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The Teacher	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 14764 -:- 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.

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Author's Note: Here is the next chapter. I hope I got the Sindarin right. Translations at the end.

Chapter Twenty-seven

They passed the first long stretch of webs without incident. Once they were clear, they mounted their steeds and sped through the more normal, familiar unfettered green, the abundance of life around them once again somehow reassuring. The day drew on, and yet there was enough light left in it for them to take the next long walk through the lair of the spiders. As before they dismounted and walked silently in single file. It was an unnerving walk, just like the first time.

Elrond found himself trying to look everywhere all at once, and when he did chance to look at his companions, they seemed to be exactly the same.

The first one gave no warning, sight or sound. “Elrond!” cried Legolas, and he leaned back, reacting quickly as an arrow whizzed past him, striking one of the creatures in the eye just as it had been about to jump. Instantly, his sword was in his hand, and he barely had time to take in the first spider scuttling back the way it came before he spun around, hearing the slightest of noises, lunging forward with his blade to plunge it into the body of another as it prepared to sting.

Behind him, he was aware of his horse neighing and rearing up in terror, but he couldn't spare the time to check it, or calm it. The pack was on them, and it took all of his attention to fight them off, slashing this way and that, stabbing here, a kill stroke there.

He heard his horse gallop away, and some hurried words from Legolas and a slap to the flanks of his and Thranduil's horse had them galloping away from the danger too. The spiders seemed to recognise Legolas, and to some extent, Thranduil, because they kept a more wary distance. Elrond, they knew nothing of, and most of them seemed determined to test him.

He pulled a long knife from a sheath on his back to fight with in his left hand, his more familiar sword in his right. Arrows flew from Legolas' bow, so fast, one after the other, until the creatures were too close for the arrows to be useful, then he drew two matching knives and pursued the creatures. Many of them ran from him, but they didn't go far.

As for Thranduil, when Elrond turned that way to fight another monstrosity of his own, he saw the elven King brandishing a double handed sword to such devastating effect that he actually wished he could stop to watch. Thranduil had always been talented with the sword, but now he was deadly. One of his opponents could do nothing as it lost several of its legs in Thranduil's aggressive attack, only to end up speared on the end of that giant sword, writhing.

They didn't seem to stop coming, and the three of them coalesced into one lethal unit, fighting back to back, covering each other until the spiders were either all dead, or had run away from the fight. Elrond rather thought it was the latter. If a colony could be destroyed so easily, Legolas would have vanquished them entirely long ago.

For a long minute or two they stood in the unnatural silence, and then, as if it were a dream, there was the sound of gentle hoof beats as Legolas' horse trotted sedately back, and Legolas embraced it happily. Then, Thranduil's, walking right up to him, head held high and proud. And last but not least, his own horse returned, cantering to catch up, and then walking slowly to Elrond, nuzzling his hand affectionately. He laughed in joy and relief.

“Yes, Gûrthand. You did so very well.” He continued the quiet praise and comfort for a moment or two, his hand in his horse's mane, and then they began the sombre walk once more, for they could not camp here. They must get to the end of this stretch before they stopped for the day.

Sunset found them at the edge, and they walked out onto the free green grass with a collective sigh. Looking back at the way they came, the sun's last red rays shone on the webs, making it seem like the wood was awash with blood. It was an unnerving impression, and one Elrond did not care to prolong. He climbed back on his horse, and was soon cantering away from the horrific sight.

As twilight deepened into night they made camp, eating some earlier rations and arranging the watch between them. Legolas was first. That night Elrond awoke to find his own arm thrown protectively over Thranduil. They were alone in the tent. He made to move, and then gasped when Thranduil grabbed his arm. He hadn't known the King was awake.

Thranduil turned his head and they looked at each other. “I like it that you know me in your sleep,” the King said softly, and there was such an air of longing about him in the dark. “Stay.”

Elrond relaxed. “Then you rest,” he ordered, watching until Thranduil fell asleep. Elrond followed him into dreams more peaceful than the night before, and he didn't move. They were still in each other's arms when Legolas woke him to take his turn some time later. If he thought anything of it, he didn't say, and Elrond watched him get comfortable before he ducked through the flap and walked out into the cool clear night. Where it was not infested, Eryn Galen was still beautiful, and Elrond passed those few hours deep in thought, while his lovers slept and their horses rested.

The spiders were not here by chance. They had nothing whatsoever to do with Nimbrethil; that he dismissed easily as an unfortunate coincidence. There would have been eggs all over the wood at that point in time. No, but they were here. As he meditated on it, turning it over and over in his mind, he began to suspect. They were not spies, no, but something similar. They were sent by Sauron to become resident in the forest. Why? By the time he woke Thranduil to take his turn, he thought he knew the reason, but it would need to wait until later. Much later, and Elrond decided that until he knew more, he would say nothing of his suspicions to anyone. Time would surely tell, as it did with all things.

