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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: Well you find me all excited and chuffed! TAFKAB has written amazing and wonderful fanfiction based on fanfiction, with Dom!Elrond in full flow. I hope to convince her to post it here soon.

Chapter Forty

“Is that so? Well, now you mention it I do feel rather better than I did before.” He paused. “Thank you.”

Elrond didn't respond this time, but dipped his head and kissed Thranduil's hair. He supposed he could count that as a success.

When they had adjusted themselves more comfortably, Elrond felt suddenly very tired with Thranduil resting in his arms. He had no idea what time it was, but he hadn't slept since he arrived at the palace, and both Legolas and Thranduil had needed different things from him. He'd been too busy to even think about it until now.

The flickering light that had illuminated the scene earlier had seemed wicked and dark. Now it was changed in character. Intimate, sleep inducing. Elrond woke himself up a little.

There were things to be taken care of still. For one, he wanted to find a servant to bring them some hot water and such so that he could properly bathe Thranduil's injuries. He also wanted to request something more appropriate for Thranduil to wear than the tight tunic he'd taken off earlier. Something that wouldn't irritate him.

Most importantly of all, he wanted to make sure Thranduil knew what was required of him. Elrond could not be heedless of Legolas' confidence in him. They had both been wrong in this.

Thranduil kept slipping in and out of reverie, his hands wandering idly over Elrond as if to reassure himself. During one of those moments of lazy awareness, Elrond spoke to him.

“When you have recovered,” he said. “Before you allow Legolas back to his patrol, you must speak with him.”

“Of what?” Thranduil rumbled tiredly without even looking up.

“He needs to know, Thranduil. I agreed with you at first, but not knowing is hurting him now. You must tell him of his mother's fate.”

Thranduil drew back, lifting his head, and there was such a look of pain in his eyes, Elrond's heart ached, but he did not give way.

“You need not tell him all of it, but he deserves to put her to rest until he eventually goes to meet with her. Give him that peace.”

“But I...” Thranduil began, perhaps meaning to argue.

“I insist,” Elrond said smoothly before he could continue, and Thranduil fell quiet, dropping his head on Elrond's chest.

“I cannot refuse you,” he said, as if realising it, his body giving a delicate little shudder. Elrond found his eyes wandering over to the manacles in the wall. To the whip where it lay abandoned for now on the floor.

“No,” Elrond remarked. “I should hope not.”

Thranduil sighed heavily. “Very well. I will speak to him. I promise.”

“Good. I will send him to you once we have rested here.” Elrond yawned, surprising himself, but Thranduil could not lay on his back, therefore he was draped over Elrond, so warm and heavy. Comforting. Elrond stretched his legs, feeling relaxed right through to his toes. Thranduil was drawing patterns on his chest with an index finger. It felt good and soothing. A bell for a servant would not go amiss in here, he thought vaguely, as his mind began to slip away.

“While we are talking like this,” Thranduil said suddenly, jerking him back into wakefulness, “you did not answer my question earlier. Don't think I didn't notice.”

Elrond blinked a few times, his mind suddenly back in the corridor. He knew exactly what Thranduil meant. “What question?” he asked, hoping he might get away with it, even now. How was it he could feel vulnerable, when it was Thranduil who had submitted to him?

Thranduil ignored him, and there was something serious about the way he spoke, although he didn't look up. Elrond listened carefully. “I have a request, because I know your answer,” Thranduil said. Elrond was quite sure Thranduil didn't, but he kept quiet, allowing Thranduil to express his thoughts.

“If you would deny one of us,” he said slowly, “don't let it be Legolas.” Thranduil paused and swallowed, and his next words were part command, part humble request. “Elrond, don't hurt my son.”

Just the sound of his own name, with no embellishments, gave Elrond pause. But to hear Thranduil make that request hurt terribly. “Thranduil,” he said in reproach.

“I mean it,” Thranduil said quickly, still not looking at him, face almost buried in his neck. “I could not bear to see it, if you break his heart.”

