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The Teacher	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 14767 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author's Note: Well, here is the next chapter. An extra warning here. I have included a flashback to Thranduil's youth in Lindon. He is around sixty-five years old, the human equivalent is around fifteen. At least, that is how I've written it. Although the attraction is all one-sided and not in any way reciprocated or acted upon, I should warn for Minor2. If such offends you, please think before you read.

That said, if you do read – enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-five

Elrond knew Thranduil's body – had known him – in many ways, but never this way. Whatever deeper thoughts he might have had were driven out of him by the sensations. Something purely physical in him was almost singing with pleasure and joy. At last! As if a part of himself had been secretly lusting after this over the centuries, and maybe it had. Surrounded by Thranduil's scent, his body heat, Elrond heard himself groan.

Thranduil had raised his leg so that Elrond could get deeper, and he only wanted that. More of him. Elrond snaked his arm over the front of Thranduil's chest and hooked fingers over his opposite shoulder to gain leverage as he thrust inwards, deeper now. The King's hands suddenly clung to Elrond's forearm, as if Thranduil never wanted to let him go.

“Elrond...?” He sounded uncertain.

“Mmm...” Elrond made a sound of pleasure as he moved forward again, “yes?”

“I just wanted to hear you say 'yes,'” he confessed, and it wasn't challenging, but so playful and loving Elrond was suddenly reminded strongly of Oropher. But it didn't hurt, not this time, not after so long.

Elrond smiled, and began to say 'yes' with every movement, until Thranduil was laughing with him and begging him to stop, whilst at the same time pleading with him to continue.

At last, when they were sated and relaxed in bed together, Elrond drew meaningless patterns on Thranduil's chest. The King's head rested heavily on his shoulder, arms linked around his waist. Unlike when Legolas had visited him, with Thranduil it seemed as if there had been no break in their relationship, even though the terms of it had changed drastically. No matter that Thranduil had turned up at Imladris changed almost beyond recognition. Here, now, he was just the same as he had ever been. He was an adult now, he had been an adult when they began this, and when he had been young, Elrond had done nothing to reproach himself for. His love for Thranduil as a child had been wholesome and nurturing.

In fact, now he came to think of it, he could say that he'd loved Thranduil in one way or another for all of his life, even when he'd been difficult to love. Elrond cast his mind back to Lindon as he relaxed with Thranduil in his arms...

For a long time, Elrond hadn't been aware there was anything amiss in his pupil. He'd known Thranduil since he was a newborn. Oropher was so proud, children were always treasured, and he had been determined to share his joy with all and sundry, but especially with his favourite companions.

When he became old enough for lessons, Elrond had agreed to tutor him, teaching him to read simple stories, then to write letters, and eventually words. He and Oropher had played with Thranduil together. Toy swords and bows and arrows. When he became old enough, they progressed to the real thing, although Oropher rarely appeared for their lessons any more.

Thranduil was perhaps just over sixty years old when Elrond noticed something different about him. They were on the training field, and Elrond was watching as Thranduil went through a series of slow, controlled and rehearsed motions, sword in hand.

“Stop!” Elrond said, and the youth did, freezing in position so that Elrond could adjust him slightly, the shape of his arm, the placement of his feet on the ground. It was difficult to say what warned him. Thranduil was breathing too quickly – this wasn't truly exercise, after all. There was a strange trembling in his limbs. Elrond grasped his arm. “Be still,” he instructed. Then he knew what it was. Suddenly aware of the youth's desire, and very uncomfortable with his knowledge of it, Elrond stepped back. From that moment on, he merely instructed with his voice and didn't touch Thranduil at all.

Back then, Thranduil also had a desk set up in Elrond's office where he studied. They had moved on from simple language lessons to more complex topics. Philosophy, culture, arts, strategy. Elrond enjoyed those times. Their debates were easily as diverting as some he had with fully grown adults. And yet Thranduil began showing up later and later. Elrond punished the irresponsible behaviour by keeping him ten minutes longer for each minute he was late. But that didn't seem to have the desired effect, meaning that too often he would glance up to find Thranduil staring at him openly instead of attending to the written work Elrond had set him.

With a sigh, Elrond set tasks for him to do to curb his insolence and misplaced adulation, one of which was to write out sixty-five times (once for each year of his age): 'I must pay attention to my own studies' When he was done, Elrond stood by the side of the desk and looked over the pages of writing. It was beautiful, perfect cursive script.

