing within them until even the stars brought him no respite. He felt himself twitch, so hard the longing was akin to a physical ache that pained him every moment he was not slacking himself – wondering with a daring thrill if underneath his robes Thranduil was not in a similar state. There was something in the way the elf moved that made him suspect he was perhaps even more far gone. Even more wrecked, more-

His smile was a showing of teeth as it spread across his lips, pulling tight around wind-chapped skin as the Elf-king swept ever closer, only meters away and stalking him from the other side of the bed. A baser rumble escaped from red-bitten lips as Thranduil spread his long arms from pillar to pillar, as if to block his escape. Silver-blond falling wild in front of his face as they stared fixedly at each other – the moment theirs.

An age might have passed between that moment and the next. Finding himself lost to its complexities as his member throbbed, dampening the front of his pants with his excitement as Thranduil's chin tipped up – eager and predatory. As if the mere scent of his pleasure was a physical thing that forced the King to grip the pillars of his own bed all the tighter. As if sheer force of will was the only thing keeping him from broaching the space and claiming him as his own.

He understood now.

This was right.

Desired.

True.

There was a confidence that bound this union.

A sureness that thrummed through him, showing him that this was not mere circumstance or chance, but fated. A bond forged by the Valar themselves.

When Thranduil pounced he was ready. Using his speed and strength against him as he let himself be pinned, bowled over in mid-air and back onto the bed. But instead of struggling, he went right for the curve of the Elf-king's throat. Sinking in his teeth and making a grab for his pointed ear. Catching it between his thumb and forefinger before squeezing down, hard.

The reaction was simultaneous. With Thranduil both freezing and melting in turn. Wilting on top of him and letting go of a pretty keen that thrilled through him in a way nothing in his life ever had.

If asked, he wouldn't have been able to explain what had prompted it. All he knew was that he was panting like the pleasure was his own, keeping a firm grip on the point of his mate's ear as he whispered, nuzzling into his neck and dragging his teeth.

"My name is Bard," he hissed, grinding his hips up against Thranduil's as the elf struggled to regain himself, eyes wide and blurred with pleasure. "Say it."

"Û!" Thranduil bit out – unrepentant and stubborn despite the fact that his eyes had fluttered closed, neck arching to highlighting the marks he'd sucked into the elf's skin as he squeezed down once more, nails skating across the shell as he forced his free hand between them. Tugging on Thranduil's silks as the curl of his palm stroked his erection through the fine material.

Yes.

This is what he'd needed.

What he'd always need.

What had been missing all this time.

More.

He needed more.

He needed-

"I will hear my name leave your lips before the night is done, one way or another," he spat, gritting his teeth and swallowing the moan that escaped as Thranduil firmed into his hand. Feeling the sudden pressure squeezing against his own hardness as Thranduil ground himself into his hand again and again.

Every roll of his hips was an indulgent and desperate thing, like a debt he was owed and some other worldly gift twinned together. He was just aware enough to force the Elf-king's head to bend. Taking his lips roughly, tongue curious and slick as he traced the seam of the elf's lips and slipped inside – groaning as pleasure sparked behind closed lids – feeling the material between them dampen with sweat and the herald of their release as Thranduil reared above him, sitting astride him as a damning flush spread across his fine features.

"Antolle ulua sulrim," Thranduil snapped, flirting with an aggressive snarl as the elf's fingers sunk deep into his dark hair, pulling and scratching at his scalp as the usual lyric hums of his native tongue turned baser and promising. "You talk too much, bowman."

High on the power of it, on the sheer impossibility of his clear advantage, he merely smirked, letting a smattering of beats pass before he retaliated. Pinching the point of the Elven-king's ear between his thumb and forefinger. Biting at his lower lip as he watched that high, imperious neck shudder through a swallow, so affected by the action that the elf's movements atop him turned rough. His usual graceful poise apparently lost to him as he dropped his hips and rubbed himself shamelessly into the curl of his palm.

"Lle lava?" he flared, seizing the unfamiliar words as they appeared in his mind's eye – raw and heavy as the rough of his voice caressed the syllables, twisting them into something that made the Elf-lord buck atop him.

The reaction was immediate. Thranduil writhed. Making him groan as their groins came together with a delicious burst of friction. Giving the King little quarter as he pressed his advantage. Laughing and rolling him with him as Thranduil tried and failed to slither out of his grasp.

But no matter how he thrashed and growled, churning through the sheets and slamming him up against the headboard like a wild thing, his hand remained fast around his mate's ear. Keeping him leashed - close – caught in a rictus of pain and pleasure as he rasped a calloused pad up and down the sensitive point, savoring every sound that burst forth as the elf pressed himself into his hold, craving it just as much as he desired to break free.

"Lá! Leithio nin!" Thranduil roared, struggling against the hold in a way that made him certain had he not the advantage, he would be entirely under the Elf-king's mercy.

"Good," he purred, catching his mate by surprise as he hooked Thranduil's thigh and rolled him underneath. Predatory and darkly promising as he loomed above him, fighting the urge to bear down and take what was so clearly being offered in favor of appreciating the sight of his mate spread underneath him.

There was a vice in his chest, forcing him to pant as he considered all the time they'd wasted. The days since the battle that had turned from weeks to months. Struggling to catch his breath as the moment threatened to drown him under a fog of red as he started to thrust into the shallow of Thranduil's hips.

He tugged at a strand of soft hair as silver-blond splayed across the sheets, highlighted by a puddle of glowing starlight until he covered it with his own. Dark and light intermingling until he could scarcely tell where Thranduil started and he left off.

"I am going to enjoy you," he rasped. Dipping down to ruck up the Elf-king's silks, nosing into the crease where thigh met groin - where the scent of him was the strongest. Honest and alluring in its musky fragrance.

He inhaled, spine arcing with the pleasure of it as he licked a swath from the swell of his sack to the dip of his navel. Drunk off the wildness of it as the air above their heads grew thick with the scent of singed air and the char of soil moments after the lightning strike.

Yes.

His.

"I have you now," he murmured, letting his stubble grate across the sensitive skin of his mate's inner thigh. Pressing a trail of open mouthed kisses down unmarred skin and slicking him with the sweat that was pouring off him now, streaking his bare chest with acrid salt as Thranduil threw back his head. Sharp nails raking down his forearms as he eased his hold on the elf's ear, reasonably sure his attention was elsewhere as he distracted him by tonguing the crease of pale flesh underneath his sack.

He waited until Thranduil stirred. Lips parted in a muted groan of protest, hips rolling like a man possessed as the elf propped himself up on his elbows and met his stare. Blue eyes glittering feverishly, like hidden gems glinting in the half-dark. Struggling to keep his focus as every breath ghosted down the length of him, tip damp with his excitement, before he smirked – giving the Elf-king only a second to get used to the idea before he dipped down and swallowed him whole.

"….No veren, Hîr vuin."

It was the last thing he remembered saying for some time.


A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter.

Reference:

•Aaye: "hail!" basically an elvish greeting.

• Quel lome: "good evening"

• Antolle ulua sulrim: An elvish insult meaning: "much wind pours from your mouth."

• Lle lava?: "do you yield?"

• Lá! Leithio nin!: "No! Release me!"

• No veren, Hîr vuin: "enjoy yourself, my lord."