Title: Wild Justice 12/?
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
"I'm telling you, I have to see this!" Elladan's eyes sparkled mischief up at him, but Orophin refused to be seduced so easily, especially into an act of supreme folly that could end up getting him killed.
Perhaps his insane lover could be shamed into deciding on another way of passing their evening. "Well, I learn something new about you every day. I never realised you're a voyeur!"
Elladan sighed impatiently. "I'm not. I just have to see old Glorfindel's reaction to this--I'd never forgive myself if I missed it."
"And if he just happens to look out the window and see us sitting in a tree, spying on him?"
"He won't. Didn't you see what Elrohir was wearing?" Orophin had to smile at the memory. Elrohir had been a picture of seduction: surrounded by what looked to be hundreds of burning candles, he had been wearing practically nothing, and that which he did have on was . . . Orophin's vocabulary failed him. It wasn't quite a tunic, for it only covered one side of his torso and had no arms, showing off part of a well-muscled but slim chest and a tightly defined stomach. Orophin had never seen a tunic that short or that loose before. It was silk, a seductive honey colour that, in the flickering candlelight, almost exactly matched that of Elrohir's lightly oiled skin. Gold armlets had encircled his biceps, golden strands wove their way through his elaborate braids and jeweled sandals decorated his high arched feet. No, Orophin decided, Glorfindel was not going to be looking out any windows. "And," Elladan promised, "if by some strange chance his eyes do wander, I'll say this was all my idea."
"Which it is!"
"Exactly. So what are you worried about?" Elladan's eyes were bright with laughter. "I thought you Galadrim were fearless."
Orophin shook his head in defeat. "That word is not synonymous with stupid." Or at least it hadn't been, before two brown haired imps from Imladris complicated his life.
Grinning delightedly at his obvious capitulation, Elladan caught hold of the bottom limb of the nearest tree. "I never thought it was. Come on--what could happen?"
* * *
Glorfindel made his weary way towards Elrohir's chambers. He was not looking forward to this. A servant had delivered a note to him, when he failed to show up for dinner, in Elrohir's hand, asking him to come to his rooms for a talk. Having spent two days supporting Elrond through something very close to a nervous breakdown, Glorfindel was in no mood for another stressful conversation. Especially after the talk with Lord Celeborn he had just had. As he was accompanying a party setting out at first light for the mountain, Glorfindel would have preferred a good night's sleep, which he had yet to get after the wearying week's hunt they had had and the emotional whirlwind since. No, he could definitely have done without what was almost certain to be a long, intense, and probably highly draining debate.
"So how is he?" Thranduil's voice stopped him just as he reached the stairs leading up to the guest quarters. Glorfindel had not seen the king since his return and had no desire to speak with him. However Thranduil had shown amazing restraint in staying away until now, knowing that Celeborn and Elrond, as one-time vassals of the high king, had more of a stake in the matter than he. Yet naturally he was curious; Glorfindel could hardly blame him for that.
He turned to see the king coming towards him from the shadows of the hallway. His attire was unusually simple--a satin robe in a deep red colour, but lacking embroidery or other adornments--and his hair was pulled into a simple club at his neck. Somehow, his appearance reassured Glorfindel that a seduction wasn't foremost on Thranduil's mind that night. "Not well. Lord Elrond is doing what he can, but . . . the damage is extensive."
Thranduil cocked an eyebrow at him. "Considering that he is supposed to be dead, that is hardly surprising," he commented dryly. "Has there been any word as to why he lives, what happened to him?" Glorfindel paused, and Thranduil looked slightly insulted. "You forget, I was there, Glorfindel! I did not see what happened, but I mourned him with the rest. I have a RIGHT to know." The king's hand grasped the polished banister in front of him, barring the way up the stairs. It was more his words than his posture that restrained Glorfindel, who put a weary hand to his head before he thought about it.
