DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Making no profit.

WARNING: Rated Mature. Because Thranduil is an Elf of his word.

Of love, forever

- In which promises are kept –

She was truly remarkable, his beloved was. Nothing under the light of Eru was as exquisite as Torwen's perfect body wracked by wave upon wave of pleasure. Her very soul rippled with the effects of his touch. Thranduil's hands were full of her soft flesh, her hair was tangled around his neck and he was so deep inside her, they were no longer two separate beings, but one tightly bound entity of light and love and pulsing, burning lust.

Torwen had come to him freely and wildly, quickly dispatching with the tedious requirements of a royal wedding. The brightest souls of Elvendom had attended, all fair beyond compare, and still Torwen had been the fairest. Thranduil understood power, knew what it was to be shaped by it intimately, and all of his kith and kin gathered under his green woods had it in spades – from Elrond of Rivendell, battle tried and wise, to the tall Galadriel, the Elfen witch whose mere presence was enough to shake the foundations of this Middle-earth. Yet none had Torwen's fierceness, the singular ability to take command of a roomful of gods and leave them reeling in her wake.

Her eyes had never been brighter. No jewel he possessed could rival the glittering gold of her gaze, steady and strong and locked unto him. She'd walked to him under the stars peeking through his great Halls, all dressed in shimmering gold and sparkling silver, her magnificent hair as wild as the beasts that roamed his forests. She'd given him the words, the promise under the watchful eyes of Eru and all His children gathered for the wedding feast of Thranduil King and Torwen, the Last Princess of Doriath, and he'd given her his all. His heart. His soul.

His love.

Forever.

As the vows were exchanged, Thranduil had a brief moment when he'd felt empty, as if Torwen had taken everything he was and would ever be and filled herself with the very essence of his being. She looked larger the life and otherworldly, a pillar of light that obliterated the mere notion of his path through the ages.

And then…

…then she smiled and the love that washed through him was enough to make Thranduil Oropherion, the King of the Woodland Realm, better – more – than he could have ever hoped to be.

After that, Thranduil did not remember much of the actual wedding feast. He must have gotten around to exchanging a few words with his more distinguished guests because he could distinctly recall Galadriel – that strange, elusive creature – smirking his way, her blue eyes full of mirth.

"You must come and feast together in Lorien," she'd said, her words honey warm, yet resolute.

Galadriel had liked Torwen, had followed her with ancient and cool eyes, and Thranduil thought he knew why. Elves could be an unmoving lot. The world was forever blooming, but the Fair Folk could linger in the shadow of a memory, of a thought. Torwen could not comprehend such resignation. It was not in her nature to bow down to the passage of time, even as it crawled at a slower pace for Elves than for the other people of Middle-earth. Torwen could move mountains and often did. Hers was a freedom Galadriel coveted and yet feared.

"Elves are creatures of the twilight," his father, Oropher King, had once said. "One foot here, one foot there, we are forever straddling the line between light and darkness. We tilt this way and we tilt that way and the world burns." With Torwen, Thranduil had discovered that darkness was not the absence of light, but that it existed because of it, just like his beloved could love and fight him with the same breath.

But Torwen had not fought him – much – that night. She'd been gracious with his – their – guests, utterly charming and enchanting. She'd even complimented the musicians on their performance, although Thranduil knew the harp served only to invite boredom at Torwen's table. All of this he had watched her do throughout the night, until she'd made herself scarce and his Halls had dimmed a little. He'd found her easy enough though, in his chambers - as he often did, for Torwen had no notion of boundaries and toyed with propriety at her leisure - standing in a pool of her own sparkling clothes, ripping her mother's leaf jewel from her hair.

"This thing has been hurting me all night", she'd said, beautiful with only the satin of her hair for wear.

Thranduil had been hurting all his life. But once he settled Torwen in his arms – his love, his Queen, his wife – he forgot it all: the bareness of his existence, the shade of death that had tainted most of his impossibly long years, everything save Torwen's bright fire and the way it had licked and lapped at him until he'd made his own little pool of clothes. Torwen had moaned, deep and low, her body moving against his, a raging sea upon an immovable shore, as the fever that had ailed her throughout the night spiked at the touch of Thranduil's cool skin.

"My dreams have been mad of late," she'd whispered between kisses across his chest, up on his neck, which was as far as she could reach, if she did not snare him closer. "Mad with want of you…"

"Torwen…"Thranduil had laughed.

