Prince in Training | By : Pippychick_TAFKAB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 24086 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2 |
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Chapter Twenty-seven
Legolas entered the conference room with his father, Erestor having made himself busy before them. Acting as the chair, he had dismissed all of Boromir’s scribes and aides, leaving the man of Gondor quite alone at the far side of the table. With an efficient whisper, Erestor also saw Galion out with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Then it was just the four of them.
Seated beside his father, Legolas was a little discomfited when Erestor took the seat to his other side. He felt hemmed in and trapped between them, but said nothing. He was not as nervous as Boromir - he saw that - and it lent him some courage.
“We have seized many furs illegally poached by men of Gondor, including one who calls himself Edwen, who was among your party when the treaty between our realms was negotiated.” Thranduil drew out the thick parchment and laid it on the table, tapping it with one long finger. “I fear the breaking of this agreement renders it null and void, as your people might say.”
Legolas could see Boromir beginning to sweat already. “Your Majesty, given that Gondor was kind enough to withdraw our request for trees to cut into lumber–”
Thranduil raised a brow, very slow and elegant, as though disbelieving what he heard. “That was part of our prior negotiations, I fear.” He turned his gaze to Legolas. “Was it not, my son?”
“Yes, Ada.” Legolas heard the low purr in his own voice, responding to Thranduil’s smoky eyes.
“And seeing as how Gondor had very little to offer before, save a pledge to come to our aid in time of need,” Thranduil sighed, theatrical. “I do not see what basis we have now for negotiations.”
Boromir visibly paled. “Majesty, I assure you the criminals will be punished to the fullest extent of our laws, including Edwen.” He himself uttered the man’s name with distaste as he looked upon Legolas. He took a sip of the water at his right hand and looked down, but there was no paperwork for him to busy himself with. “I beg you not to let this ruin our agreement.”
“Ruin our agreement?” Thranduil repeated in disbelief. “One of your archers grievously injured my son!” He laid his hand on Legolas’s thigh under the table, as if in illustration. Although the man of Gondor could not see, he must grasp that Thranduil had done it. Legolas turned his head to look at his ada, remembering how his father had touched him in the conference before, but Thranduil did not look back. Instead, he squeezed Legolas’s leg slightly, the heat from his palm seeping through the thin leggings Legolas wore.
Thranduil and Boromir stared at each other; one angry, the other clearly afraid. Erestor smiled faintly and cleared his throat. “If I might make a suggestion, King Thranduil.” He waited for Thranduil to turn his head. “It seems to me that Gondor does have more to offer than mere ‘protection’ since the northern part of their land is home to horse breeders. Is that not true, Boromir of Gondor?”
“That is true,” Boromir said, so eagerly Legolas nearly laughed. But then the man hesitated. “However, the people who breed them are not Gondorians. Perhaps we can acquire them for you, working as middlemen.”
“I will require white horses: stallions, geldings, and mares, well-raised and tamed to the hands of men, sound of limb. They need not be broken to the saddle.” Thranduil looked levelly at Boromir, but his hand did not stir from Legolas’s thigh. Instead it squeezed lightly, making Legolas flush. “How many can you guarantee?”
“It must be a certainty, King of the Greenwood, or you should not agree,” Erestor counselled calmly. “Horses that have not yet been foaled make a poor exchange for the certain loss of lives of beasts and trees.”
Legolas very nearly yelped, blinking with startlement as Erestor’s hand settled on his left thigh, a mirror to Thranduil’s. He shivered suddenly, blushing hard, but said nothing. All of a sudden, it occurred to him he should have asked the two of them what they intended before this. They could not mean to use the same tactic, could they? And yet… they must have had him sit between them for this reason, and Legolas felt suddenly faint with desire and arousal at the mere thought of what was to come. His half-strangled gasp made Boromir jump, staring at him in fascination as his face coloured, which only made him blush harder.
