Chapter Twenty-Eight

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SUMMARY: So Ecthelion and his family are visiting the North. How is it going so far?

Thranduil receives a little something in the mail from his cousin Celeborn. What is it, and will Bard like it?

"Equality is not a concept. It's not something we should be striving for. It's a necessity. Equality is like gravity. We need it to stand on this earth as men and women, and the misogyny that is in every culture is not a true part of the human condition. It is life out of balance, and that imbalance is sucking something out of the soul of every man and woman who's confronted with it. We need equality. Kinda now."

― Joss Whedon

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City of Dale, 15th of June 2946 T.A.

The banquet to welcome the noble family from the south was attended by the nobility of Dale, the Woodland Realm and Erebor. To Bard's great relief, the Dwarves were restrained and polite. He asked Daín about it later and was told Queen Dilna had threatened the Dwarves with a month on chamber pot duty if they didn't chew with their mouths closed, refrain from drinking too much and absolutely no belching.

"O' course," he stroked his beard with a glint in his eye. "I cannae promise the same when they come te the Mountain te stay!"

After there was a dance in the Castle ballroom, where the Dwarves and the Elves took turns providing the music. Bard, Thranduil and the family had made a point to learn some of dance steps popular in Gondor, and this clearly impressed their guests. Princess Nienor smiled wide as she whirled around the room in Thranduil's arms, Bain, Rhys and Bowen took turns dancing with Princess Fíriel, and Tilda and took a turn around the floor with Denethor, who stepped on both her feet while he counted the steps out loud.

When Sigrid managed to get away from her shift at the Healing Hall (Bard suspected Thranduil had said something to Ermon about that) she looked graceful and beautiful as she danced with her Da, her Ada and Lord Ecthelion. When Denethor awkwardly bowed and offered his hand, she agreed and suffered the same fate as her sister. Bard was grateful she was too polite to say anything, especially under the watchful and approving eyes of Denethor's parents.

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"Oh, my poor toes!" Tilda whined later in the family's private Sitting Room, as she rubbed her feet.

"Don't I know it," Sigrid commiserated, doing the same. "Denethor does not want to be here, and he doesn't care who knows it, does he? Da, did you see how he was leering at me?"

"What is this?" Thranduil sat up straight. "Was he too familiar with you?"

"Nothing as obvious as that," she said. "But he's…oily, and I don't just mean his skin or his spots. He acts like he's better than us."

"What did he say to you?" Da asked, rubbing his temples.

"The usual 'safe subjects' as if he was reading from some sort of list. It's his attitude. He just acts so entitled, you know? Like he's 'lowering himself' to be among the masses, and wonders why we aren't grateful. I'm sorry, but I really don't like him."

"I don't either," Tilda said. "I'll be polite, but I think he's a creep."

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"How do you think it went?" Bard asked as he and Thranduil crawled into bed later. "Were we posh enough, do you think?"

"You are posh enough in your own way, Meleth nîn," the elf kissed him and snuggled against him. "What do you make of them?"

"Well, I liked Ecthelion right off. His wife seemed a bit cold at first, but who wouldn't be after weeks of traveling? Or maybe it takes her a while to warm up to people."

"Nienor is the daughter of one of the most conservative Council members in Gondor," Thranduil said. "Lord Anárion and Denethor are very close, and it is increasingly evident he is grooming his grandson to be just like him."

"What do the boy's parents think of that?"

"They cannot forbid Denethor from seeing him, which is a shame. Mithrandir told me that his daughter's marriage to Ecthelion was supposed to be a political match only, which is traditional among the nobility in Gondor. Daughters are little more than pawns in a game of power and wealth. He was not at all pleased when Nienor and Ecthelion fell in love, and she became allied with her husband's ideals."

"Uh oh. So now he is focused on the boy?"

"Yes, and if he succeeds, I fear for Gondor when the War comes."

"Well," Bard sighed and rubbed the flat planes of Thranduil's stomach, "let's hope this trip teaches Denethor not to fear or denounce anything he doesn't understand." He slid his hand under the waistband of Thranduil's sleeping pants and caressed the curve of his hip. "Was it just me, or does the boy have a problem with us? Both being male, I mean?"

"If Denethor is anything like his grandfather, yes. Mithrandir happened to be in Gondor while this trip was announced, his letter said that several Council members were rather vocal in their disapproval."

"Oh, great," Bard's heart sank. "So, they're bigots."

"Not all of them. Turgon has no issue with it, and his is the opinion that counts the most, politically. The problem is,and you'll see this everywhere, I fear—is that there is a faction that preaches that our love is against the will of the Valar, therefore we are doomed."

"Oh, for star's sake," Bard muttered. "They don't really believe that, do they?"

"The followers? It seems so. As to Anárion and the others that that preach this nonsense? I doubt it; it is the power they can wield with this idea that matters."