"You are exhausted." Thranduil glanced over his crumpled blue robe--had he changed it today, Glorfindel wasn't certain anymore--and his mussed hair. "Your pardon--I should have noticed. Come with me." He paused as Glorfindel shot him a look, then shook his head ruefully. "No, seneschal, this isn't part of some elaborate plot. I simply want to ask you a few questions without having you pass out on me. Just for a moment?"
Glorfindel never knew exactly why he went. Part was his disinclination to face Elrohir, and the scene likely to ensue, part was Thranduil's undoubted persuasive ability, and part was simple exhaustion--he was just too tired to argue. The king led him to the impressive set of rooms set aside for his use. No one else seemed to be about, which was odd considering the number of attendants Thranduil had brought with him.
"Wine?" The king gestured with a bottle towards the comfortable chairs near the window and Glorfindel settled himself in one, unconsciously relaxing weary muscles against the soft cushions. He was so tired that it was a struggle to keep his eyes open. "Someone nabbed the last of the Berdruskan," Thranduil was saying, "so we will have to make due with a lesser vintage." Glorfindel found a glass pressed into his hand and he sipped its contents gratefully. It was good, whatever it was, but that was not surprising--Thranduil knew wine. Among other things, Glorfindel thought grimly, as the king moved behind him and began to gently knead his shoulders.
"Thranduil . . . "
"Shhh. Just relax. This isn't a seduction--I rather prefer my partners conscious. Talk to me."
The tone, as much as the hypnotic motions of the hands, was very persuasive. Glorfindel complied, not that there was much to tell. "He IS Gil-Galad--there's no doubt about that. Elrond is certain."
"He should know." Glorfindel stiffened, but there was nothing disrespectful in Thranduil's tone. He assumed the Mirkwood ruler had heard the rumours about Elrond and the high king, but he apparently had no issue with them. Odd, how well he and Elrond seemed to be getting along lately.
"The king does not seem to remember anything, not even who he is. We have no idea why he is alive, or how he came to be imprisoned. Should his condition improve, Elrond hopes to restore at least some of his memory, and then perhaps he can tell us . . . something."
"But you are not planning to wait for that."
Glorfindel sighed, and despite himself leaned further back against those gifted hands. He hadn't realised how many kinks there were in his muscles until Thranduil began working through them. "We leave in the morning."
"How many?"
"Lord Celeborn, Erestor and I, one hundred of the Galadrim, and a group of specially trained Noldorin servants of the Lady."
"Appropriate that it should be Noldor, under the circumstances."
Glorfindel smiled. Thranduil was easy to talk to--nothing ever had to be spelled out with him, nothing explained. The king missed so very little. "The Lady seemed to know even before we journeyed here that her servants would need training for a special task."
"How convenient." Glorfindel laughed, the king's wry humour really was contagious. He almost wished he could stay here, drinking wine and relaxing under those talented hands, instead of facing the harangue that would surely occupy most of his night. Again, Thranduil seemed to understand his thoughts without being told.
"Another glass." The king plucked the slender flute Glorfindel had not even realised he'd drained from his fingers and moved to refill it. "Oh come, seneschal," he teased, seeing Glorfindel's uncertain expression. "You need to rest, and I enjoy your company. Surely, a few more minutes will cause no harm?" Thranduil held out the crystal goblet, once more filled with seductive ruby red wine.
Glorfindel knew he should go, knew Elrohir was waiting for him, but perhaps it would be best if he did not see him under the circumstances. He was so tired and his usual calm was in tatters; he could not be certain not to say something that would make things worse. Perhaps they both needed a bit more time before having that particular discussion. Slowly, his fingers curved about the glass Thranduil held out so temptingly. As he said, just a few more minutes . . .
* * *
"What do you see?"
"Nothing, and you're on my foot." Orophin shifted slightly, but there wasn't a great deal of room on the narrow branch. Still, it had been the only one close enough to allow them to get within viewing distance of the guest rooms. There were only a few with lighted windows, but they were easy enough to see through. Orophin made a mental note not to engage in any private activities near the palace windows, as the diaphanous curtains did practically nothing to conceal the interiors from prying eyes. Of course, there weren't supposed to be any eyes at this level. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, especially when he noticed that the room directly below them belonged to Gildor, and that both he and Haldir were clearly visible. VERY clearly . . .