Elrond shook his head. “I will do no such thing!” he said, his tone full of reproof now, but for Thranduil to think that he ever would. Then he felt Thranduil tremble and sigh, and he didn't need to hear the King say it. He knew exactly what Thranduil had taken from his denial.

“Celebmîr nín,” he said, soothing, stroking his hair, wishing he could gather Thranduil into his arms without causing him pain. “I will not hurt you either. Don't you know that now? Never again,” he vowed, quite serious.

“But what if you had to?” Thranduil murmured, his voice muffled. “Who will you refuse should we both come to you at the same time?”

Elrond continued with his gentle caress, smiling, remembering the knowledge Celeborn had granted him. “You won't,” he replied. “It is impossible. There will always be space for us. For all of us.” He imagined the endless dance, how it had become clearer to him over the past years as he continued to share his heart with all of his lovers. He would never have to choose, not how Thranduil put it to him. “I know this. I am your elder. Trust me.”

“I don't understand.” Thranduil lifted his head, looking at him earnestly. “What space are you talking about? How much space was there between us when I came upon you both?”

Elrond saw it so clearly, and so he smiled again, reassuringly, or so he thought. “Enough.” But it wasn't any kind of relief for Thranduil, and Elrond suddenly saw it. Thranduil could not know what Celeborn knew, what he himself knew. Even if it was explained to him, he wouldn't understand. At least, not yet.

“Do not talk in strange riddles,” Thranduil snapped, looking a little injured that Elrond would dismiss his fears with such nonchalance. “Answer my question. I will not stop asking.” Elrond saw the trap before him, and it was too late to avoid it, yet he tried.

“Thranduil. Must you press me on this?” he entreated, knowing already that Thranduil wouldn't listen to him. “Don't make me answer.”

Thranduil looked down again. “Elrond, please. Tell me. I can take it from you. He can't.” Elrond rather doubted that insistence, but let it pass.

Elrond licked his lips, nervous, because he knew exactly what kind of trap this was. “This is only to put your mind at rest, Thranduil,” he said at last. Thranduil nodded slowly against his shoulder.

“If, by some impossible fluke of fate,” Elrond said pointedly, displeased at having to make this admission. “You both approached me. At the same time.” Thranduil nodded again, and Elrond sighed.

“I would not refuse either of you,” he breathed. And then waited. Actually he was waiting longer than he expected for Thranduil to react, and realised that the King really had expected a rejection from him.

“Oh, Elrondlas.” This time his voice was warm with familiar amusement. Thranduil understood what his admission meant, even if he did not understand his assurances.

“Thranduil, don't,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry. “It will not happen. It need not happen,” he warned. “Do you hear me?”

“Of course,” Thrandui said innocently. Elrond pulled his hair to lift his face up.

“You're still smiling,” Elrond noted, beginning to feel resigned.

“Am I? Well, I think this will become a great source of anticipation for you, lass nín.” Thranduil poked his finger at Elrond's chest, his eyes laughing. “Will they? Won't they? When will they?”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. “You never behave. Not for longer than an hour, no matter what I do.”

“Oh, I behave,” Thranduil said. “Just not always the way you want, Pengolodh. If I hunger for discipline, that is entirely your own fault.” Thranduil laughed lightly, clearly thinking on future possibilities. Elrond couldn't help feeling he'd given his lover a great gift. He smiled despite himself.

“While you are laughing at me, Celebmîr nín, I will leave you for a moment to enjoy it.” He slipped out from beneath Thranduil, leaving him on the bed while he went around the chamber, looking for his discarded clothing. “I should find a servant,” he said as he pulled on his breeches, bending over the bed to kiss Thranduil for a moment. “We need things to be brought here.”

“Whatever you think,” Thranduil replied, stretching out on the bed, naked, lazy, and sinful. Elrond paused to drink him in for a moment, then pulled on his shirt to cover his chest. “My butler is probably in the wine cellar, drinking and hoping I have not realised. If you're lucky, he might still be sensible.”

Elrond shook his head and stepped out. Where would he really find a servant? Although... wine. That was a good idea too. He headed in the direction of the cellar. It wasn't very far away from here. Perhaps he would find a guard on the way.

