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Lorinand Memoirs: The Bough Breaks	By : Avaloyuru Category: +Second Age > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 2207 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any form of copyright to Tolkien’s world, Middle-Earth, or associated characters or the Middle-Earth Fandom. I receive no form of compensation monetarily or otherwise from this work of fan-fiction

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Instinctively Thranduil flinched and moved away from the gentle hand that touched his shoulder. Blinking back the tears that still filled his eyes, he stared at his fathers’ personal servant Galion. Even as his tears blurred his vision he could see the concern shining from his soft moss green eyes.
“Go away. Leave me be.” He choked out the words, he would take pity from no one. Turning away from him, he closed his eyes against the pain in his neck from where his head had twisted violently from the blow. He could feel the blood still trickling freely from his nose, his lower lip, shoulder and wrist throbbed painfully.
“I am not going anywhere.” Galion spoke softly as he sat down beside him, pulling him into his arms. “We can just sit right here on the floor if that’s what you wish.” He told him, hugging him tightly, paying no heed to the blood as he gently pressed Thranduil’s head onto his shoulder.
Wrapped in his comforting arms, Thranduil could not hold back and let the tears flow, sobbing without restraint he clung to him. Curling closer to him there on the floor, he sought the comfort he could always find in the arms of the gentle servant that had always been there for him. His heart ached for the mother he could not remember. Even the image of her face had faded beyond his ability to recall, it had been so long ago and he was so young when they traveled here.
“Sorry.” Thranduil apologized, finally pulling back from him, his eyes were hot and swollen, his voice thick from his tears. “I am making a mess of your robes.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Galion said softly, placing a fatherly kiss on his forehead as he smoothed his hair, tucking the loose tendrils behind his ears. “Now let me look at you.” He said softly as he gently lifted the young princes’ chin so he could examine the swollen eyes, the bloodied lip and nose. “Well, you are going to be somewhat of a mess for a bit but I do not think it is permanent.”
“I must look a fright.” Thranduil managed quietly, trying to smile but it hurt more than he would admit even to himself.
“You are still beautiful to me.” Galion chuckled, very much aware of the young princes’ vanity. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up a bit so I can take a better look at you.”
Nodding as they helped each other to their feet, Thranduil stopped him, pausing to study his face for long moments. There was a time when he loved his father dearly and deep inside he wanted desperately to understand what he had done to make his father hate him so much. Looking into the concerned face of the servant, he was hit with a flood of memories of the many times as an elfling it had been into Galions’ arms he had run when he needed comfort, not his father. It was Galion who always came to him when he was sick or injured, and now after an argument with his father to check on him and make sure he was alright.
“Thank you, for everything.” Thranduil told him quietly, smiling in spite of the pain.
Galion only smiled at him as he slipped his arm around the young princes’ waist, guiding him into the bed chamber. It was with great difficulty that he managed to compose himself after finding him on the floor in such a state. Anger burned hotly in his gut toward the king for what he had done, it was inexcusable.
“Put this on.” He told him as he picked up Thranduils’ robe from the settee at the foot of the bed and laid it on the bed near him. “Come in when you’re ready.” He added as he turned toward the bathing chamber.
Waiting until after Galion had disappeared, Thranduil stripped off the sleeping tunic. Quickly using it to clean himself as best he could, he tossed it into the flames of the hearth and grabbed the robe he had laid over the bed for him. Pulling it on, he watched as the tunic caught in the flames, tying the robe closed, he turned toward the bathing chamber.
Turning up the small lamp on the table just inside the door, Galion carried it toward the carved basin in the far wall. Pulling a small wooden chair closer, he lifted the small lever to fill the basin. There was a constant supply of heated water from the large copper vats in the kitchen that flowed through a series of copper tubes into both Oropher’s and Thranduil’s private bathing chambers. Smiling softly, he patted the seat of the chair as the young prince entered the room.
Wetting a soft cloth, he turned toward him and began the task of gently washing away the now mostly dried blood from his face. His thoughts were dark and angry as he tended his injuries. For so many years he had watched this child try so hard to please his father, almost begging for his attentions and getting little to nothing in return. He had witnessed the joy that shone from his eyes each time his father told he had done well, it was the crestfallen expression that followed when he was told he could have done better that tore at Galion. Not since the early days of their arrival had he seen the King actually embrace his son or shown him any form of affection.
Galion, unlike most of the Silvan elves cared little for Oropher himself, most were unaware of just how cruel he was with his only child. If it were not for his personal experiences with other Sindar, he would have believed that Oropher’s strong hand in dealing with his son was their way. Deep inside, Galion sensed there was another much darker reason.