Swiftly, he'd lifted her up in his arms, and kissed her pretty, crazy words right out of her mouth.

She'd bloodied his lips in return.

He'd left fire in the wake of his roaming hands.

She almost, nearly growled her impatience with him and Thranduil learned that this would not be a silent affair, so he feasted on her breasts – sweet, oh so sweet – while she was panting against the crown of his head, her hands hopelessly tangled in his hair. He could feel the magic they were making thundering between them, bridging the void between their souls with coils harder than the precious metals of their wedding rings or the diamonds that had shined from Torwen's blood red hair. Slick with sweat and fragrant with love, Torwen had wound herself around him, her body taut and restless, the all consuming passion of their union threatening to flood them both.

"I promised you this, beloved. Now sing for me."

He'd readied her with his fingers, spreading her welcoming warmth, doling out her pleasure touch by torturous touch until her eyes burnt bright, bright as gold, bright as fire, bright as the love he had for her. She gasped. She screamed when Thranduil just barely stroked the right cords and she arched her back in an agony of desire. But his Torwen was ravenous and impatient. She'd caught his wrist in her strong hand and with a wet whisper and a lick of her tongue over the shell of his pointed ear and a nip at the top, she'd commanded him: Deeper. Faster.

She shattered when he'd complied with his name on her lips.

"Thranduil, my King…"

He'd kissed her long, kissed her hard, stole her breath and gave it back to her, until between pants and bruising kisses to her full lower lip, she'd whispered silkily: "You are… a battle I cannot win…"

Thranduil laughed against the side of her neck, in the crook of her shoulder, and with a decisive thrust, he claimed his victory. He was not gentle and Torwen had not shut her eyes. She could feel him, this still, golden invader, deep within her body, dark within her soul, his blue eyes burning with the cold fire of the distant stars. This was her King, her battle lord, a tall glass of perfectly contained violence, dangerous and deadly, when she wanted him loose, unbound and unchecked. She wanted the storm in his eyes whenever she disobeyed him, the rain of blood he released whenever he thought her in danger. She wanted the weight of his body crushing her, claiming her, making a place for her in his soul.

Torwen braced herself on her forearms and pushed upwards, bringing them closer, reveling in the wet sound of their union. Her skin was burning where they touched. It drove her mad, the hardness of him against the flesh made tender from his kisses. She licked her lips and then she licked his until he finally engaged and opened and then she fused their mouths together, her tongue dancing along his. She liked the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him beginning to move against her. She bit his perfect cheekbone, wound one arm around his neck and angled her hips so she could take him deeper. "Come to me, now, beloved," she'd said. The fragile bond forged under the light of Eru sung between them, strengthening with each thrust, with each broken whisper, until Torwen was warm, creamy and utterly defeated. Until the fire in her soul lit a kindling flame in Thranduil's heart and he closed his eyes against the cresting pleasure. In his mind's eye, Torwen's heavy hair was a river of blood flowing over his pale white arms, but the vision didn't last.

He kissed the column of her throat, leaving purple bruises blooming in his wake. He never stopped the greedy rhythm of his body, seeking with nimble hands to catch the tremors racking Torwen's own. He knew he wouldn't have her at a disadvantage for long. Already Torwen's golden eyes had a glint of steel in them, but he'd waited an eternity for this, he'd take an eternity to quench his lust for Torwen, now wife of Thranduil King.

"You," he'd said, "you are my sweetest victory."

The night was still, but Torwen felt restless. She'd been told of the languor that came with lovemaking and yet she felt nothing of the sort. She was pleasantly sore, true, and sated, but there was a current thrumming through her, like something had crawled underneath her skin and pulled at her heart's strings. She felt full, full to bursting, with some unnamed emotion that stormed its way in and around her.

"You are so strong… I never imagined…" Thranduil murmured against her skin. He was resting against her belly, his hair blanketing her chest. She'd been playing in it for hours, arranging and rearranging the silken strands in fanciful curls. No jewels or silver robes would fit her better than the cool glide of Thranduil's hair against her heated skin. None would feel as good. That thought stirred the banked fire in the part of her Thranduil was currently gently kissing. Torwen cupped the back of his head and scratched his scalp with long sweeps of her short clipped nails.

"What do you mean, my love?"

Thranduil pierced her with a crisp blue stare, but he was smiling, in that secret way of his that never failed to remind Torwen that he was indeed much older than she was. They called her the Last Princess of Doriath, but Torwen was only mildly royal. Thranduil Oropherion was the son of a king. His was the knowledge of long ages.