To his surprise, Elrond came upon the manservant exactly where Thranduil had told him to look. He wouldn't have checked here at all, but for that frivolous thought of taking a little of Thranduil's favourite wine back with him. They could both do with it after all, Elrond included.

The servant sat at a table, out cold by the look of it, a couple of empty goblets next to him. One of them was on its side, and its contents had spilled over the wooden table top, staining it a deep burgundy. The servant had his head down on the table, and had drooled so that his cheek rested in a smallish pool of it.

“Ahem!” Elrond said loudly, eyebrow raised in disapproval. Thranduil's butler stirred so quickly it was almost comical.

“Master! I m-mean, Sire!” he said, before he was even fully conscious, wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand. He blinked, obviously trying to get Elrond into focus.

“Ah...” he said expressively. “I mean, my Lord?” The most interesting look of dread came over the elf's face. “I'm sorry. But you were here. I thought, maybe, just a little, uh, time off?” His voice raised in pitch the further he carried on with his sentence. Elrond only stared, completely nonplussed.

Now that he was awake, Elrond took note he was quite beautiful, so much so he was almost androgynous, except he had an effeminacy about him that one never saw in actual females. It was an engaging manner he had, and Elrond found his gaze lingering on him where his tunic gaped open at the base of this throat, the buttons carelessly left undone. In fact, Elrond felt very much like straightening the elf up a bit.

“Is it the King?” he asked, with that same look of dread, slumping slightly. He gulped audibly. “Does he... want me?”

“No,” said Elrond, beginning to be intrigued despite himself. “The King has not requested your presence.” He watched for the butler's reaction.

“Oh!” he said, and suddenly smiled, relaxing so quickly he almost slid from the chair. Elrond moved forward a step in alarm, but the elf righted himself. Clearly, he was still completely intoxicated. “That's good. Please don't tell him I was here?” He gazed at Elrond with such a wide-eyed hopeful expression that Elrond felt his lips twitch in a small smile.

“No, indeed,” he said, looking over the table, and the barrel of wine the elf had obviously been making some notable headway on. Elrond could not stop himself from righting the goblet that had been knocked over. “I do not do that kind of thing,” he said, searching for the word. “Gossip.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” the elf said in relief, then a look of alarm came over him again, and he went as white as a sheet. He seemed to struggle to get the words out for a long minute, his mouth making shapes and his breath was uneven.

“It's not the other one, is it?” he asked faintly. “The Prince hasn't... hasn't...” He made a hopeless sound, and Elrond shook his head, completely bemused.

“Hasn't, what?” Elrond asked.

“Called for me?”

“Not as far as I know,” Elrond replied, beginning to feel quite amused, especially when his confirmation was greeted with a very definite sigh of disappointment disguised as relief. “I wanted to find you myself. I need some things to be brought to us.”

“Of course, my Lord,” said the elf, standing up and bowing, though Elrond noted he had to lean a hand on the table to carry the movement off. “What do you require?”

Elrond began to list the things he wanted, and then stopped. “Perhaps it would be best if you make a list,” he suggested patiently. “Then you won't have to remember.”

Watching as the elf scrabbled around for a quill and some paper, Elrond found his gaze lingering where it really shouldn't, and pulled himself up with some surprise, shaking his head. At last, the servant sat back at the table, and was poised ready to write. He didn't note anything down, however.

“Whatever is the matter now?” Elrond asked, beginning to feel exasperated. It was an emotion he didn't feel all that often, but he was quite exhausted.

“I think I'm actually left handed!” the servant said in surprise, looking up at Elrond momentarily. It was strangely appealing. The servant smiled at him before swapping the quill to his left hand and beginning to write the list. His hand was so perfectly shaped, and so graceful was the tengwar he wrote, Elrond found himself quite entranced, just watching him.

When eventually it was done, the servant walked back a little way with him, trilling on about something to do with laundry. Elrond remained silent, letting the other elf ramble on. Their paths were to part just a short distance from the playroom door. At that point, the servant was overcome with a look of concern.