“Very good,” he said, sensing Thranduil's delight at the praise though he didn't look down at him. It was an inappropriate overreaction, and it made him frown in displeasure. He turned the pages over to their blank side, and set them down on the desk before him. “Now. Again,” he instructed. “This time in Quenya.” The resultant sigh as he walked away made him shake his head. Then he heard a quiet thud as Thranduil dropped his head onto the desk in defeat.

Elrond confided his suspicions to Oropher, who found it all completely hilarious and teased him about it until Elrond kept him quiet with kisses and desire. It was one of the last times they were together before Oropher moved away to the east. Afterwards, Oropher had said, much more seriously, that if Elrond no longer wished to fulfil the role of teacher to Thranduil, then he would understand, and that he was thankful for the years Elrond had spent on his education.

It seemed from then on that Thranduil began to delight in bringing small punishments on himself, deliberately rousing the ire of his teacher in so many ways that Elrond began to despair. Keeping Thranduil in check and focused on his education became one of his many concerns, to the point where it began to intrude upon his own work. It didn't even occur to him that it was all designed to gain his attention until one day on the training field.

Thranduil had become proficient with both sword and bow, and they had real sword fights now. His footwork was excellent and he had real talent with the blade. The steel of their swords had been ringing for perhaps twenty minutes when Thranduil made an uncharacteristic error, stumbling backwards as Elrond pursued him. It was easy to disarm him, and then Elrond had him pulled close, his own sword to Thranduil's throat.

“You are dead,” he admonished sternly. “The enemy will show you no mercy.” He kept the edge of his blade right there so that Thranduil would remember it well, how it felt, and correct his mistake the next time around. And then he saw it at last. His green eyes were dark and the look he gave Elrond was all invitation and surrender. Thranduil had deliberately lost this fight. Alarmed, Elrond let him go so quickly the youth stumbled and then fell to his knees.

“Our time together is over,” he said at last as he sheathed his sword. “There will be no more lessons. You should report for weapons training with the others from now on.”

Despite the continual insubordination of the last weeks and months, he had enjoyed having a pupil. Thranduil had a quick mind and grasped complex concepts easily, when he concentrated. So it was with some regret that he said then, in addition: “Do not come to my study any longer. Seek out your knowledge in the library. I have taught you all I can.”

To his surprise and dismay, the adolescent Thranduil had become quite inconsolable, and Elrond had taken him to Oropher with words of guilty apology and explanation. Oropher had merely sighed at his son, ruffled his hair, and then embraced Elrond. They had both been sure the infatuation would pass, that it might have been inevitable, and that he would need to grow out of it.

And yet, in the present, millenia later, Elrond gasped. All of his life. When he'd finally began visiting Amon Lanc, Thranduil had sought his advice over that of anyone else, though surely in his father's court he had friends and counsellors enough. Thranduil had kept the sadness of Oropher's vision from him, allowing their love to remain joyful and buoyant instead of sad and bitter. He'd rescued Elrond during the Battle of Dagorlad (at the risk of a rejection that might have destroyed him, with Oropher lost), had saved his life when he would have rushed to Gil-Galad's aid during the siege. And he had ensured Elrond had unrestricted access to Oropher's secret journals when his lover was gone. Elrond looked at Thranduil, seemingly at rest beside him, and gave a soft sound of surprise, his fingertips stilling in their gentle caress. It had simply never occurred to him.

“What is it?” Thranduil's sleepy voice broke into his thoughts. “Why have you stopped touching me? Continue,” demanded the King, clutching him closer as if greedy. Elrond let that pass too, at least for now. He was so astounded.

“You have loved me all of your life.”

Without opening his eyes, Thranduil smirked. “You realise this now?” he asked, as if it should have been obvious to him right from the beginning. “I have been telling you so for centuries, Elrondlas.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another meeting and more discussion. Elrond and Thranduil entered the room together, and only one of those present marked it. Galadriel suddenly looked up, and there was a hint of laughter in her eyes as she nudged Celeborn. He looked up too, and nodded at Elrond before smiling openly at Thranduil.

It almost felt as though he had been found out, and Elrond seated himself with a mildly exasperated sigh, leaving Thranduil to find his own place. But soon the debate made him forget everything else, except the reasons for their coming together. He remembered the War of the Last Alliance, the loss of Oropher, and his own uneasy feeling that he would live to see Sauron return, the Barad-dûr rebuilt, and the threat of darkness spreading over Middle Earth once more. With Sauron, the darkness came, and yet the dark tower was not present. It was like a missing card, a missing piece of his own prophecy. It made him ponder in silence as he listened to those around him, and more than once he found the eyes of Gandalf and Galadriel on him, as if they listened in on his thoughts.