“Legolas?” Thranduil queried mildly, though he was quite aware what made Legolas react so. He must. Legolas dared to look down with his eyes and saw that his father’s fingers were touching Erestor’s.
“I am sorry, Ada,” he said weakly, his mouth suddenly dry. “I think I just need a little water.” He tried to breathe normally, and slowly the blush died down as Erestor poured him a glass with his other hand. Legolas drank a few sips. “Thank you,” he said, and Erestor squeezed his thigh. Legolas swallowed.
“The horses,” Thranduil reminded Boromir, and the man looked away from Legolas quickly.
“Well, yes,” he said, glancing quickly to Erestor. “There is no way to guarantee foals. Some years there are more, some years there are less.” Legolas was listening, but he was also aware of Thranduil’s hand creeping up, fingers pressing on his inner thigh almost painfully until Legolas responded by parting his legs wide in the chair. He prayed that his mortification could not be seen on his face.
Boromir stared at him, scowling, obviously suspicious of the distraction, and not much liking Erestor. But then the man did not know Erestor at all, and it made Legolas recall his initial dislike of the Noldo. He did not dare look aside toward Erestor, whose hand slid gradually but surely up along his thigh, almost certainly headed for his cock. Legolas wanted it and didn’t want it at the same time. He should stand up and refuse this, but he did not. It was a most delicious torment.
“Perhaps, King Thranduil, you may agree to settle for an interest in future foals, and agree to accept horses of brown, in exchange for other valuable considerations.” Erestor’s fingers reached their goal and curved comfortably around Legolas’s balls, squeezing very lightly - just enough to make him quiver and lick his lips, nervous.
“What will you give?” Thranduil pounced, with obvious delight. “There are lands in the north of Gondor that you have not enough men to settle. Perhaps some of those may come to me in exchange for what you wish of us - so that your father will not greet you with fury when you return with empty hands.” He turned to smile at Legolas, not bothering to hide the predatory note in his expression. “It is always well when an ada is pleased with his ion’s service, is it not, my son?” His hand, too, slid upward and settled over Legolas’s cock, and Legolas knew Boromir could understand the angle of his forearm; there was no way to miss it. Erestor’s too.
Boromir’s face grew pale and he blinked, caught with his mouth open, unable to speak.
“Yes, Ada,” Legolas breathed, almost delirious, feeling as though he would melt and pour over the edges of his chair. In fact, it began to feel terribly hot, even though he knew the temperature in the caves remained very constant. He felt overheated as he gazed at Boromir, his eyes blinking in an exaggerated slowness as he tried to concentrate.
The man, Boromir, was saying that colonisation was absolutely out of the question, and his father was responding, talking about Fangorn forest as a potential haven for the woodland elves if war should come. And all the while his father and Erestor continued to caress him, so that he leaned back, helpless to stop them, his breath entering him in a stutter, leaving the same way. It occurred to Legolas that the discussion had stopped, and all three were listening to him, watching him as he was undone before them.
Legolas held his breath in order to stay quiet, and the discussion went on. He turned his head to one side and looked at Erestor, helpless, who was staring at him openly. He felt Erestor’s hand tighten and relax in response to his look, and Legolas gulped. He began to feel desperate to breathe, his head swimming.
Boromir was struggling to ignore what was now openly in progress under the tabletop, but Legolas could hear desperation struggling with affront and lust in his tones, and knew it was a losing battle for the man. He could have warned him there would be no victory over Thranduil of Mirkwood - or over Erestor of Imladris. He let his head fall to his chest and gave a soft, piteous moan, looking down at the two hands resting on him, both squeezing and kneading in tandem.
“We have no claim upon Fangorn forest. But in exchange for my men and for a reasonable quantity of the original items specified in our treaty, I will give you the right to cross the lands between Mirkwood and that forest as you will, and we will barter tomorrow for how many pelts and what quantity of wood is worth one foal.” Boromir stood, struggling to keep his eyes somewhere above the level of Legolas’s head. “But for now I feel indisposed, and would like to return to my rooms!”