Watching him from behind the veil of his thick lashes, Thranduil wondered at the darkening of the normally soft moss green eyes. He was gentle as he washed away the signs of the latest confrontation with his father, as if he was afraid to cause him any discomfort. He thought about those early years when he was little, struggling to keep up with the older, bigger children of the other Sindar nobles who had traveled here with them. Had it not been for Aldalómë he would more than likely suffered far more injuries than he actually did. He was such a rambunctious one as Galion used to call him in those days, always trying to do what the bigger children were doing, which all too often resulted in injuries, some of which had put him in the healing rooms, under the care of the healers. Nonetheless, it was always Galion not his father who came to him and took care of him.
For the first time Thranduil found himself looking at him as something far more than a servant. He was different than the majority of the Silvan elves, his skin was a pale olive tone, his features held a balance of both beauty and masculinity with his slightly squared jawline, framed in long dark auburn hair. He was only slightly shorter than himself, making him taller than most of the Silvan elves. He had a slender build, yet Thranduil knew from experience that his appearance was deceiving, beneath the flowing robes he preferred, he was strong with well-toned muscles.
“Now.” Galion stated as he lifted the prince’s chin once more, turning his face toward the brighter glow of the lamp. “Let me see what we have.”
Thranduil sat silently, still watching him as Galion examined his injuries. There was a strange play of emotions that ran through the now very dark green eyes as gentle fingers touched his cheek and felt along the bridge of his nose.
“Well.” Galion finally spoke. “Nothing seems to be broken thankfully. But you are going be very sore for a while.”
“I am very sore now.” Thranduil reluctantly admitted as he rose to examine himself in the silvered glass on the wall, horrified at what he saw.
“It is late.” Galion sighed heavily yet managed a smile. “Let’s get you in bed, you need to rest now.”
“I need a few moments to myself.” Thranduil said quietly, glancing at the servant before quickly dropping his gaze to the floor as he nervously fidgeted with the end of the tie of his robe.
“Take whatever time you need.” Galion told him, smiling warmly at him as he reached over and patted his shoulder comfortingly. “I will be right outside.”
Nodding, Thranduil watched in silence as he walked back into his bed chamber. In his heart he wanted to run after him, throw himself in the servants’ comforting arms and tell him everything. It didn’t matter what it was, Galion was always able to make it better, make things right again. Yet in his mind he knew there was nothing anyone could do to help him, this was his burden to bare alone.
Turning toward the sink, he picked up one of the washing cloths’ from the small basket, wetting it beneath the flow of warm water. Loosening the tie to his robe, he let it fall open as he reached between his legs, gingerly drawing the cloth along the crevice of his backside. Gulping against the threat of more tears, he grimaced painfully as he washed away the evidence of his fathers’ use of him. He felt the sting of those tears at the backs of his eyes as he looked down at the flecks of blood on the cloth as he carefully rinsed it away to hide his shame.
Tying his robe closed as he walked back toward his bed chamber, he schooled his expression before entering. He froze in his footsteps as he saw Galion adding another log on the grate in the hearth, not sure if they had been in the bathing chamber long enough for the bloodied sleeping tunic to have completely burned away.
“The fire is fine Galion.” He said quietly, his stomach turning in knots as he tried to smile. “It is already spring, I will be fine.”
“I know.” Galion replied, smiling warmly as he continued to tend to the fire. “I have put out a clean sleeping tunic for you on the bed.” He continued quietly without looking at him, quite accustomed to the measures the prince often took to hide his nakedness from anyone.
“Thank you.” Thranduil whispered, not trusting his voice. Turning away from him, he quickly shed to robe and slipped into the knee length sleeping tunic before climbing into the huge bed. It seemed as though every part of him hurt as he lay back against the soft pillows.
“You need to try to get some sleep pen neth nîn.” (My young one). Galion said quietly, turning toward the bed, noting the stiff movements as the young prince struggled to get comfortable. “I can bring you something to help you.” He added as he pulled the covers up over him, tucking him in as he had done so many times when he was just a little elfling.
“No.” Thranduil sighed, a shaking smile curling his lips as he looked up at him. Again he felt himself almost overwhelmed with the need for the comfort of servants’ presence but he knew he could not stay with him.
“Alright.” Galion sighed as he gently smoothed his finger over the princes’ cheek. “I will see you in the morning.” He added as he leaned down, placing a fatherly kiss on his forehead before quickly departing.
Turning onto his side, Thranduil felt hot tears threaten as the image of his fathers’ angry face loomed before his minds’ eye. He had seen the rage in his eyes while his expression remained indifferent, devoid of any compassion for the pain he had just inflicted up on him. Pulling the covers tighter around him, he felt so empty and so very alone. The tears leaked out from the corners of his eyes as he thought of Aldalómë, knowing he would never be allowed to see him again much less be alone with him, his father would see to that. His whole body trembled with fear as he knew his father would come to him again tomorrow, he would use his body then he would punish him with the strap.
