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The Teacher - Missing Scenes	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 4116 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's world, middle earth, Lord of the Rings or any characters. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author's Note: Written for TAFKAB on request, here is a snapshot of Elrond and Thranduil in Lindon when Thranduil is around sixty-five (fifteen years old in human terms) and Elrond is his teacher.

This is partly how Elrond unwittingly sets in motion Thranduil's proclivity towards Dom/sub play later in life. Here, young Thranduil is head over heels in love. Elrond really isn't.

I took this down to lengthen it, but failed. I did write the entirety of Thranduil's little ficlet, and it can be found at the bottom. *gulps*

Transgression

It was another quiet afternoon in Elrond's study, marked only by the scratching of quills upon parchment. Elrond looked up, and let his eyes rest on the view outside the window. It was a beautiful day for autumn. Some youths were playing a kind of game on the grass outside, though their exuberant shouts were distant enough not to be a distraction. At least, not for him.

For a moment he looked across the room at Thranduil. His silver head was bent close to the desk as he continued to work, totally engrossed for a change. That was a novelty. Elrond briefly considered letting him go to join his friends outside; it was a glorious day, after all. He stared for a moment, his own quill poised in his hand, but Thranduil did not look up from his written work. Elrond smiled and remained silent, somewhat pleased. So be it. If the truth be told, he had grown used to having Thranduil around while he worked.

Elrond looked back down at his desk. Education was endless, and Elrond thought Thranduil might be surprised to learn that his own teacher still sought knowledge. Elrond's own tutor, Maglor, had been less strict but Elrond had been happy to learn from him. Thranduil seemed to need a firmer hand to keep his attention where it should be.

Another hour or two passed, during which Elrond painstakingly copied pages of a book on advanced healing borrowed from Lindon's library. It was the job of a scribe, really, but Elrond knew the slow work would settle the knowledge the book contained in him more deeply than if he merely read it.

“Pengolodh,” came a hesitant voice by the side of his chair. Elrond looked up, startled from his studies, suddenly aware of the passage of time. Outside the light was fading, and the youths had left the grass. Thranduil held out a sheet of parchment to him for his inspection. Elrond took it, looking into his student's eyes. His eyes narrowed when Thranduil could not quite seem to meet his gaze.

One sheet of parchment. Elrond's eyes skimmed the contents, and he was frowning.

“It is the essay on Laurelin you wished for,” Thranduil said, hesitant, and Elrond hushed him sharply. Thranduil knew better than to disturb him when he was reading written work.

There was very little here for such a long time spent writing. And yet Thranduil had been dearly focused on it, he knew.

“Where is the rest of it?” he asked, waving the single page. Thranduil paled.

“The r-rest?” he stammered as Elrond stood up. Though Elrond was still a little taller than Thranduil, the youth was shooting up quickly, and he wouldn't be surprised if Oropher's son ended up being slightly taller than him in the end.

Striding over to Thranduil's desk, Elrond was aware the youngster followed him hastily, and that he was alarmed about something was very clear. What had he been writing? Thranduil knew that when here he was to concentrate on the tasks Elrond set. He must have disobeyed. Again. Elrond sighed while Thranduil came to stand before him, placing himself between Elrond and his desk.

Raising an eyebrow, Elrond drummed his fingers heavily on the desk. “Move aside, Oropherion,” he said in warning, and Thranduil stepped aside, his head bowed immediately. It was an interesting reaction, and Elrond might have been inclined to study it if he was not more curious about whatever Thranduil had been so engrossed in, for clearly it wasn't his essay.

Leafing through the stack of papers on his desk, Elrond found several sheets of parchment covered with neat script buried at the bottom. He teased them out and before he could even look, Thranduil's hand closed over his wrist.

“Please,” the youth said. “Don't.”

Elrond smiled without humour. “You know that your words and your actions mean I must.” He deliberately made his voice colder. “Now remove your hand from my arm.” Thranduil let him go immediately, his head bowing again. Elrond stared for a moment then looked to the sheets he held in his hand. His eyes scanned the first page, and he felt suddenly weak. He swallowed and recovered his composure before Thranduil had the chance to look up and see.