When at last the meeting broke up, Elrond stood up, thinking to take some time to himself to reflect on it all. But then he saw Thranduil, Gandalf and Celebrían were all headed his way. He was very much in demand. It seemed like a constant state of affairs. Thranduil reached him first.

“You remember the work I set you,” he murmured quietly as he embraced the King in friendship. Thranduil nodded then looked down. He seemed disappointed. Elrond lifted Thranduil's face with his hand and smiled, making certain that he saw it. “Then go to it, melethron nín,” he said quietly, “and come to see me later.” Thranduil reluctantly let him go, but he did do it and drifted off in the direction of Glorfindel, who was still arguing animatedly with Saruman about the best way to challenge Sauron.

Now it was just two against one. Elrond liked those odds better, and in fact his plan of time alone had become a quiet walk with Celebrían without him even thinking about it. Which left only Gandalf, except that someone else was watching him now, as she had been doing all along. Galadriel caught his gaze and held it.

She seemed altogether too amused, Elrond thought, considering the subject of their meeting. He watched as her gaze flickered to Thranduil, then to Celeborn, to the archer, Haldir, whom she had brought with her (much to Celebrían's utter delight), to Celebrían and finally to him again. In his mind there was a sudden image of an old child's game, played with a set of ever-decreasing chairs, and he almost laughed.

But then that impression faded, and he wondered if Galadriel was coming towards him. Now he saw a complex web of glistening threads, each one clearly defined. No... now it was an intricately drawn family tree, too large and interwoven to exist on any page. Not only a tree of relatives, but also connections. Or, wait, wasn't it a real tree, gleaming bright gold? Yes... along with it's ethereal and ghostly twin, a shining reflection in silver glass.

Galadriel lowered her head in acknowledgement, and he was on the cusp of understanding something that could never be put into words. Something ancient and true that she knew and he had failed to even glimpse so many times. The trees of light. It didn't matter that they were long gone, because their significance remained and endured. Every bough, branch and twig connected. Every leaf. Always budding, always blooming, always falling... sun, moon, stars... life, love, time, all of them entwined together forever...

“Ahem!” said Gandalf loudly, and Elrond was startled out of the vision, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. He looked at Galadriel, but she was talking with Haldir, laughing indulgently at some joke of his. Elrond looked at Gandalf then in enquiry.

“Yes, well,” Gandalf said, a little gruffly, as if embarrassed to have broken in on... whatever it was. Elrond couldn't quite remember what he had been thinking. Something about gold and silver chairs. “Enough of that for now,” Gandalf said, more cheerfully. His words seemed to free Elrond from the last remnants of whatever truth had been hovering on the edge of his consciousness.

“Mithrandir,” he said with a smile, letting it go and returning to the present.

“You are not wrong, Elrond,” he said mysteriously, getting straight to the point. “There is something missing here.”

“The Barad-dûr,” Elrond confirmed, troubled, and he glanced around those assembled. So many had been present then too. To some he had even confided his vision of the future. His gaze lingered on Glorfindel and Thranduil. “I have foreseen it.” And then, because he knew what it must mean. “The end is not near.”

With a sad sigh, Gandalf shook his head and rested an arm on Elrond's shoulders. “No. No, I'm afraid it isn't. Whatever the outcome of this meeting, we will not solve the threat of Sauron's return. At least, not yet and not for a long time to come.”

“Yet?” Elrond echoed, and Gandalf smiled at him.

“There is always hope,” he said. “Do not despair, old friend.”

At that moment, he felt Celebrían take his arm, and he excused himself from Gandalf's presence with a bow of his head. They did walk, and confer, and he told her many things, including of the rekindling of his relationship with Thranduil.

“I am glad,” she said then, and Elrond was as surprised as ever. She shrugged. “I told you over these many years to visit. You should not have ignored me.” She tapped him playfully on the nose, then suddenly embraced him. “He needs you.” Their walk had meandered through the gardens and brought them back to the house in the early evening. Dusk was falling.

“I want dinner, then a hot bath, then you,” she said. Elrond smiled. “Or Haldir,” she teased. “I haven't quite decided on that part yet.”

Elrond laughed and grasped her hand before she could run away, pulling her into his arms, then picking her up to twirl her around. “We are lucky,” he said, thinking of Thranduil's loneliness, and putting her down to rest his forehead against hers. He determined to share himself with Thranduil wholeheartedly. There was enough happiness to go around, surely.

“Good fortune should always be shared,” she said, echoing his own thoughts. Then, hand-in-hand, in complete agreement, they walked back into the Last Homely House.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed reading! Leave a comment, let me know you were here.
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The Teacher