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Dark Journey	By : rigby Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2512 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
- 5
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Dark Journey - Part IV

Third Age 2317
A warm body, a curvaceous warm body,
pressed against Legolas� back. He stiffened.
�The night is beautiful,
you should have someone to enjoy it with.� The voice was pitched low and
seductive.
Not again! Legolas groaned inwardly.
How many times in the last two coranar had he made it clear that he wasn�t
interested in any sort of physical relationship? Why wouldn�t others give up?
He took a deep breath and turned around. �I prefer my own company, Eilien.�
A slender finger trailed up his
chest. Eilien cocked her head to one side and pursed
her lips in a pout. �Bet I could change your mind. You know how well suited we
are. I remember all the little things you like.�
Legolas realized the n�s was a bit
tipsy. Well, it was no wonder. Half the elves in Imladris were tipsy�or
outright drunk�that night. When Elrond threw a party, the wine flowed freely.
The revelry was the main reason he was out in the gardens alone. Merriment was
one emotion that had totally escaped him in recent years.
�Come on,� a hand cupped Legolas�
groin. �Let me make you see stars.�
Firmly, he removed the hand. �No. I
desire none in Imladris.� He started to turn away, wanting only to be alone.
�None in Imladris,� Eilien sneered, her manner changing in a flash. �Perhaps
the rumors are true then. Perhaps there was someone in Lorien who stole your
heart, and that is why you are so cold since your return. Everyone is curious,
you know. Every time a messenger comes from the Golden Wood, or one of ours
travels there, they ask, but none of the Galadhrim will speak of your visit. �Tis almost as if it never happened, or mayhap they desire to erase
all memory of your time there.�
Pain lanced through Legolas. No.
Syshae and Haldir were hurt for some reason, but they would not deny their time
together. They might wish to initially, but that would fade and they would hold
dear the memories. Wouldn�t they?
�There are all sorts of bets among
the guards: that you pursued one who is bonded, that the
one you desired is too young, or unwilling. What happened? That�s the great
question everyone wants answered.�
Yes, that was the great question,
wasn�t it? Legolas wanted that same question answered. Avoiding it had gained
him nothing and done nothing to assuage the pain of his loss. Eilien continued to prattle, but Legolas no longer heard
her. His eyes stared into the darkness in the direction of the trail that led
from Imladris toward Mirkwood. What had happened? It was time for him to seek
an answer. Time to see his sire. Time
to face his nightmares.
#
The morning after the celebration, no one noticed Legolas�
absence. Most of the elves were feeling too miserable to notice anything beyond
their own misery. Nor did any think it odd when he missed the midday meal�many,
in fact, were just then venturing out of their beds. When the evening meal
rolled around, Erestor and Elrohir remarked on his absence, but still no one
was alarmed.
When Legolas didn�t appear the following morning, Erestor
went to his rooms. They looked immaculate�clothing hung in the wardrobe,
bedcovers pulled up neatly. It was unusual enough, since Legolas wasn�t known
for being neat, that Erestor stepped inside and examined the interior closely.
He noticed Legolas� favorite comb was missing, as was his summer cloak,
although the gray Lorien cloak still hung on its hook as it had since the day
Legolas returned from the Golden Wood. The matched pair of hunting knives that
Legolas prized so highly were gone, but not his bow. Most of his tunics and
breeches appeared to be present, though it was difficult to tell for sure. It
appeared Legolas was off somewhere, but why take only
his knives? And why not inform someone?
Hurrying to the stable, a sense of foreboding grew in
Erestor. Fervently, he prayed that he would find Wanderer, Legolas� bay
stallion, in his stall. Legolas hadn�t been himself since the debacle in Lorien
and Erestor feared he might harm himself. On foot, he couldn�t go so far, or as
fast, and they stood a better chance of finding him. Erestor ducked into the
dim, sweet smelling interior of one of the stables and moved to the fourth
stall on the right hand side.
Empty.