"I don't think this is such a good idea . . . "
Elladan had apparently also noticed the two just below them. "Well, I suppose that's ONE way of having dinner, although I personally have always preferred to keep it on the table."
Orophin felt an insane urge to giggle. Not that it was unusual for him to come across Haldir in the midst of an assignation, but this was a bit embarrassing. Licking desert off your lover might sound very erotic, or even be so if you were involved in it, but it did look rather silly from a distance. But not that much of a distance, some lucid part of his brain reminded him, and he suddenly wondered just how much trouble he would be in if he interrupted Haldir once again. It really didn't bear thinking about. "Be quick," he urged. Orophin was fairly sure that they were well concealed in the darkness beyond the palace windows, but Haldir's eyes had always been sharp, and he didn't want to prolong this insanity any longer than necessary.
"There he is." Elladan squinted through the intervening limbs, trying to see into his brother's room, which was still some distance away and to the left. "I don't see Glorfindel, though."
Orophin could not see much of anything from his position behind Elladan, but that concerned him less than the slimness of the branch under their feet. He had enough experience with trees to know that this one was not happy bearing the weight of both of them, but he could not fully understand the little moans of protest it was making with Elladan chattering away. ". . . imagine where he could be. Elrohir seemed so sure he would be coming."
"Maybe we just can't see him from here. Come, Elladan, let's leave your brother to his privacy." Orophin thought he could live without irritating Imladris' seneschal again, assuming he was there, and he shrank back a bit more against the tree's trunk.
"I'll try to get closer," Elladan said, and before Orophin could caution him, he'd slid down perilously close to the end of the limb. The tree groaned louder and Orophin grabbed his lover's ankle, just in case.
"Elladan, I really think . . . " Orophin's protest was interrupted by a shout of indignation from the palace, and he closed his eyes in dread as Elrohir's heavily braided head suddenly appeared sticking out of a window, outrage on his features.
"What are you doing out there? Elladan, are you SPYING on me?" Elrohir did not wait for an answer, but grabbed his brother's arm and tried to drag him into the room. Elladan instinctively pulled away, but Elrohir was not willing to let him go and climbed out after him. "I can't believe you're doing this!," he hissed. "This is all YOUR fault!," he added, glaring at Orophin, who only managed to repress an indignant rejoinder because of the sight that met his eyes over Elrohir's shoulder.
Oh no. This couldn't be happening again. Having had to press back against the trunk of the tree and stand up to allow Elrohir sufficient room to join the party, Orophin was faced with the appalling sight of Glorfindel being slowly undressed by the king. The two were perfectly visible in the light of the lantern that hung just outside their window. Orophin managed to stop the stifled scream that threatened to escape him, but something of his horror must have shown on his face. He reached out to stop him, but it was too late; Elrohir looked back over his shoulder, following the direction of Orophin's stare, and froze.
* * *
"I am certain you can protect yourself from my lascivious urges," the king was saying as he removed Glorfindel's outer robes to more effectively continue his impromptu massage. Glorfindel sighed. In truth, he doubted he could be seduced by anyone that evening; he was too exhausted, and the king's hands did feel wonderful.
"I should be going." His voice held no conviction at all, and he really couldn't blame Thranduil for laughing at him. He did, however, protest slightly when his tunic was tugged over his head. The king ignored him and soon his shirt followed the tunic to the floor. The latter had been a poor barrier anyway, composed of an especially thin silk, a gift from Elrohir . . . Glorfindel shifted uncomfortably at that thought, and briefly tried to rise. He couldn't help but wonder how his young lover would view this particular scene, innocent though it might be, could he see it. However the king's hands pushed him back down.