"Do you think that's why Ecthelion accepted our invitation?"

"I do," Thranduil nodded. "Those in power use the insecurities of their less educated followers against them. They convince these people they are they are fighters for some sort of moral army, which makes them special and superior. This movement is slowly gaining momentum; I am sad to say. Mithrandir fears it will become worse in time, and is surely the work of Sauron. Fear and ignorance are his biggest advantages, and if he can plant the seeds now when he is ready to declare himself he will have the advantage."

"The best way to conquer a people is to divide them," Bard observed.

Thranduil rolled over to face him with a teasing smirk. "You do realize we are breaking the rules by 'Kinging' in our bedroom."

"I know," Bard sighed ruefully. "It's just that there's so much riding on this visit, and we have to have a place where you and I can talk about in complete privacy. Valar help us if any of this gets back to them."

"I agree. For the duration, we will make an exception."

Then a thought struck Bard. "When did you get that letter from Gandalf, Thranduil?"

The Elvenking hesitated. "A few months ago."

"And you didn't tell me on purpose."

"You have worked so hard to make Dale something to be proud of, and I wanted their very first impression of you to show that."

Bard's mouth hardened. "You had no right to keep this from me."

"I never meant to hurt you, or make you feel disadvantaged," Thranduil's words were measured. "If you had known—"

"You should have told me."

"I wanted them to see you—and Dale—at its very best. If there was any hint of defensiveness, it would affect the rest of their visit, do you not see? What would you have done differently had you know there are those who would make a union such as ours against the law? Who decry it s immoral?"

"If the King of Gondor himself returned and denounced it, I would still be proud!" Bard blinked angrily. "Who gives a shit what some arseholes down South think?"

Thranduil said nothing as Bard glowered at him. For the first time in their marriage, Bard felt manipulated by his husband, and for a moment, he wondered how many other times this ancient Elf had done the same. A wave of mistrust filled his heart. Until now, he had always believed there was complete truth between them, and he needed to rely on that, with all the pressures and challenges of running a new Kingdom.

Even when their truths made each other angry they never lied to each other. But Thranduil hadn't actually lied, had he?

And this was Thranduil, who had never been anything but supportive and ready to help. Not once had the Elvenking flouted his age or centuries of experience over Bard's head to make him feel foolish and inexperienced. Thranduil had never forced his ideas or opinions upon Bard, but always insisted the final decision was his, and for this, he had more than earned Bard's trust.

Bard had only been King for less than five years, while Thranduil dealt with just about every other culture in Middle Earth, but never made Bard feel less than his equal.

Thranduil knew how much he wanted it to go well. Maybe it was sneaky and underhanded. And maybe his own reaction was about his own nervousness. There was no doubt that when he first met Ecthelion and his family, there was none of the defensiveness he was feeling now, and his warmth and hope was pure and genuine. Ulmo's balls, if Hilda had gotten wind of all that, she would be as a mother unable to contain her outrage at any slight on her family and her people. She'd have just as soon slapped them silly as to talk to them.

Thranduil wasn't treating anyone like pieces on a Stratagem board. He was simply trying to avert an unnecessary crisis.

Bard swallowed hard as the resentment drained away. "I'm sorry," he said, leaning his cheek into Thranduil's hand. "You did the right thing. The best way to fight that sort of ignorance is to be ourselves, and to show them how happy we are."

"And we are most assuredly happy, are we not?" Thranduil rubbed their noses together. "I have never been happier, Bard. Truly."

"Really?" Bard smiled. "For someone as old as you, that's really saying something."

"It is. I have you, and the children, and our family. My relationship with Legolas has never been better, and that is a dream come true. Tauriel and I are closer than we have ever been, and Galion is happy with his new husband. And I can enjoy my memories of Mírelen without regret or pain." He lifted his hand from Bard's cheek and brushed the hair from his face. "I love my life here with you."

"I'm happy, and I'm happy you're so happy," Bard's hand traveled from Thranduil's hip to cup his rapidly hardening cock and gave it a few strokes, twisting his hand at the tip in a way that made the elf gasp with pleasure. "What do you say we quit the Kinging for the night and be happy together?"

"You have such wonderful ideas, Meleth nîn," Thranduil grabbed the back of Bard's neck and drew him in for a hard, searching kiss.

They kicked off their clothes and tossed them on the floor. Bard rolled onto his back and reached into the drawer of his bedside table for the oil, but Thranduil stopped him.

"Not that, Meleth nîn," he said, and scrabbled around in the stand on his side of the bed. "I have a surprise. Celeborn sent me something in his last box. Apparently one of his Healers is from the Havens and his colleagues there sent along a new formula for…personal use."

"Oh? Should I be nervous?"

"I hope not. All he wrote was that it has become extremely popular in the bedrooms in Lothlórien."