He stopped a passing stable hand. �When did Legolas take
Wanderer out?�
The elf scratched his head, looking uncomfortable. �That�s
a difficult question, my lord.�
Erestor narrowed his eyes. �Simplify it.�
With much shifting of weight and stuttering, but no eye
contact, the story emerged. Someone was in the stables at all times, day and
night. During the celebration, the two elves on duty snuck off to join the
festivities where they imbibed heavily. They didn�t make it back. When their
replacements, themselves some four hours late, showed up they found Wanderer�s stall
empty.
�And you didn�t report this?� Erestor demanded. Legolas
had left the night of the celebration. He had over a day�s head start. Making a
mental note to discipline the errant stable hands later, Erestor spun on his
heel and headed for the main hall to alert Elrond.
#
Gloomy. Dark
and secretive. Legolas gazed at the trees marking the beginning of
Mirkwood. Once, so the tales told, it had been called Greenwood the Great. Once,
before Sauron�s return, before the darkness claimed
it. �Well, Wanderer, gloomy or no, �tis where our path
lies.� He urged the bay stallion who had borne
him from Lorien forward. The horse snorted and shook his head, as if protesting
the decision, but stepped along the trail.
Trees closed overhead, shutting out the light until only a
murky glow remained. For the remainder of the afternoon, horse and rider moved
steadily deeper into the wood. The further they went, the more oppressive the
air felt, as if the lack of light caused it to thickened and darkened. Legolas
had to constantly snatch himself back from the edge of dreams, and twice
Wanderer came to a halt as if pausing for a nap.
�Valar!� Legolas shook himself awake again. �I do not
remember this, Wanderer. Surely the woods were not so dark, nor filled with so
many evil whispers. For a certainty, this insidious lassitude did not assail
us.�
The stallion tossed his head, flicked his ears, and
snorted.
�Granted it was many years ago, and I was young and
scared, but I would certainly have remembered this.�
Another snort communicated clearly that Wanderer didn�t
agree.
�Save your snorts for�� Legolas broke off, his eyes
widening in wonder. �I�m not sleepy, and you�re walking faster! It must be some
sort of spell, but talking overcomes it. I wonder if music would do as well.�
He fingered the lyre strapped to his back. �What do you think? Shall we have
music?�
That time, the stallion�s snort and head tossing conveyed
approval.
�Then we will have music.� He managed to unsling the lyre and remove its cover. Choosing happy tales
and bright, lilting songs, Legolas filled the gloom with seldom heard hope as
he and Wandered continued toward the woodland realm of Thranduil.
Night fell and Ithil climbed the dark sky. The hour neared
midnight and still Legolas rode onward, unwilling to take his rest in the
forest. Two figures stepped onto the path in front of him. Wanderer stopped
suddenly to avoid them, nearly unseating Legolas.
�Your errand,� one of the elves demanded.
Legolas didn�t miss the angry tone of voice or the two
arrows, nocked and pointed at him. Well, it seemed
that the Green Elves were as welcoming as ever. �I am Erenor, late of Imladris,
a minstrel seeking new stories and shelter. I should be honored to repay you
with entertainment.�
�Imladrians do not have gold
hair,� the other elf said suspiciously.
Though he was sweating and wanted desperately to turn and
run, Legolas forced a wide smile and a laugh. �True enough, but I am not Imladrian. �Tis further to the west that I was born, in
Lindon, where there are fair elves of many colors of hair.�
�Cursed elves from Lorien are blonde,� the suspicious elf
insisted.
Briefly, the thought flitted through Legolas� mind to
claim some knowledge of Lorien elves, but he decided not to risk arousing
Thranduil�s personal curiosity too much. The King might decide to use him as a
hostage in whatever age long dispute lay between the two realms. �Aiya, there I will admit you have the best of me for I have
heard this very thing to be true, but have never traveled there or seen any who
claimed to be from there.�
�So you claim.�
�No matter his claim,� the first guard said, �they will
sort it out at the Halls.� He turned on his heel and spoke back over his
shoulder as he walked away. �Come, minstrel. You�ve come this far, and you
can�t go back even should you wish to.�
Going back, thought Legolas, was precisely what he wanted
to do. What had he gotten himself into? The forest was darker and more
dangerous feeling than even his worst memories. The guards were rude. Come
minstrel, indeed! Did they think him some pet creature like the Atani kept? He
was not accustomed to such treatment but, keeping in character, he stifled his
protest and urged Wanderer forward.