Progress was slow for the next week or so, and although there were skirmishes, none of them were as vicious and sustained as that first attack. It was almost as if the closer to the caves they got, the more the spiders recognised Legolas. And they kept a watchful distance, mostly.

Still it was a harrowing journey, and when they left the last of the webs behind, entering the realm of Thranduil, there were still two or three days hard riding to endure before they arrived at their destination.

Elrond had expected this part of the journey to be easier, and it was. Thranduil seemed much more content to slow the pace. Their nights were spent in discussion around the campfire, telling old stories, hearing Legolas recount some of the battles he and his patrols faced against the spiders. And yet the further they went, the more Elrond was sure: Thranduil wasn't making this part of their journey leisurely. Instead it was almost as if he didn't want it to end. As if he didn't want to arrive home.

Indeed the atmosphere began to build, and at first Elrond wondered if Thranduil regretted being so open and candid with him in Imladris. It didn't matter. It was too late. Surely he realised Elrond would never let the matter go now? But then he noted a cooling off between Thranduil and Legolas. It was what he had seen at Imladris, and it was as if they had been at some kind of unspoken truce during the journey. The closer they came to their home, the less they spoke to each other.

When at last they all stood in the entrance hall to the underground palace, their weary horses led away for rest, the tension between the King and his son was almost unbearable. Elrond was surprised when Legolas grabbed hold of his hand.

“I hope I shall see you later, Peredhil,” he said, his meaning unmistakeable as he lifted Elrond's hand to his lips, smiling slightly. Before Elrond could think of a response, Legolas had dropped his hand then turned to the King.

“Father,” he said, all ice and cold respect. The contrast between how he addressed them both was vast and striking. Legolas didn't quite stamp his foot, but he gave Thranduil a deep, formal bow and then withdrew from the room. Thranduil hadn't seemed lost until then, when Legolas acted as his subject, rather than his son.

At last they were alone. Elrond opened his mouth to speak, words of comfort perhaps, but then decided to open his arms instead. Thranduil walked into his embrace without a word and they stood together for a long minute. They were tired from the journey, dirty, and Elrond suspected he had a least a few spider infested nightmares to endure, yet... Thranduil leaned on him. He raised a hand and laid it on the back of Thranduil's head, pulling him close.

“I am glad you are here, Elrondlas,” he said quietly, something lonely in his voice. This, here, now, was more vulnerability than Thranduil had shown in his own home for centuries. How easy it was for him to see it. The King sat alone, frozen, in an empty palace, estranged from the only family he had due to a kindness, while on his borders the spiders gathered. He was sure Thranduil had given each of them her name. This was a malady of the mind, not the body.

For a moment, he saw a terrible parallel. Oropher had kept a secret from him for centuries. So too, now, had Thranduil. But he had confided it before it was too late. There was hope here.

“You will address me as 'Pengolodh' from now on,” Elrond said. “I cannot cure your grief, but I will heal you of this sickness before it infects your soul, one way or another.”

Thranduil did not reply, and Elrond pulled back, enough to lift the King's face with his hand. Elrond caressed Thranduil's chin with his fingers. He sighed, thinking of the spiders and what they probably meant. From long ago the words came to him. From a time when he'd been in need of just such a rescue himself. Yes, they were appropriate here. Sauron had returned. There would be another war, and Thranduil was important. Not just to him, and not just to Legolas. He had a large part to play if he was right, and Elrond would ensure he was ready for it.

“Thranduil, you are needed,” he announced. “You cannot simply give in to this,” he echoed, seeing recognition of his words flare in Thranduil's eyes. “What is expected of me is also expected of you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Pengolodh,” Thranduil said, bowing his head.

“Where do you sleep in this place?” he asked, wondering if it was the same bed he'd shared with them long ago, or if Thranduil had moved to other quarters. He allowed the King to lead him, and it was with surprise that Elrond found himself in the suite of rooms he had occupied on his visits. But then of course, it made perfect sense. These rooms had been Oropher's, and if anything remained of him, it dwelt here. If there was any warmth for Thranduil anywhere in his realm, it would be here. To Elrond's lasting regret, he had never spent time here with Oropher. Now, he would be here with his son. So be it. Elrond had no misgivings.

He had Thranduil order hot water, and then when they were alone, Elrond bathed with him, taking his time to cleanse Thranduil's body, to wash his hair, his fingertips rubbing small circles on his scalp until the King sighed and relaxed in pleasure. They didn't speak. It was another echo of that long ago day, and when they had washed away the long journey, Elrond led Thranduil out of the bath, though he did at least allow the King to dry himself. He was not as lost as Elrond had been back then.

When they left the bathroom, Elrond took Thranduil to the bed, and used some sashes he found in a drawer to bind him to it, laid out on his front, arms and legs stretched to the four corners.

“Elrond?” Thranduil said quietly. The use of his name earned him only a sharp and immediate slap against his buttocks, and the King of Mirkwood actually whimpered, even though he knew the punishments would get far worse than this. As soon as Elrond discovered where those instruments were hidden, he would bring them here to play with, and he was certain Thranduil would need them.