Bard's brows rose at the ornate, expensive-looking bottle. "What exactly does it do that your gwîb can't?"

"He would not say. Only that we would love it." Thranduil handed it to him and got onto his hands and knees.

Bard kissed the back of the elf's shoulders and all the way down to his spine. He massaged the creamy, firm globes of Thranduil's behind, admiring the defined muscles and lean lines of his husband's body. "You are so beautiful, love. I could come just looking at you."

"I would rather you let me come with you," the Elf panted, then groaned as Bard ran his fingers along the crack of Thranduil's arse and circled the dusky pink skin of his entrance.

"You like that, do you?"

"A ma…ma…"

After pulling the cork and setting it aside, Bard poured a small amount of the oil onto his fingers. It was thicker than the oil they normally used, the consistency of lotion one might soften hands with, though this was clear. The fragrance was unfamiliar, but pleasant. "It smells nice enough," he said. But what stirred his loins was the tingling sensation on his skin. Like small bubbles popping. "What was this supposed to do, exactly?"

He soon found out. When he inserted an oiled finger into Thranduil's entrance, the Elf's arms collapsed into the mattress with a low, moan.

"Oh, shit! Are you hurt?" he made to pull his finger out and grab the towel.

"Don't you dare stop!" Thranduil growled. "Don't you fucking dare!"

"On your head be it, then." Still amazed at the complete loss of Kingly dignity in his husband, he removed his finger, slicked them again and inserted two, this time curling his fingers down to find his—

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" No trace of the graceful, courtly, and disciplined Elvenking remained, but a primitive writhing, gasping, beast, and wasn't that the hottest, thing Bard had ever seen. More animal noises came from Thranduil as Bard worked him open, eager to see for himself what all the fuss was about, but still careful not to hurt him. Thranduil's moans turned into keening, ecstatic shrieks, as he buried his head in the pillow and scrabbled at the mattress with his hands.

After what seemed like forever, Bard was sure he wasn't going to do his husband an injury and applied a generous helping to himself. Ulmo's balls… he thought.

"Ulmo's balls!" he said, as the sensation of thousands of tiny bubbles popped against the hot, tight, sensitive skin of his cock, making it throb hard. "Oh, stars. Holy shit that feels so fucking good!"

"Get inside me, Bard! I need you to get inside me!" the Elvenking screamed, his hair fanning around him, flying as he tossed his head back and forth. "Please! Please!"

If Bard felt good with just the oil, combining it with the tight heat of Thranduil was beyond description. They both screamed as he entered and buried himself inside and began to thrust. Instantly they found their rhythm and slammed against each other, with cries and moans and screams as their mutual pleasure reached heights Bard had never dreamed possible. Not since their wedding night had he felt this amazing, but thoughts like that—any coherent thought, really—weren't even possible while it was happening. Only the purest, primal pleasure was possible now and it was beyond description.

Luckily, Bard had thought to use plenty of the lotion before, because he wouldn't have been able to add more before he leaned down and took Thranduil in his hand and stroked him. It wasn't even a conscious move, but instinctual, and when he grasped him the Elf began to sob incoherently, his eyes closed, as his hands gripped the sheet and tore it to ribbons as his body quaked with release.

When Bard started to come, he closed his eyes as every part of him seemed to break apart with the power of it. A loud rushing roar filled his ears as he went completely still, muscles taught and ready.

Then everything, the entire world, was joy.

"Ulmo's balls…" he said again later, catching his breath. He was crouched over Thranduil, panting into the sweaty sheen between shoulder blades.

"Mmmmm…" Thranduil hummed, not moving.

Bard carefully removed himself, then flopped onto the mattress, face up. "I'm going to be sore tomorrow." He moaned to the ceiling. "I feel like I ran a hundred miles."

"I think I may be walking a bit gingerly tomorrow."

Bard's eyes flew to his husband. "Did that stuff hurt you? Did I hurt you?"

"Not at all," Thranduil laughed sleepily. fingered the rags that was the sheet. "I did this?"

"You did. Born in a barn, were you?"

"My prostate is still tingling. I have no idea how long this oil lasts."

"Well, if you stay hard, make sure to wear a loose robe tomorrow. It wouldn't do to show off your 'assets' to our guests." With a pained groan, Bard got up and grabbed his husband's hand. "Come on. We'd better get every bit of this stuff off, or neither one of us is liable to get out of bed tomorrow."

As he and Thranduil went to take a bath and Bard thanked the Valar once again for the Elves and their magic. Once they were seated in the hot water, Bard asked. "Tell, me, love, did you not tell me about that gift to bribe me in case I was still mad at you?"

His husband bit his lip and looked sheepish.

Bard chuckled softly as he held Thranduil against his chest. "Well, who knows? If things with Ecthelion get strained, we'll give him a bottle of that stuff. That'd be sure to put a smile on his face."

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