"We forged a bond tonight, beloved," and Thranduil dipped to place a swooping kiss on Torwen's lean belly. The muscles quivered under his lips and he lingered until the quiver turned into a full blown thrill. "All unions of elves are made in love, but none are as strong as ours. I can feel it in your bones, gliding across your skin, seeping into mine."

All Torwen could feel was the heat of his palms and the brush of his lips and the sweep of his hair-tips against breasts made heavy with love. He liked touching her there. Earlier, he'd offered her sweet summer wine from his cup, but he'd smiled so prettily, his eyes full of laughter and love, she'd spilled the cup. It wasn't exactly laughter that had ignited the fire in his eyes then, as he'd traced the red rivulet makings its sticky passage through the valley of her breasts. It was hunger. The next drop of wine he'd spilled on purpose, just to see it hang from the peak of her right breast before he'd sipped it clean. And Thranduil had feasted until Torwen could no longer tell if she was drunk on wine or love.

But now, her King did not linger. Against her lips, he whispered:

"I never expected such a gift." He almost felt unworthy.

"You have gifted me everything," Torwen replied, gently kissing the corner of his mouth. "I should give something back."

Thranduil smiled and reached out to brush an errant red curl away from her face.

"You have given me more than I could hope for, Torwen, my love."

"Nonsense." Torwen pushed herself up, still a bit miffed that even half standing she could not be free of Thranduil's caging arms. "You are King. You should hope for more. I even urge you to expect it."

Thranduil withdrew, drawing back on his haunches so his Queen may have her space. Loving did not always make Torwen docile. He had taken his due of her and he did not intend to face the dawn without at least another taste, but Torwen's navigating of the new relationship between the two of them was beginning to hit the seas of irritation.

She'd been raised in deference to him and despite Torwen's rather attractive streak of rebeliousness, she was still a good little Elvish soldier attuned to his every move. That's how they'd won battles together, when he'd been a general in his Fathers's army and she, a captain in disguise. But Torwen would not submit for very long. Not that he wanted her to. Thranduil had not knelt for any one, but he'd kneel for her.

And with that encouraging thought in mind, Thranduil took hold of a delicate ankle and bowed for a kiss and a nip.

"So what treats should this King be looking forward to?"

Magnanimous by nature, Torwen allowed the quick bite, both to her ankle and his ingratiated tone, and continued, using the fingers on her wedded hand to exemplify.

"A warm bed every night, for starters."

That settled the Queen's Chambers debate, Thranduil thought with a smirk.

His own parents had not shared a room to the best of his knowledge. In consequence, Thranduil's courtiers – the few that survived from Oropher King's retinue – had tripped over themselves in furnishing a room Torwen had no intention of living in. Thranduil deliberated how much of a waste of time that had proved to be. After a swift consideration – made even swifter by a glimpse of moonlight catching on Torwen's smooth porcelain thigh – Thranduil decided Torwen could rest wherever she damned well pleased as long as it had him in her immediate vicinity: "How…enticing."

Torwen concurred.

"Yes, yes. Not to mention the sound counsel I offer. Significantly less paperwork to boot."

The snort Thranduil produced was rather undignified and it earned him a piercing golden stare. The delicate ankle he'd been caressing also made less than delicate contact with his ribs, so Thranduil rapidly conceded: "Sounds very promising, my dear."

That seemed to appease Torwen somewhat because her eyes took to a warmer shade of gold. Everything tense in her seemed to unwind as well and when next she spoke, she was almost shy.

"And a son. A golden boy, with your hair," Torwen reached out and drew closer, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger, "and your eyes." She brushed her knuckles across the side of his face, kissed him once and rested her forehead against his chin. "He will be my greatest gift."

A chill ran through Thranduil's heart. It was fleeting, the feeling, but it settled in the shadowed corner the desolation of Sauron had left in his heart.

Thranduil quickly gathered Torwen closer and said, his voice light, for we would entertain no darkness tonight: "Why not a daughter? A fierce woodland creature, with your hair…"

Torwen's hair was a heavy veil of red silk and Thranduil could probably wrap himself twice in it, but Torwen was not always partial to it. She coveted the silver gold strands of Lirael and fair Galadriel. "Star spun, not blood drenched" she'd often say, but Thranduil was mesmerized by it. Even now, he could not help but fist his hand in its length and watch it turn to fiery life in the flickering light of the candles.