The second guard fell in behind them and they moved
through the darkness toward his birthplace�and his father.
#
Two weeks had passed since Legolas� arrival at Thranduil�s
palace and he was no closer to finding out anything about Syshae. He couched
his inquiries under the guise of having heard rumor of a story. It was a
plausible enough story for a minstrel�they were always searching for new tales
and songs�but no one volunteered any knowledge. He moved
carefully, always wary of attracting too much attention. Attention could
be his death warrant. So far, Thranduil had taken no notice of him and Legolas intended
to keep it that way.
He wandered about during the day, discretely asking
questions, then invariably played, along with other
minstrels, after the night meal. The Wood-elves had a seemingly insatiable
appetite for song and dance. So it had gone�day after day, night after night. Until that afternoon.
A kitchen helper, a young n�s he had flirted assiduously
with, told him to met her+, hinting at answers to the
questions he�d been asking. Which explained why he was
creeping through dimly lit corridors.
Trepidation swept through Legolas and he almost retreated
back the way he had come. He didn�t like the dank, deserted atmosphere of this
area of the Wood-elves� Hall, but he reasoned that any elf willing to meet him
and divulge the secret of Syshae against the will of Thranduil would choose a
place not likely to be frequented. Turning into a smaller side corridor, he
began counting doors on the left-hand side. �three�four�five�six.
Legolas halted before the last one.
You can still walk away, the
cautionary voice inside his head reminded him.
The answers you seek lie just beyond that door, the more
daring voice inside his head replied.
Any elf with the least bit of sense and desire for
self-preservation would turn around.
Do you want the answers that might serve to regain you
Syshae and Haldir?
There are other ways to find out.
Are there?
You will find another way to discover the answer to your
question.
Will you?
What if this is some hoax or an elaborate trap?
No one suspects you are anything other than who you have
named yourself.
Danger.
Answers.
Ending the internal debate, Legolas resolutely opened the
door and stepped into a gloomy, shadow-filled chamber.
Six steps into the room, the door closed behind him with a
bang. Legolas spun around, his left hand reaching instinctively for the knife
hidden at his side.
�You are skittish, my dear minstrel.�
Legolas froze momentarily. Thranduil.
Slowly, he turned back around. The king stood not four feet from him, clad in
rich green and gold robes, as was his wont. Up close, he looked exactly the
same as on the day Legolas left Mirkwood with Amar�e
and Erestor. There was no indication he recognized Legolas� true identity.
Hastily, Legolas dropped his eyes. �Forgive me, sire. I
was to meet someone but obviously I have taken a wrong turn. With your leave, I
shall remove myself and trouble you no further.�
�No.�
The single word startled Legolas. No? No what?
�I do not give you leave to go.�
Legolas� heart began to pound.
�Did you imagine I would not know you, Legolas?�
Dark spots danced across Legolas� vision and he
concentrated on not fainting from terror. His sire knew who he was. Valar
protect me!
Thranduil walked slowly around Legolas, inspecting him as
if considering a horse at auction. �You are blood of my blood. Blood of a line
that stretches back before the first elf passed over the sea to Valinor. The
land is tied to us, and we to it. I knew the moment you passed beneath the
eaves of the wood.�
He would not let his sire cow him, Legolas swore to
himself. He was no longer a helpless elfling. He was a warrior: trained by
Glorfindel and the Galadhrim; blooded in battle; veteran of hundreds of patrols
and skirmishes. Lifting his chin, he met Thranduil�s gaze. �Then why allow me
the pretence?�
Thranduil spread his hands deprecatingly. �You did not
announce yourself or claim your rightful name. I was curious what would cause
you to return to your home in such stealth and chose to honor your wish for
anonymity.�
�But not anymore.�
�Now, I understand why you have come. You seek knowledge
of the Sindon elf.�
�And you will answer my questions? Honestly and
completely?� Legolas demanded.