“It is truly a pity your countrymen were disposed to cheat us,” Thranduil purred. “I frequently offer far greater... hospitality... to trusted trading partners. But that level of trust has yet to be achieved between our peoples. Is that not true, my son?” His palm rubbed roughly along Legolas’s cock, and Legolas cried out, jerking his head upright in desperation, gazing frantically upon his ada’s face.
Boromir flushed. “I would retire now,” he announced, stubborn; Legolas marked the substantial ridge spoiling the line of his breeches. He seemed afraid to say more - his affronted prudery losing out to his reluctance to spoil the new-fledged trade agreement.
“We will barter now, or not at all,” announced Thranduil. “Sit. Down.” It was the command of the King just as Legolas had heard it many times, and Boromir sank back into his seat in response to it.
“You have the advantage over me,” the man said, as if beaten, raising his head to stare at Legolas, who sighed and breathed in again as if it was the first breath he took.
“I am aware of it,” Thranduil said wickedly. “Tell me what you want… if you dare.”
The hands on Legolas became quicker, and while all the way through this, his own fingertips had been squeezing the edge of the table, now he lowered them. Boromir knew what was happening. There was no secret to guard now. “Ada, please!” he said, covering Erestor’s and his ada’s hands with his own. It was not quite a protest, certainly not a refusal, and in his heart he knew he hoped they would continue anyway; Legolas did not fool himself.
As if they had agreed beforehand (and they probably had, Legolas realised), Erestor lifted Legolas’s hands back to the table, holding them there for a moment. With his free hand, Thranduil actually slapped his forearms, stunning him immediately. Then they were back to how they were before, working him relentlessly towards a conclusion. The treaty! It must be negotiated by the end, Legolas realised. He looked at Boromir now, and shook his head.
“Say something,” he pleaded, then let go of a helpless breathy moan, and Boromir’s eyes widened.
Boromir stared at him, wild-eyed. “Do you ask my protection from them?” He demanded roughly, one hand going to his sword as he stood up again.
“Agree to what they wish, so I may come!” Legolas gasped, and the man drew back, appalled.
“You are wicked and false, the lot of you!” He recoiled as if slapped.
“That insult will cost you one fine foal per ten bales of fur,” Erestor informed him, and his free hand slipped behind Legolas, burrowing down inside his leggings.
Thranduil reached and lazily slid a bit of parchment toward the man, his eyes never leaving Legolas as Erestor’s fingers found their goal, and he slowly began to work one finger inside Legolas’s oiled passage.
Legolas began to whimper, lost in his ada’s blazing eyes, overwhelmed by the aggressive touches, by the eyes on him, by the sensation of Erestor’s finger pushing inside him, crooked due to the angle.
“These are the figures we will accept. Plus one fine foal per ten,” Thranduil purred. “But if you wish to have my son over this table, you will agree to pay us a thousand foals per year for the duration of the Stewardship of Gondor!”
Erestor’s finger curled and Legolas wailed, writhing against his ada’s palm. He rolled his head to the side, seeing the man’s flaming eyes resting on him with horrified lust.
“Please!” Legolas cried out, right at Boromir, his body arching, unable to escape from the torment of their hands all over him. “Please agree! I beg of you!”
Boromir fumbled with the parchment, obviously trying to look at it though he could barely take his eyes away from Legolas. He dropped it onto the table. It was no doubt a harsh settlement. Legolas knew his ada too well to think otherwise. And Erestor? He seemed to be a master at manipulating others too. Legolas would have pitied Boromir then, had he any to spare.
“If I only had what your father demands for you,” Boromir said, then shook his head as if sorry he had admitted to the weakness. “But for your sake I will end this.” He looked at Thranduil. “I agree, whatever you wish. End this game now.”
“The race of Elendil has ever been weak,” Thranduil said calmly. “Know that you would have come to the bargaining table with a much stronger position, Boromir of Gondor, if you offered soldiers and captains who have enough valour to stand firm against the shadow instead of rohirrhim.”