"I will let you go," Thranduil promised, "just as soon as the rest of those knots come out of your muscles. Besides, I think we should talk." Glorfindel groaned, partly in pleasure--the king made an excellent masseur, and the hands on his bare skin felt divine--but also at the thought of having been maneuvered into one of those conversations after all. The king's next words surprised him, however. Glorfindel smiled slightly to himself--he should know by now never to underestimate Thranduil. "You should not take such a small company with you. Oh, I know the skill of the Galadrim," the king assured him, seeing Glorfindel's expression in the almost mirror like surface of the window, "but one hundred twenty is not an impressive number, especially when you do not know what you might be facing. I can have five hundred expert archers here in less than a week."
"Your majesty . . . "
"I lost people at Barad-dur, too, Glorfindel," Thranduil reminded him, his hands stilling momentarily as if to punctuate his words, then beginning their rhythmic stroking once more. "If there are other elves in the mines, some may belong to me. Celeborn did not bother to consult me about his plans, but you cannot deny the truth of my words, or my claims." As usual, Thranduil had phrased things in such a way as to make it impossible for Glorfindel to deny his logic.
"The decision was not made to insult you, your majesty. Imladris, too, would like to contribute to the rescue party, but the only ones of our realm going along are myself, Erestor and one of our operatives who chances to be here at the moment. We simply do not wish to tarry any longer than necessary."
"Then my people can meet you on the way. This mountain of yours is, I understand, closer to my realm than Lorien?" Glorfindel did not bother to wonder how Thranduil knew that. His silence was taken as acquiescence, and the king's voice had a smile in it when he spoke again. "Good. Then it is settled. Five hundred of my archers will meet you on the road."
Glorfindel found his desire to argue evaporating, especially when Thranduil began digging into the tense muscles lower down his back. By the Valar, that felt glorious! "But we will travel quickly. It may be difficult for your people to prepare themselves to meet us in time, and I fear Lord Celeborn will not wait. Even if you send a fast rider tonight, it will take . . . "
Glorfindel stopped at the king's rich laughter. Warm arms circled him, pulling him back into a sudden embrace. "My dear Glorfindel," Thranduil told him in amused tones, "I sent word two days ago!"
* * *
Orophin was able to say exactly what happened later, as the whole thing played out almost in slow motion. Elrohir stared at the erotic picture made by the two blond Eldar, the lamplight gleaming off their shining hair and causing every caress of the king's hands on Glorfindel's torso to be visible, as was the delight on their faces when the sultry massage ended in a close embrace. Orophin actually ached for Elrohir. Despite everything, no one deserved to have to see something like that, and the pain in the elfling's eyes was eloquent. Then something in him seemed to snap; every line in his body tensed, his face drained of colour and his lips twisted furiously. Suddenly he looked like a warrior's son.
There was no time to say anything, even had there been any words worth uttering, however, as the branch beneath them finally gave a massive shudder and cracked, tumbling all three towards the ground. Orophin grabbed at another branch above them while reaching for the neck of Elladan's tunic; the latter move was successful, the former was not, but he did manage to propel the three of them towards the talan before he lost his grip entirely. A second later they crashed through a window and tumbled into someone's room. It only took a brief glance about for Orophin to wish he'd just let them fall the five or so stories to the ground.
From somewhere beneath a pile of elves, someone groaned faintly. Gildor, who had been slammed against the table by the force of their entry into his rooms, snatched at his discarded tunic, but not before Orophin had a chance to see just why his brother was so infatuated with the elf. Well, who would have thought?
"Get off me!," a voice demanded furiously from somewhere beneath him, and Orophin scrambled to his feet, pulling Elladan with him before realising that his strangle hold on his lover was almost literally that. Elladan shot him a sour look and rubbed his neck after they detangled themselves, then everyone looked down at the two elves still sitting in the floor. Elrohir looked furious, although for which reason Orophin wasn't sure. The elf beside him, however, had clearly decided who to blame for this debacle and was glaring up at him, while holding a hand to his ankle. It was, Orophin suddenly noticed with a feeling of guilt, twisted at a rather unusual angle.
"Hello brother," Orophin said weakly.