Thranduil moved to the door. �Mayhap.
What you ask is knowledge that carries much pain for me, and I do not yet
perceive your reason for asking. Come, let us return to more comfortable
surroundings�away from the memories of the dead�and discuss this.� The king
looked around the dreary room at the rotting curtains and wall hangings, the
long unused hearth, the dark furniture with its heavy coating of dust.
For a second, Legolas thought he saw pain in his sire�s
emerald eyes, but knew that wasn�t possible. Thranduil waited at the open door.
Legolas hesitated. His memories of the king said he couldn�t be trusted.
Everything he had learned since fleeing Mirkwood had reinforced that. And yet� Thranduil had neither done nor said anything
hateful or hurtful or spiteful. Indeed, he hadn�t commanded Legolas to follow
him, merely invited him to. Not a word of condemnation had he spoken for
Legolas� deception. His conduct so far was irreproachable. Did Legolas trust
him? No. But Thranduil offered answers�and Legolas desperately needed those
answers. Besides, he told himself, the king could call his guards and easily
have him drug wherever he wanted. Did the fact that he hadn�t done just that
mean there was some kernel of decency in him?
Numbly, Legolas nodded and followed his father from the
chamber.
#
�Three weeks since Legolas left and��
�I know how long it�s been!� Erestor snapped without
looking up from the papers that covered the top of his desk.
Ignoring his lover�s peevishness, Lindir sat in a chair
and draped himself artfully over the arms. �In those three weeks,� he continued
as if Erestor had not spoken, �you have sought to work yourself until you are
exhausted. This cannot continue. You will cease this behavior.�
Erestor raised his head and glared at Lindir.
Lindir met the gaze without flinching. �Enough,
Erestor. Put away your anger. It is only anger at yourself and guilt
over Legolas� departure.�
Blood suffused Erestor�s cheeks and he began making sounds
remarkably like a teakettle on full boil, interspersed with broken words. His
hands clawed convulsively at the papers. Finally, he mastered his anger enough
to grind out something coherent. �How dare you? The young elf I rescued and
raised is missing. You have no idea how I feel, no way of knowing��
With the quickness of a striking snake, Lindir sprang out
of the chair and slammed both hands, open-palmed, onto the desktop. The sharp
crack seemed to hang in the air. Lindir�s angry eyes
met Erestor�s across the paper-strewn surface. �Enough.� He spoke quietly, but
with great intensity. �Stop wallowing in self-pity. This is not all about you.
Yes, you have been as much a father to Legolas as Elrond, but there are many
who are filled with worry. Elrond is distraught. The twins are still out
searching for some trace of their brother. I am filled with foreboding, for I
also love Legolas. Glorfindel too, is doing all he can to determine where
Legolas went. It is not all your worry. Open your eyes and ears. This pose of
lonely self-pity is unbecoming. Grow up, Erestor.�
Luckily, his chair stood behind him or Erestor would have
fallen to the floor. The stunned elf collapsed back into it and stared, open
mouthed, at his normally gentle lover.
�Well done, Lindir.� Glorfindel spoke from near the door
he had just entered. �Rarely have I seen Erestor so effectively silenced. And Erestor, listen to him. He is correct.� Seeing that
Elrond wasn�t in the room, the blonde headed for the stables. A patrol was due
in.
#
Gesturing Legolas to a chair, Thranduil crossed to a
sideboard and retrieved a glass decanter full of a red liquid. �Wine?� he
inquired.
Mistrustful of his father�s motives, Legolas shook his
head. He looked slowly around the spacious chambers. He had never been in them
before. They were luxuriously furnished as befitted the ruler of a kingdom.
Movement, as Thranduil seated himself in a nearby sofa, drew his eye. He
examined the blonde elf warily. What game was Thranduil playing? When would the
courteous elf disappear and the monster Legolas knew as an elfling reappear?