“Pengolodh!” he corrected himself. Elrond said nothing, only found some of the oil in that same drawer next to the bed. For a moment, he had a clear imaginative image of Thranduil alone in here, touching himself, and he felt his own desire burning then. Perhaps Thranduil had thought of him as he did it? That thought definitely made what came next inevitable, and he began to prepare Thranduil's body for his use, rubbing oiled fingers against his entrance without saying another word.

“Please, speak to me...” Thranduil begged then. Many possibilities went through Elrond's mind, and in the end he chose the one that he thought would have the most appeal to Thranduil, starved of love and affection for all of this time. A feeling of guilt then, and Elrond knew that all of his actions here were as much for his own healing as Thranduil's. Here, Elrond would make it up to him.

“You are mine, you know,” Elrond stated simply as his fingers penetrated Thranduil deep inside, possessing him. “You have been mine all of your life, just waiting for me to claim you. Now I will have what is mine, whether you wish it or not.”

“I do! I do wish it!” Thranduil said immediately, and he was most definitely overplaying his part. Elrond smiled at that, but it was all right because the King could not see his face. He found that despite his serious intent to help and aid his lover, he knew Thranduil too. There was no game they could play that Thranduil would not understand. The King was very experienced, and he, Elrond, ought to know. Elrond couldn't harm him in any sense, and it made him relax into this new role, enabled him to get pleasure from it. It was a revelation to him. And so he continued, and there was no feeling of wrongness. On the contrary, everything about this was right.

“If you are good, Thranduil, then I will not keep you longer than your lessons demand,” Elrond said, quite sternly, and he smiled when Thranduil suddenly moaned, realising which fantasy Elrond intended to enact between them first. “Or, if you please me very much,” he confided intimately, leaning over the helpless King, “I may keep you behind for several long hours.”

“I will please you, Pengolodh,” Thranduil said quickly, and Elrond was sure he could hear a smile in those words. He deliberately found Thranduil's prostrate, pressed his finger to it, gratified when the King shivered and groaned in need.

“I shall tell your father that you are obstinate, wilful and stubborn. That you require a certain discipline only I can bestow,” he whispered, “and that to correct you, I will keep you behind after our lessons regularly.”

“Yes,” Thranduil murmured. “Please...”

“And every time I do, once I have punished you for my own pleasure, I shall use you this way.”

The sound Thranduil made was so utterly beautiful. His body was trembling as Elrond touched him.

“Oh, Lass, how you shiver,” he said, teasing, using his free hand to stroke the King's naked back, and Thranduil laughed a little too at that. Elrond deliberated. “Celebmîr neth nín,” he said tenderly, and Thranduil's laugh turned to a needy moan.

Elrond laved his own erection with the oil, and covered Thranduil's body with his own, positioning himself with a satisfied sigh. He pushed inside, voicing real pleasure of his own when Thranduil's body welcomed him. Now was not like it had been at Imladris. There were no meetings to get in their way. Nothing was required of them except for what they would give to each other.

“Melethron neth nín,” Elrond said, kissing the nape of Thranduil's neck. “You feel so good. Every day I will have you, until it's all you think about. Seeing me. Pleasing me. Feeling me so deep inside you.”

His words had the desired effect, in that Thranduil's body squeezed and encouraged him until he felt he must be on the crest of a powerful wave. They moved together like the tide of some unnamed sea: in and out, back and forth. The King was crying out beneath him in pleasure. Elrond reached around to take hold of his erection, timing the movements of his hand with his thrusts until Thranduil came in his hand. It was such a powerful feeling, Elrond followed almost immediately after, spilling deep inside Thranduil's body.

After a few moments of complete bliss, Elrond untied Thranduil and turned him over, pulling him into a loose embrace that was becoming quite familiar.

“Did I please you, Pengolodh?” Thranduil murmured, clearly not quite willing to let the game end yet. Elrond smiled and continued to play with the King's silver hair.

“Le melin, Thranduil, mîr neth nín,” he said warmly. “Sleep now. We shall have more in the morning.”

Thranduil looked at him then, and his eyes were amused. “I love you, too. So much I might even tell you where all of our old toys are,” he teased with a knowing smirk.

Not to be outdone, Elrond could feel his lips curving up into a smile. “You will, or I will beat it out of you. Try to imagine which one you will enjoy the most.”

They both laughed then, and they slept in each others' arms without anyone to interrupt or to observe them. It was a perfect beginning.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I hope you had fun! Comments cherished and cuddled. I will respond to you here: www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/55964-pippychicks-lotr-fiction-review-responses/

Translations:

Peredhil – half-elf

Pengolodh – teacher

Lass – leaf

Celebmîr neth nín – my young silver treasure

Melethron neth nín – my young lover

Le melin – I love you

mîr neth nín – my young treasure

Gûrthand (Elrond's horse) – True Heart
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The Teacher