TBC
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
"I'm telling you, I have to see this!" Elladan's eyes sparkled mischief up at him, but Orophin refused to be seduced so easily, especially into an act of supreme folly that could end up getting him killed.
Perhaps his insane lover could be shamed into deciding on another way of passing their evening. "Well, I learn something new about you every day. I never realised you're a voyeur!"
Elladan sighed impatiently. "I'm not. I just have to see old Glorfindel's reaction to this--I'd never forgive myself if I missed it."
"And if he just happens to look out the window and see us sitting in a tree, spying on him?"
"He won't. Didn't you see what Elrohir was wearing?" Orophin had to smile at the memory. Elrohir had been a picture of seduction: surrounded by what looked to be hundreds of burning candles, he had been wearing practically nothing, and that which he did have on was . . . Orophin's vocabulary failed him. It wasn't quite a tunic, for it only covered one side of his torso and had no arms, showing off part of a well-muscled but slim chest and a tightly defined stomach. Orophin had never seen a tunic that short or that loose before. It was silk, a seductive honey colour that, in the flickering candlelight, almost exactly matched that of Elrohir's lightly oiled skin. Gold armlets had encircled his biceps, golden strands wove their way through his elaborate braids and jeweled sandals decorated his high arched feet. No, Orophin decided, Glorfindel was not going to be looking out any windows. "And," Elladan promised, "if by some strange chance his eyes do wander, I'll say this was all my idea."
"Which it is!"
"Exactly. So what are you worried about?" Elladan's eyes were bright with laughter. "I thought you Galadrim were fearless."
Orophin shook his head in defeat. "That word is not synonymous with stupid." Or at least it hadn't been, before two brown haired imps from Imladris complicated his life.
Grinning delightedly at his obvious capitulation, Elladan caught hold of the bottom limb of the nearest tree. "I never thought it was. Come on--what could happen?"
* * *
Glorfindel made his weary way towards Elrohir's chambers. He was not looking forward to this. A servant had delivered a note to him, when he failed to show up for dinner, in Elrohir's hand, asking him to come to his rooms for a talk. Having spent two days supporting Elrond through something very close to a nervous breakdown, Glorfindel was in no mood for another stressful conversation. Especially after the talk with Lord Celeborn he had just had. As he was accompanying a party setting out at first light for the mountain, Glorfindel would have preferred a good night's sleep, which he had yet to get after the wearying week's hunt they had had and the emotional whirlwind since. No, he could definitely have done without what was almost certain to be a long, intense, and probably highly draining debate.
"So how is he?" Thranduil's voice stopped him just as he reached the stairs leading up to the guest quarters. Glorfindel had not seen the king since his return and had no desire to speak with him. However Thranduil had shown amazing restraint in staying away until now, knowing that Celeborn and Elrond, as one-time vassals of the high king, had more of a stake in the matter than he. Yet naturally he was curious; Glorfindel could hardly blame him for that.
He turned to see the king coming towards him from the shadows of the hallway. His attire was unusually simple--a satin robe in a deep red colour, but lacking embroidery or other adornments--and his hair was pulled into a simple club at his neck. Somehow, his appearance reassured Glorfindel that a seduction wasn't foremost on Thranduil's mind that night. "Not well. Lord Elrond is doing what he can, but . . . the damage is extensive."
Thranduil cocked an eyebrow at him. "Considering that he is supposed to be dead, that is hardly surprising," he commented dryly. "Has there been any word as to why he lives, what happened to him?" Glorfindel paused, and Thranduil looked slightly insulted. "You forget, I was there, Glorfindel! I did not see what happened, but I mourned him with the rest. I have a RIGHT to know." The king's hand grasped the polished banister in front of him, barring the way up the stairs. It was more his words than his posture that restrained Glorfindel, who put a weary hand to his head before he thought about it.