When would the abuse start? Whatever Thranduil�s intentions, Legolas determined
that he wouldn�t show fear. He was no longer a helpless elfling, he repeated to
himself. He sat up straighter in the chair, and forced his hands to loosen
their grip on the arms.
A small smile ghosted across Thranduil�s face as he
noticed the small movement. �You have grown well, i�n
nin. I venture the lyre is not your only talent,
though I have enjoyed your signing the past few nights. Tell me, are you
trained as a warrior?�
Almost against his will, Legolas nodded. He loathed the
golden elf sitting across from him and resented giving him any information, but
Thranduil was behaving impeccably and he needed information in return.
�Do you prefer knife or bow or sword?�
�Bow.� Why was he answering this
monster�s questions? It felt like some other force was in control of his body.
�Good. Blood runs true. Our line has long preferred a
weapon of stealth to one of brute force. There is so little elegance in the
hacking and slashing of swords, don�t you think?�
Legolas thought of the grace with which Glorfindel wielded
a sword and didn�t agree, but managed to keep silent.
There followed a few more questions, which Legolas
grudgingly answered. He became aware of a lethargy stealing through his body
and mind. His muscles relaxed. He found himself wondering why he was resisting
Thranduil so much. The king�s words were wise and good. It seemed churlish of
him to deny Thranduil what he wanted. It was his father, his king. Was he not
obliged to obey?
�Surely you are not virgin?�
Legolas felt his cheeks flame at the intimate question,
but lacked the will to move or protest. Instead, he found himself answering the
question.
�Who was your first?�
Legolas tried to squirm. He should get up and storm out,
but the lethargy was growing. Everything had taken on an unreal air. �Glorfindel.� Had he really said that?
�The infamous Balrog Slayer, the elf with two lives. Tell me, was he good, this ancient Vanya?
Did he teach you well?�
The questions continued, some innocent, some probing, some offensive. Unable to resist, Legolas answered them all.
Pleasing Thranduil was the only thing that mattered. Under the persuasive
questioning, Legolas revealed much of being raised by Erestor and Elrond, of
his brotherly bond with the twins, and of Lorien. He confessed everything that
had happened.
Legolas had no concept of how much time had passed when
Thranduil told him to stand up.
�Strip.�
Something deep within him tried to resist, but it was a
tiny thing and easily overcome. Thranduil was his father. Why would he be
embarrassed to be naked in front of his father? And yet, as his clothes slid
from his body, he felt himself flush hotly.
�Come here, i�n nin.� Thranduil drew Legolas down so that he lay across the
king�s lap.
This is a dream. It will end soon. Won�t it? Do I want
that or not? I do, don�t I?
The king�s probing
questions, mainly of innocuous things like his training, continued while
Thranduil�s long, elegant hands explored his body. Shouldn�t he feel shame? He
didn�t. Instead his body responded to the king�s touch. It became more and more
difficult to focus on the questions directed at him.
�I see you have the whelp in hand.�
The new voice was bland, even mildly bored sounding. When
had someone else entered the room? He should definitely be ashamed, definitely
cover himself, but once again Legolas lacked the will to do so. He felt so
good. It had been so long; he had allowed himself no sexual release since
Lorien and the need overwhelmed him. Legolas writhed on the king�s lap,
wantonly displaying himself. He should be mortified. What was he doing? How
could he allow himself to be displayed thusly? The king�s hand closed around
his cock. He thrust upward into the grasp. Thought ceased.
Thranduil brought him to release, then offered Legolas his
hand to clean. Eagerly, he licked his own seed from his father�s hand. The king
turned him over, so that he lay face down, and Legolas caught a glimpse of the
other elf�s face.
Oropher. His
brother. Legolas felt a brief shame, then
Thranduil brought his hand down on his buttocks sharply. He jumped, but
Thranduil placed a hand against the back of his neck and gently forced his head
down. Legolas complied, a strange excitement mixing with the lethargy that
engulfed him.