All of his life his father had limited his association with others, at first it seemed that he was just being overly protective of him. So many times he wanted to tell someone but he was afraid, his father was the king, who would believe him. There were no servants in the private chambers they shared in those early days, no one to stop him from touching him. At first he used only his fingers back there and would spank him if he cried because it hurt. It was not until shortly before the marking of his fiftieth year that he fully realized the truth. That was the first time his father laid on top of him and took him as an ellyn (male elf) would take an elleth (elf maiden). It only got worse over time as his father constantly found reasons to discipline him. Always with the leather strap the hung in plain sight on a hook on one of the tall posts of the huge four poster bed they shared until he reached the age of adulthood and was granted his own rooms.
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Aldalómë ignored the soft knock on the door of his personal chambers, a tightness gripping his gut as it persisted. Laying on his bed, he continued to stare at the ceiling, willing whoever it was to just go away and leave him in peace.
“Aldalómë, open this door right now.” Lord Garävegión insisted, knocking slightly harder.
He groaned silently as he reluctantly pushed himself up off the bed. “Adar.” (Father) He greeted him quietly as he opened the door and stepped away from it.
“Are you alright?” Lord Garävegión asked as he closed the door behind him and locked it before turning toward him, he watched his son walk away from him to stand at the small window.
“I have never seen anyone that angry.” Aldalómë said, running his fingers nervously through his hair. “I heard Thranduil scream.” His voice choked as he turned to face his father, tears silently slipping down his cheeks.
“Anÿë ion nîn.” (Oh my son) Lord Garävegión groaned from the pain in his own heart as he quickly cleared the distance between them. “Did I not warn you?!” He told him as he hugged him tightly.
“But I love him so much!” Aldalómë choked past the lump in his throat.
“Do not confuse desire for love Gérion.” (Little one*) Lord Garävegión told him, smoothing his hair as he tried to comfort his son. “Yes, Thranduil is very beautiful, he has turned many heads, elleth (elf maiden) and ellyn (male elf) alike but Oropher has made it very clear that he is to marry only a Sindar, an elleth (elf maiden) of noble birth. You have always known this.”
“It is not right!” Aldalómë cried, pushing himself away from his father. “Why?! Why must it be this way?!” He demanded, swinging around to face him.
“Aldalómë.” Lord Garävegión sighed heavily. “He is Oropher’s only heir. It is his duty to marry and bring forth an heir to the throne. Surely you understand this.”
“I do understand that Adar!” (Father) Aldalómë cried, his expression twisting in anguish. “But…”
“There is no but Aldalómë!” Lord Garävegión stated firmly as he approached him, grasping his shoulders to force him to look at him. “I tried to warn you but you would not listen. Oropher does not approve of an ellyn (male elf) to lay with another ellyn, (male elf) especially when it comes to his son, this I have told you! What you want cannot be, do you not understand this?!” He pleaded with his son to accept what cannot be changed, yet hating the dark truth he could not reveal.
“So what happens now?” Aldalómë asked, fresh tears filling his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he searched his fathers’ face for answers he knew he would not find. “How do I look at him every day and know I can never touch him again?”
“That has been taken out our hands I am afraid.” Lord Garävegión sighed, wiping the tears from his son’s cheeks as he struggled with just how much to tell him. “Thranduil has been confined to his chambers until Oropher receives word back from King Amdír of Lórinand. As soon as his wounds heal, he will be sent there to meet his prospective wife.”
“Anÿë Eru! (Oh God) What have I done?!” Aldalómë sobbed openly now as he turned away from his father.
“No Aldalómë! You have done nothing!” Lord Garävegión exclaimed angrily. “The decision was made weeks ago. The king is concerned with the growing troubles that are slowly reaching our borders. If we must go to battle, you know that both Oropher and Thranduil will go as he will not leave his father’s side regardless of their troubles. Thranduil will do his duty as will you.”
“You will prepare to depart to the foothills of the Emyn-nu-Orod.” (Mirkwood Mountains) Lord Garävegión began when his son only stared at him. “You, Glaurhalbër, Macilvoronhûr, and Eluandúnië will report to me in the morning.”
“Adar!?” (Father) Aldalómë exclaimed angrily. “Why…”
“Do not question me further Aldalómë!” Lord Garävegión stated, growing angry with his son. “It is out of my hands. What is done, is done, now we must deal with the consequences.” He told him firmly.
“How long will we be gone?” Aldalómë asked as he turned away from his father, knowing he had spoken the truth from the pained expression on his face.
“I do not know. It is up to the king.” Lord Garävegión said quietly. “Get some rest if you can.” He added, then turned to leave his son with his own thoughts, well aware of the fact that there was nothing he could do that would bring him peace tonight.
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Lorinand Memoirs: The Bough Breaks