"You are exhausted." Thranduil glanced over his crumpled blue robe--had he changed it today, Glorfindel wasn't certain anymore--and his mussed hair. "Your pardon--I should have noticed. Come with me." He paused as Glorfindel shot him a look, then shook his head ruefully. "No, seneschal, this isn't part of some elaborate plot. I simply want to ask you a few questions without having you pass out on me. Just for a moment?"
Glorfindel never knew exactly why he went. Part was his disinclination to face Elrohir, and the scene likely to ensue, part was Thranduil's undoubted persuasive ability, and part was simple exhaustion--he was just too tired to argue. The king led him to the impressive set of rooms set aside for his use. No one else seemed to be about, which was odd considering the number of attendants Thranduil had brought with him.
"Wine?" The king gestured with a bottle towards the comfortable chairs near the window and Glorfindel settled himself in one, unconsciously relaxing weary muscles against the soft cushions. He was so tired that it was a struggle to keep his eyes open. "Someone nabbed the last of the Berdruskan," Thranduil was saying, "so we will have to make due with a lesser vintage." Glorfindel found a glass pressed into his hand and he sipped its contents gratefully. It was good, whatever it was, but that was not surprising--Thranduil knew wine. Among other things, Glorfindel thought grimly, as the king moved behind him and began to gently knead his shoulders.
"Thranduil . . . "
"Shhh. Just relax. This isn't a seduction--I rather prefer my partners conscious. Talk to me."
The tone, as much as the hypnotic motions of the hands, was very persuasive. Glorfindel complied, not that there was much to tell. "He IS Gil-Galad--there's no doubt about that. Elrond is certain."
"He should know." Glorfindel stiffened, but there was nothing disrespectful in Thranduil's tone. He assumed the Mirkwood ruler had heard the rumours about Elrond and the high king, but he apparently had no issue with them. Odd, how well he and Elrond seemed to be getting along lately.
"The king does not seem to remember anything, not even who he is. We have no idea why he is alive, or how he came to be imprisoned. Should his condition improve, Elrond hopes to restore at least some of his memory, and then perhaps he can tell us . . . something."
"But you are not planning to wait for that."
Glorfindel sighed, and despite himself leaned further back against those gifted hands. He hadn't realised how many kinks there were in his muscles until Thranduil began working through them. "We leave in the morning."
"How many?"
"Lord Celeborn, Erestor and I, one hundred of the Galadrim, and a group of specially trained Noldorin servants of the Lady."
"Appropriate that it should be Noldor, under the circumstances."
Glorfindel smiled. Thranduil was easy to talk to--nothing ever had to be spelled out with him, nothing explained. The king missed so very little. "The Lady seemed to know even before we journeyed here that her servants would need training for a special task."
"How convenient." Glorfindel laughed, the king's wry humour really was contagious. He almost wished he could stay here, drinking wine and relaxing under those talented hands, instead of facing the harangue that would surely occupy most of his night. Again, Thranduil seemed to understand his thoughts without being told.
"Another glass." The king plucked the slender flute Glorfindel had not even realised he'd drained from his fingers and moved to refill it. "Oh come, seneschal," he teased, seeing Glorfindel's uncertain expression. "You need to rest, and I enjoy your company. Surely, a few more minutes will cause no harm?" Thranduil held out the crystal goblet, once more filled with seductive ruby red wine.
Glorfindel knew he should go, knew Elrohir was waiting for him, but perhaps it would be best if he did not see him under the circumstances. He was so tired and his usual calm was in tatters; he could not be certain not to say something that would make things worse. Perhaps they both needed a bit more time before having that particular discussion. Slowly, his fingers curved about the glass Thranduil held out so temptingly. As he said, just a few more minutes . . .
* * *
"What do you see?"
"Nothing, and you're on my foot." Orophin shifted slightly, but there wasn't a great deal of room on the narrow branch. Still, it had been the only one close enough to allow them to get within viewing distance of the guest rooms. There were only a few with lighted windows, but they were easy enough to see through. Orophin made a mental note not to engage in any private activities near the palace windows, as the diaphanous curtains did practically nothing to conceal the interiors from prying eyes. Of course, there weren't supposed to be any eyes at this level. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, especially when he noticed that the room directly below them belonged to Gildor, and that both he and Haldir were clearly visible. VERY clearly . . .