As the spanking continued, Thranduil alternated periods of
stroking his flaming buttocks. During those quieter moments, Legolas could hear
several voices in the room. The odd dissociation from reality he felt and his desire, prevented him from listening coherently enough to
make out the words. Legolas was squirming, trying to rub his aroused cock
against something to provide the friction he needed to reach completion.
Chuckling, Thranduil leaned down to whisper in his ear. �So eager. Such a whore you�ve become.� Two slick fingers
thrust inside him. Legolas whimpered needily and
pushed back against the intrusion. �Show me your desire,� Thranduil coaxed. �Let
me see you take yourself on my fingers.�
Mewling in frustration, held in place by Thranduil,
Legolas spread his legs and moved his hips as much as he could. He was rewarded
with a third finger. Back and forth, his cock trapped between his body and Thranduil�s
muscled thigh. Over and over, he drove the king�s fingers into him. A fourth
finger slipped in.
What was he doing? He was acting like a wanton slut,
fucking himself on his father�s hand while an unknown number of elves watched.
Where was his dignity? His pride? His
good judgment?
Thranduil twisted his fingers, brushing over Legolas�
prostate, causing him to writhe and moan. More. He
wanted more. Needed more. Frantically, he bucked his
hips, riding the fingers inside him with abandon, but was unable to find the
release he needed.
�More, little whore?� Thranduil�s voice
in his ear.
Whimpering, panting, Legolas nodded, uncaring of the
witnesses to his degradation.
The king�s thumb joined his other fingers and his hand
slid into Legolas� channel, stretching it further than ever before. Legolas
yowled in pain, but Thranduil held him steady. Even before the fiery, burning
pain could recede, Thranduil began to move his hand. Something dark and primal
awoke inside Legolas. It snarled, relishing the pain, and he began to move,
meeting his father�s thrusting fist.
Sweat slicked his body and dripped into his eyes, stinging
them, but Legolas cared for nothing but the fist embedded in his ass and the
hard ache in his cock. Desperately, he shoved back, impaling himself on the
impossibly large object in him, then thrusting forward
to grind his cock against Thranduil�s thigh.
He heard Thranduil�s laugh, but didn�t care. He was close.
So close. Something about the general lassitude that held him prisoner seemed
to prevent his release, but at last he was on the verge. His movement changed,
concentrating more on his cock. Frantic, he thrust as rapidly as he could.
Hot fire rushed through his loins. Legolas felt the first
blessed ejaculation of his climax. Suddenly, Thranduil pulled his fist from
Legolas� body. The blinding pain, as he was stretched once again to accommodate
the girth, coupled with his unstoppable climax proved too much and he passed
out.
When he was next aware, he lay on the floor at Thranduil�s
feet. His buttocks burned in agony. It took several moments before he
remembered why. Incuriously, he looked around. He saw a semi-circle of six
chairs facing the king, but they were empty. His audience?
He was too exhausted and disconnected from reality to care.
�Awake? Good.� Thranduil�s voice was warm and caring. �Up.
It is time to retire.�
A strong hand helped him to his feet. Pain erupted through
his buttocks and loins; and his knees threatened to buckle. The hand steadied
him and helped him across the room. Every step sent fresh bolts of fire through
him and caused him to whimper. Why didn�t he care? Was something wrong with
him? Why was he here? Something, there was something important� He sighed as
Thranduil let him down on a blanket that lay on the floor in a corner.
�Look at me.�
Blearily, Legolas managed to turn his head and look up.
�This is your bed. You are allowed to be here or in your
chair. Nowhere else unless I tell you. Do you
understand?�
Barely able to comprehend the words, Legolas nodded.
Thranduil turned and disappeared from sight.
Curling onto his side, Legolas moaned in pain. He barely
managed to drag a corner of the blanket over his body. One hand feebly brushed
at something around his throat. It hadn�t been there when he passed out. A
collar like the Atani sometimes put on their animals. What did it mean?
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Dark Journey

Dark Journey - Part IV