Boromir’s face purpled with rage. He reached for a quill and scrawled upon the parchment, adding the one foal per ten, then signing his name. He reached for a candle and wax and affixed his seal with a hand that shook in fury.
“Do not come yet, ion nín,” Thranduil commanded calmly as Erestor made Legolas stand and bent him over the table, hands still busy. Two fingers invaded him now, and he mewled, helpless to resist.
He watched, cheek pressed to the wood, as Thranduil dipped his quill and also signed.
“I will have my scribes duplicate this for you, and you may sign and seal it when it is finished. Your countrymen will be freed when you depart, so you may take them to be disciplined, as we agreed.” Thranduil gave Boromir a shark’s smile. “For their comfort, I’m sure you will not tarry.” He tilted his head toward the door, a sharp command.
Boromir’s mouth worked in silence for a moment, then he turned, stalking away in wrath. Thranduil nodded to Erestor, who leaned forward swiftly, pressing deftly at the sensitive spot inside Legolas. “Well done, ernil ned úthaes.”
Legolas came with a shrill, sobbing cry that made the man stop in his tracks, then stalk onward without turning back, his whole body stiff with resentment.
When he was gone, Legolas was pulled up from the table and into a loving embrace as Thranduil held him. “Well done, ion nín,” Thranduil purred, and then from behind him Erestor embraced him too.
“So beautiful,” Erestor murmured, and Legolas was not insensible of the gravity of the compliment, coming from him.
That night, they both worshipped him, and Legolas had everything he wanted. It was easily the most pleasurable night of his long life.
~~~~~~
Boromir did not waste time readying for departure again, though Legolas did manage to convince his father to ease the terms of the contract the man had signed off on, making it favourable for both Kingdoms. Legolas had approached his father in a determined fashion, certain that aside from the games they played, he would be laughed at, and that Thranduil might just take him somewhere and make him unable to think - but he hadn’t. He’d listened to Legolas’s arguments, and, he was certain, listened to his wishes equally. It made him love his father even more, to have the proof of his regard in such a way.
So it was that before Boromir and his party left with their prisoners, Legolas pulled him aside and gave him the new version of the agreement with a smile. Boromir, at first suspicious, had regarded Legolas with wonder and then thanked him profusely. He hadn’t known about the poaching, that was clear, and he was someone’s son too. Legolas was even more glad that he’d secured the changes. He would not be in trouble upon his return home.
Shrugging off the man’s apologies, Legolas felt very pleased with himself.
“The two of them,” Boromir said then, as if afraid to voice it. “Do you consent to what they do?”
Legolas smiled secretively. His mind turned to his father, who at this very moment was bound to his own bed, awaiting Legolas’s pleasure. “Of course!” he replied, feeling warm in his heart at the man’s clear wish to protect. “I am a prince of elves,” he teased. “No one takes advantage of me!” For his blushing and his concern, while they were still in private, Legolas kissed him, letting Boromir enfold him in his arms, his hands warm and tickling because he hardly dared to touch. He was very sweet for a mortal.
“I will remember you long after you are gone,” Legolas said, stepping back before the man could get any further ideas about intimacy with him. He meant what he said, however. Boromir’s worry had touched his heart.
“Thank you for all you did to secure this,” Boromir said, his voice rough with emotion. “I will remember you for as long as I live.” He meant more than this, Legolas knew from the flare of lust in his eyes. “You played your part splendidly, I must admit,” he said, allowing an embarrassed smile.
Legolas left him with a laugh and an earnest farewell.
For the rest of that day, Legolas felt as if he floated on air. He was happy. He had done a good thing.
To be continued...
Authors' Note: Thank you for reading, we hope you enjoyed it! Why not leave a word or two?
Translations:
ada – dad
ion nín – my son
ernil ned úthaes – prince of temptation
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