"I don't think this is such a good idea . . . "
Elladan had apparently also noticed the two just below them. "Well, I suppose that's ONE way of having dinner, although I personally have always preferred to keep it on the table."
Orophin felt an insane urge to giggle. Not that it was unusual for him to come across Haldir in the midst of an assignation, but this was a bit embarrassing. Licking desert off your lover might sound very erotic, or even be so if you were involved in it, but it did look rather silly from a distance. But not that much of a distance, some lucid part of his brain reminded him, and he suddenly wondered just how much trouble he would be in if he interrupted Haldir once again. It really didn't bear thinking about. "Be quick," he urged. Orophin was fairly sure that they were well concealed in the darkness beyond the palace windows, but Haldir's eyes had always been sharp, and he didn't want to prolong this insanity any longer than necessary.
"There he is." Elladan squinted through the intervening limbs, trying to see into his brother's room, which was still some distance away and to the left. "I don't see Glorfindel, though."
Orophin could not see much of anything from his position behind Elladan, but that concerned him less than the slimness of the branch under their feet. He had enough experience with trees to know that this one was not happy bearing the weight of both of them, but he could not fully understand the little moans of protest it was making with Elladan chattering away. ". . . imagine where he could be. Elrohir seemed so sure he would be coming."
"Maybe we just can't see him from here. Come, Elladan, let's leave your brother to his privacy." Orophin thought he could live without irritating Imladris' seneschal again, assuming he was there, and he shrank back a bit more against the tree's trunk.
"I'll try to get closer," Elladan said, and before Orophin could caution him, he'd slid down perilously close to the end of the limb. The tree groaned louder and Orophin grabbed his lover's ankle, just in case.
"Elladan, I really think . . . " Orophin's protest was interrupted by a shout of indignation from the palace, and he closed his eyes in dread as Elrohir's heavily braided head suddenly appeared sticking out of a window, outrage on his features.
"What are you doing out there? Elladan, are you SPYING on me?" Elrohir did not wait for an answer, but grabbed his brother's arm and tried to drag him into the room. Elladan instinctively pulled away, but Elrohir was not willing to let him go and climbed out after him. "I can't believe you're doing this!," he hissed. "This is all YOUR fault!," he added, glaring at Orophin, who only managed to repress an indignant rejoinder because of the sight that met his eyes over Elrohir's shoulder.
Oh no. This couldn't be happening again. Having had to press back against the trunk of the tree and stand up to allow Elrohir sufficient room to join the party, Orophin was faced with the appalling sight of Glorfindel being slowly undressed by the king. The two were perfectly visible in the light of the lantern that hung just outside their window. Orophin managed to stop the stifled scream that threatened to escape him, but something of his horror must have shown on his face. He reached out to stop him, but it was too late; Elrohir looked back over his shoulder, following the direction of Orophin's stare, and froze.
* * *
"I am certain you can protect yourself from my lascivious urges," the king was saying as he removed Glorfindel's outer robes to more effectively continue his impromptu massage. Glorfindel sighed. In truth, he doubted he could be seduced by anyone that evening; he was too exhausted, and the king's hands did feel wonderful.
"I should be going." His voice held no conviction at all, and he really couldn't blame Thranduil for laughing at him. He did, however, protest slightly when his tunic was tugged over his head. The king ignored him and soon his shirt followed the tunic to the floor. The latter had been a poor barrier anyway, composed of an especially thin silk, a gift from Elrohir . . . Glorfindel shifted uncomfortably at that thought, and briefly tried to rise. He couldn't help but wonder how his young lover would view this particular scene, innocent though it might be, could he see it. However the king's hands pushed him back down.
