Chapter 4: Manners
The tent had been set up by the roadside and Thranduil had been lifted inside it where it was decided he would remain till the new batch of athelas coming from the Halls was intercepted, unless plans changed by the king deciding otherwise. Tauriel hoped that the calmative spell bestowed upon him by the elder would make the king sleep longer because frankly, she herself didn't have much liveliness in her left to argue with him and they both needed the rest, but it was hard to say how the invocation will affect him, it did different things to different people.
The redhead was shattered despite her elven contitution, she wished for nothing more than climbing onto the bed next to him and resting for days. But she could not afford a luxury like that or anything close. Given that Feren had made the leap and trusted her with the king's care, she should be doing something, right? Like act on her sympathies. Just because they didn't have the necessary healing herb it didn't mean she couldn't try to make him feel better. Grabbing hold of the bowl and cloth Thranduil used to refresh himself in the morning, she stepped outside and layered it thinly with some snow, intending to dab the fabric in it and apply it on those bruises and breaks. It would not make a lot of difference, but she had to do something, if only to make her own self feel like she was making a difference.
Arriving back, she paused again-how was it that over the course of the last few hours she had been touching the untouchable king so many times and was about to do it again? Her desire to help him outweighed her unease though and she took to arrange his hands to his sides and out the way so she could get to his fine undergarments once more and took his boots off so that she could maybe make him feel more comfortable. In the quiet and peace that Feren promised to provide by standing just outside the tent, Tauriel's movements were unhurried, partly because of the exhaustion taking a toll on her due to the lull of her surroundings and partly because she wasn't entirely convinced she was doing the right thing.
She pulled the fabric aside gently with a sigh, but it wasn't the injuries her addled mind registered first this time, though to her credit she paused no longer than a few short moments as she distractedly took in the shapes and sizes defining his chest and abs, her mind too hazy from all the sorrow and troubles of the last days for her conscious mind to take control. Why did he always have to hide these treasures? They were not for a mere lowly subject's eyes of course-so will Thranduil be angry when he finds out she helped herself to the sight as a side-effect of putting her healing skills at use? And why was she staring at Thranduil's muscles now of all times again? How inappropriate of her from many angles. She deliberately blinked herself back to focus, and yet her hands brushed against the healthy side of his well toned chest lightly, unnecessarily, when they chose the path through the air to reach back for the cloth.
Deeming him rather sweaty and probably uncomfortable with it party as if seen, it would've put him in a less than preferable light in his superior ruler's status, Tauriel elected to wash him down first. She started with his forehead, the sides of his face, his neck, arriving once more to that smooth, perfectly shaped upper body of his. Who knew it would be so distracting to touch?
Tauriel found it took some conscious effort from her to concentrate elsewhere other than the feel under her fingers and the slight curves they mounted, but she washed him, cooled his injuries as well as she could under the circumstances, lingering with the cold cloth there longer, going as far on his sides as possible with the tunic still under his back. The redhead would not move him, certain it would probably cause more harm than good.
The bruises on his side continued downwards though and it occurred to her that nobody had checked his injuries below the waistline. The skilled archer briefly considered pulling his breeches down, but thought better of it blushing as much as her own pale face allowed. How inappropriate again Tauriel, she scolded herself. But then again, she wasn't present as a maiden, not even as captain of his guard, she was there in her healer capacity. And would a healer not want to know what they were dealing with?
With slight trembling of the hands she could not suppress, Tauriel slid the hem of his breeches minutely down for a little peek, taking a big breath to steady herself against her apprehensive nerves that nightmarishly anticipated him coming to at exactly the wrong moment. The bruises seemed to fade out lower, but one little peek gave her no certainty. She would take another look from the middle towards the side to be sure.
It was a very awkward thing to do and she wondered fleetingly whether she should call Feren in for it, then decided Thranduil would prefer less people ogling at his privates. She just had to ignore the feel of the springy softness of the hair of his pleasure trail and his tiled abs that she knew in any other circumstances would've made her shiver. Confusing. Was Thranduil right to start with, did her affections to Kili not run as deep as she had thought?
To her relief though, the contusions did indeed stop a little below his hip and she did not need to investigate further, nonetheless she did wish she could unsee the ghost of an alabaster contour curving downwards between his legs, perfectly shaped and enticingly plump. She would carry on with padding his ribs with the snow cold fabric instead.
Little did she know that his eyes were closed not because he was still unconscious, but because he decided to keep them so. If Tauriel intended to use the coldness to bring him to his senses, it was working, but as he roused to her ministrations his mind also registered the inappropriateness of the situation. The lowly elleth undressing him and tending to his wounds was one thing and he'd almost elected making itself known he was aware, but then the curious maiden decided to investigate his privates and at that point he had no idea how him as the elvenking should proceed in those circumstances. Surely it was going too far and Tauriel should be punished for it but did he want her punished?