"…fine, my hair. But not my temper."

"I'd welcome them both, beloved." Thranduil laughed. "Your hair and your temper." He kissed Torwen once, twice and once again. "A son and a daughter. I'd welcome everything, as long as…"

…you wouldn't leave me. But where would she go? There was no place he wouldn't follow. Thranduil did not say it, though, and banished the wish. And even if Torwen looked confused for a moment, waiting for him to finish his words, she mellowed in his embrace when he whispered over the top of her head: "…as long as it's what you wish."

He could feel her smiling against his shoulder before, presumably in retaliation for his earlier transgressions, Torwen took a bite of his skin and laughed at his yelp.

"I'll drink to that!"

And true to her word and quick as a sprite, she jumped from the bed and fished his golden overcoat from the floor.

"This is ridiculous, I could fit an entire army in here."

The coat was huge on her, true, but Torwen's penchant for appropriating Thranduil's clothes amused the King. It seemed only fair since she already owned his heart that she ravage his wardrobe. She'd tried on one of his crowns once and laughed herself silly when it kept slipping down the back of her head. Then she'd nearly ripped it in two trying to untangle it from her hair. They'd decided – meaning Torwen had declared and he'd obliged her – that she'd keep her solid silver circlet as her crown and stay away from Thranduil's ornate headpieces. Luckily, his jewels were safe, for Torwen had no great need of them and rarely wore any. Thranduil had yet to divine if it was because her Lady Mother had not deemed Torwen worthy of having any or because she honestly did not care for them. Still, he hadn't missed the twinkle in her eyes when he'd presented her with her wedding ring or when she wore her Mother's hairpin and the King had a plan to ignite that twinkle into a flame. He'd made arrangements.

Looking at her now, against the golden backdrop of his coat, Torwen's thoroughly mussed hair was a red haze. Thranduil had even begun to favour his red sashes of late, he ruefully realized. She was sweet poison, his Queen was, flowing and pooling in every crevice of his existence.

She was watering down her wine, the little cheat. But he'd known that. Torwen did not enjoy relinquishing control for very long, if at all.

Thranduil stretched and followed her to the table. He'd give her her precious control. He'd give her so much. So much more.

Bereft of his coat, Thranduil approached her naked. He felt light and carefree, for the first time in centuries. But around Torwen, he wrapped himself heavily. He brushed her fingers away from the cups as he unfolded the coat from her body. "I am not thirsty."

He spun her around, her gaze luminous and the snark mute on her lips. "I am not thirsty for wine. Not tonight." Not any night since he'd laid eyes on her.

The coat was heavy. He only had to ease it gently away and it fell open, clinging to one pale shoulder. Her body had been white as fresh snow, cool as spring water, but it burned to the touch now. She was pink all over, from the tips of her high, round breasts to the shadowed apex of her thighs. And there the rivers of her passion ran bountiful.

The threads of his yearning knotted in his chest. How he loved her… How he wanted her...

"Thranduil…"

Even her voice was a spell. And its binding power brought him to his knees. He tunneled his hands under his coat and her bottom and Torwen hoisted herself up on her arms on the table. He breathed in her scent, like sampling a fine wine. But nothing could measure up as the first sip turned into a taste and a taste into mouthful and Thranduil forwent the savouring for the exquisite pleasure pain of the sating. He used his teeth to punish, his tongue to soothe and his lips to bring forth the pleasure until Torwen opened to him like a flower to the wind. He licked and laved and lapped between her thighs while Torwen shivered and moaned and cried his name above him. He did not stop. He could not stop. Not when her taste was honey on his tongue and she moved so fluidly against his mouth. Torwen rode the storm until she was spent and her arms gave out underneath her and even then she could feel Thranduil drinking his fill of her, one of her legs carelessly draped on his strong shoulder.

She did not remember him standing up after, just the feeling of weightlessness and his arms around her. Blindly, she touched his face and felt the tears and then her passion dampening his lips. She was his now, indelibly marked for eternity. But when they kissed and his tears mixed with hers, the voice, the whisper in the light of the slowly creeping sun, was theirs.

My love. Forever.

A/N: Well there, I did it. The smut I have been actually craving since I started writing this story. I do intend to eventually catch up to the events of the Hobbit, but it might take a while. I think this is a good place to wait though, don't you?