"I will let you go," Thranduil promised, "just as soon as the rest of those knots come out of your muscles. Besides, I think we should talk." Glorfindel groaned, partly in pleasure--the king made an excellent masseur, and the hands on his bare skin felt divine--but also at the thought of having been maneuvered into one of those conversations after all. The king's next words surprised him, however. Glorfindel smiled slightly to himself--he should know by now never to underestimate Thranduil. "You should not take such a small company with you. Oh, I know the skill of the Galadrim," the king assured him, seeing Glorfindel's expression in the almost mirror like surface of the window, "but one hundred twenty is not an impressive number, especially when you do not know what you might be facing. I can have five hundred expert archers here in less than a week."
"Your majesty . . . "
"I lost people at Barad-dur, too, Glorfindel," Thranduil reminded him, his hands stilling momentarily as if to punctuate his words, then beginning their rhythmic stroking once more. "If there are other elves in the mines, some may belong to me. Celeborn did not bother to consult me about his plans, but you cannot deny the truth of my words, or my claims." As usual, Thranduil had phrased things in such a way as to make it impossible for Glorfindel to deny his logic.
"The decision was not made to insult you, your majesty. Imladris, too, would like to contribute to the rescue party, but the only ones of our realm going along are myself, Erestor and one of our operatives who chances to be here at the moment. We simply do not wish to tarry any longer than necessary."
"Then my people can meet you on the way. This mountain of yours is, I understand, closer to my realm than Lorien?" Glorfindel did not bother to wonder how Thranduil knew that. His silence was taken as acquiescence, and the king's voice had a smile in it when he spoke again. "Good. Then it is settled. Five hundred of my archers will meet you on the road."
Glorfindel found his desire to argue evaporating, especially when Thranduil began digging into the tense muscles lower down his back. By the Valar, that felt glorious! "But we will travel quickly. It may be difficult for your people to prepare themselves to meet us in time, and I fear Lord Celeborn will not wait. Even if you send a fast rider tonight, it will take . . . "
Glorfindel stopped at the king's rich laughter. Warm arms circled him, pulling him back into a sudden embrace. "My dear Glorfindel," Thranduil told him in amused tones, "I sent word two days ago!"
* * *
Orophin was able to say exactly what happened later, as the whole thing played out almost in slow motion. Elrohir stared at the erotic picture made by the two blond Eldar, the lamplight gleaming off their shining hair and causing every caress of the king's hands on Glorfindel's torso to be visible, as was the delight on their faces when the sultry massage ended in a close embrace. Orophin actually ached for Elrohir. Despite everything, no one deserved to have to see something like that, and the pain in the elfling's eyes was eloquent. Then something in him seemed to snap; every line in his body tensed, his face drained of colour and his lips twisted furiously. Suddenly he looked like a warrior's son.
There was no time to say anything, even had there been any words worth uttering, however, as the branch beneath them finally gave a massive shudder and cracked, tumbling all three towards the ground. Orophin grabbed at another branch above them while reaching for the neck of Elladan's tunic; the latter move was successful, the former was not, but he did manage to propel the three of them towards the talan before he lost his grip entirely. A second later they crashed through a window and tumbled into someone's room. It only took a brief glance about for Orophin to wish he'd just let them fall the five or so stories to the ground.
From somewhere beneath a pile of elves, someone groaned faintly. Gildor, who had been slammed against the table by the force of their entry into his rooms, snatched at his discarded tunic, but not before Orophin had a chance to see just why his brother was so infatuated with the elf. Well, who would have thought?
"Get off me!," a voice demanded furiously from somewhere beneath him, and Orophin scrambled to his feet, pulling Elladan with him before realising that his strangle hold on his lover was almost literally that. Elladan shot him a sour look and rubbed his neck after they detangled themselves, then everyone looked down at the two elves still sitting in the floor. Elrohir looked furious, although for which reason Orophin wasn't sure. The elf beside him, however, had clearly decided who to blame for this debacle and was glaring up at him, while holding a hand to his ankle. It was, Orophin suddenly noticed with a feeling of guilt, twisted at a rather unusual angle.
"Hello brother," Orophin said weakly.
TBC