“Are you really sure you should be up and about, my Lord?” he asked, suddenly solicitous, and Elrond was astonished, and he raised a hand to his brow, wondering if his tiredness showed so clearly.

“Yes, of course. What do you mean by...?” Then he figured out the inference, and Elrond just could not keep it in. He laughed out loud. The elf suddenly gasped, too loudly, theatrically.

“Y-you mean you...?” he said, not elaborating, and his eyes were wide as saucers. “He was doing all the scr –” He made nonsensical movements with his hands. “I am so d-dreadfully sorry, my Lord!” With that he fell to his knees and pressed his face to the floor in supplication.

“Get up,” Elrond whispered harshly, finding himself embarrassed then. Really, this was too much! What if someone should happen along?

“I can't,” mumbled the servant, necessitating Elrond to lift him to his feet. He was light, small of stature as he was. Elrond's eyes moved over him, and he coughed to cover his shock when he realised the other elf was aroused, his leggings tenting out in an obscene way.

When he saw Elrond looking, the elf only shrugged sheepishly. And then gave such a look of yearning surrender Elrond nearly dropped him in shock.

“What is your name?” Elrond asked at last, frowning.

“Galion.” There was something familiar about it, something familiar about him, if Elrond ignored all the obvious, contrived behaviour.

“How old are you?”

“Elrond, half-elven,” Galion said, finally freeing himself easily from Elrond's grip and bowing, this time seriously. “I am older than you.” Elrond could barely believe it, but Galion's entire demeanour changed, and he dropped the act, smiling slowly.

“I remember you when you were the ward of Makalaurë Fëanorion. You and your brother, Elros. I remember when you were a counsellor in Lindon, and later when you became Lord of Imladris and visited my employer at that time, Oropher. I attended with him when he came to you in Imladris. You have a very beautiful home.”

Elrond did not know what to say. He remembered Galion then, much more sedate, more serious in countenance. Oropher's manservant. He did not berate himself, after all Galion and he had never spoken once in all these years. He was a good butler, who became inconspicuous and melted away instantly when he was not required.

Before Elrond could think up any suitable response, if there was one, Galion looked at the door and quirked an eyebrow, looking Elrond up and down then.

“So. You...?” he intimated, and Elrond felt a blush on his face.

“Do not do that,” he said, almost snapping.

“What?” Galion asked innocently.

“Gossip.” Elrond spoke the word like a strict warning.

Instantly the act was back, and Galion pressed his hands together in an attitude of supplication. “I wouldn't dream of it! Really! I wouldn't dare, my Lord,” he gabbled, but he was enjoying every moment of it, Elrond was sure. When he realised it wasn't impressing the Lord of Imladris as it probably impressed Thranduil, Galion dropped the act again.

“Be at ease, Elrond,” he said then, more calmly, kindly. These sudden changes made Elrond quite dizzy, but he couldn't help being reminded of Celeborn. Again, he found his gaze lingering, this time on Galion's lips. All these centuries, only to become acquainted now. Always this, on the path before him... Elrond shook himself in awareness.

“If I stay here much longer, I'll be yours too,” Elrond said, surprising himself with the statement, but the truth of it was undeniable.

“You had better go, then,” said Galion, his gaze straying slowly to the door. He looked at it as if he saw Thranduil right through it, and his eyes softened in tender love that was unmistakable. “He is waiting for you. I will see to your requirements.”

Elrond smiled in thanks and turned away, only to have Galion catch his arm. He turned back, caught by the idea Galion wanted something from him. Anything at all. “I just want you to know. If you hadn't arrived, I would have brought you here, somehow, invisibly.” He nodded to the door. “For him.”

The statement made Elrond's heart lighter. And at the same time he knew Thranduil probably didn't have a clue what a treasure he had here. Now Thranduil's concerned protectors amounted to three. It was a number Elrond liked very much. He smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and then Galion let him go, rushing off quickly. Elrond watched him leave, until there was nothing to see, as if in desire. Then he shook his head sharply and returned to Thranduil.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment, I will reply here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/55964-pippychicks-lotr-fiction-review-responses/
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The Teacher