However, having to bear her touch and not show it affecting him was becoming increasingly difficult. She was a skilled healer and archer, of course her fingers would be nimble and lithe, but knowing that and experiencing that on his own skin was another. And if he did not desire her before, this little escapade certainly strengthened his wishes to have the insolent little minx in his arms and bed her.
Thranduil had a hard job suppressing his desires and keeping it concealed in the thin material of his leggings, but he just had to keep reminding himself that his kingly self was meant to be aloof and unimpressed with her and more importantly, it might ruin and jeopardise an otherwise rather shaky, tentative and uncertain relationship with further complications between them.
He could not let his cock react, he could not, he repeated like a chant ashamedly. It helped, as it reminded him of all the other times he kept himself back, snuff out budding desires he might've had for her over the years. He snubbed Legolas having a relationship with her so he couldn't either. And now there they were with the consequences of those decisions: Tauriel falling for another and his son not being able to bear and watch and had consequently departed for lengthy travels with a dubious end date. He could've laughed at himself-the grand elvenking in such a predicament: partly for bodily and party for diplomatic and tactical reasons, he could not do much else than having to endure the torture of having the beautiful and inimitable maiden so close and caring, touching his naked form and not being able to do anything about it. Taking a shaky breath and grinding his teeth, a groan eventually escaped him.
Tauriel paused and raised her head to look at his face, "Thranduil?" She questioned sympathetically.
The high ranking elf thanked Valar he was too pale to be able to blush right now. There weren't many individuals, elf or non-elf who could unhinge and confuse him, forcing him to act outside what would be considered his typical demeanour. Frantically thinking about what his excuse could be for the groan, he hovered a hand over his injured side and blinked open his weary eyes. Not as if he had to fake being in pain, it was maybe plausible to blame his moan on it, despite his royal status not allowing for showing weakness. But he was supposed to be half unconscious after all. "Continue." He grabbed hold of her withdrawing hand, "you're doing good."
Tauriel hesitated and then pulled back, "let me make it colder again," Tauriel wrung the washcloth out and placed it into the show before setting it atop his ribs anew gently, fingers barely brushing across his skin. "Is that helping?"
Thranduil nodded and closed his eyes once more. It was soothing, a whole new level of pleasurable all right, but far enough from his groins not to cause him to noticeably harden if he was careful enough. The young elf sighed, relieved that she could make a difference and that Thranduil accepted her as his caretaker for the time being. She didn't quite understand why, but she hated seeing him in pain. He thankfully seemed a bit calmer, more comfortable and his previously sweaty skin clean and soft, and gaining colour and her mind started to wonder again as she watched the melting snow making trails of droplets on their way round and down his perfect torso, sliding into his bellybutton and some into the valleys of his muscles, into his pleasure trail and dampening those breeches she had peeked under previously. With Kili gone and them barely safe from death's clutches, how could she have such inappropriate stray reactions to want to explore that area hidden to her under the material? What was wrong with her?
She had heard about his manhood, yes. She had heard about his expertise and persistence with which he could please a woman endlessly. Although servants and the lucky odd young elleth he occasionally bedded were supposed to keep it quiet, not all did, not after a few decades or so. Tauriel's hand wandered off by own accord while thinking about a once companion's words as she refreshed the cloth, over his stomach and across the tip of that pleasure trail, her pinkie's thumbnail barely, but definitely meandering into soft tuft of the hairs that lower disappeared under fabric. She immediately felt a rush of strong desire that shook her to her senses. It was so wrong from all angles and considerations that she could've slapped herself. However, doing so mentally was enough to make her refocus on the task.
Her little escapade shook the boundaries of his self control. Feeling his penis stretching against the thin fabric of his only garment protecting him, he was in danger of losing his precarious composure. He could take no more of her touch, not unless it was for torture and not for the comfort she had been intending. Jumpy and shaking with want, he gathered his strength to speak. "Thank you, Tauriel. I think it'd be best if I'd tried sleeping the rest off now. I'm truly feeling a lot better, don't worry now."
"As you wish, my king," Tauriel rasped quickly, partially relieved that she did not have to navigate on treacherous waters anymore, but also somewhat thwarted that she couldn't continue with helping him. His stubborn disposition must've taken over, she assumed. Tauriel rubbed at her forehead tiredly with her sleeves, only now realizing she was sweating as well from the intensity and ardency or the moment, which she promptly chastised herself for as well.
She got properly back on track as Feren stepped into the tent just then, holding some crock that emanated the distinct smell of kingsfoil. "The ones we sent forward finally came back to intercept us with the athelas," he announced, coming close to smiling.
The next round of pad applied was a cloth saturated in the brew of the healing liquid. Tauriel gave the king an encouraging, hopeful smile. As the injury wasn't severe, it should not take more than a few moments for the preparation to make a difference. The king was indeed breathing visibly deeper and some of the bruising turned to a less pronounced colour. She expected Thranduil to change demeanour, demand his horse and continuing back home.
Instead, he stifled a wince, turning to his good side, albeit with less difficulty than he'd have previously been able to, "leave me," he ascertained, "have some rest Tauriel. We will depart after mine."
Tbc