What to do about it? How to ensure it wouldn't happen again? Elrond's mind worked quickly. He wasn't unaware of Thranduil's interest, but for the child's own sake it must be nipped in the bud. Clearly, he hadn't done enough to dampen the boy's ardour.

Elrond shook his head slightly as Thranduil looked up at him then just as quickly looked away, his cheeks burning red. He was embarrassed, and so he should be. Perhaps humiliation would teach this lesson then.

He is no longer a child.

The unwanted thought was dismissed as quickly as it appeared. Elrond had known Thranduil throughout his young life. He most certainly was not of age, and even if he had been, his father's sometime lover and his own lifelong teacher was not a valid choice for this kind of attention.

“Follow me to my desk, Thranduil,” he ordered at last, his voice cool and composed. He leafed through the sheets as he walked, to gather some kind of idea how explicit the work was so as not to be surprised. It was quite explicit for someone with no experience. He would use that in the hour or so to come.

When he was seated, he had Thranduil stand by his chair, and handed him the first sheet of parchment after reading through it carefully.

“Read it aloud,” he ordered, and he was not ignorant of the quiet whimper that Thranduil gave under his breath.

“Please, Elrond, I didn't –”

“Address me with respect, even if you cannot think of me that way!” Elrond's voice rapped out the reprimand sharply, and beside his chair, Thranduil jumped.

“Yes, Pengolodh,” he said quietly.

“Read it,” Elrond said again. “Take care to enunciate everything clearly. Do not omit a single word, or I will have you start again from the beginning.”

“But, Sir,” Thranduil began.

“Now!” Elrond interrupted before he could excuse himself or attempt another apology. “Else I will send you from here and you will not return.”

The next time Thranduil spoke, he read the first paragraph of his composition.

“One day when I was working Elrond came to stand behind my chair in the study to watch what I was doing and sometimes he would correct me as I worked but this day was very much different from the others.” He drew in a shuddering breath.

“You are short of breath. Why?” Elrond demanded, establishing eye contact as soon as Thranduil looked up from the page. His cheeks were still stained red, the tips of his ears too.

“Because I am afraid,” Thranduil confessed quietly, his eyes wide because he did not know what was expected of him.

“No. That is not the reason,” Elrond informed him, his voice carefully emotionless. “Read the first paragraph again, and see if you can grasp it.”

Again he read, and again he drew a sudden breath. “I did not put breathing space in my writing, Pengolodh,” he said in a kind of horrified understanding, staring at Elrond.

“No, you did not. Do you think this is a comfortable thing to read?” he asked politely. Thranduil looked down at his feet, as if wishing that the floor would swallow him.

“No, Sir,” he said eventually.

“And why should we always strive for quality in our compositions?”

“To give pleasure to the reader.” Elrond saw the first twinkling of tears as the boy looked up, but Thranduil blinked them away as if furious, sniffling a little.

“I take no pleasure in this, Thranduil.” Elrond shook his head. “Continue.”

Thranduil read on, and Elrond interrupted often, pointing out grammar mistakes with the clinical critique he reserved for much more accomplished writers than Thranduil. Perhaps that was a little cruel, but he wished to make this lesson stick in Thranduil's mind. There could be no repeat of this, however naively meant.

Thranduil passed from shame, to humiliation, to upset, then to resentment. By the time he was close to the end, he was completely miserable. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he read the words aloud. These were his private thoughts, but Elrond could not afford him mercy. Elrond played with a long wooden ruler that was on his desk, using it to give gravitas to his criticism, and he noted the way Thranduil focused on it, becoming calmer, so he continued to use it.

“'I know. I will teach you this too, pen neth. Would you like that?'” Thranduil read the dialogue and paused, cringing, as if he was swallowing his pride. Probably, he was. Elrond sighed inwardly, though outwardly he maintained his stern demeanour – for both their sakes.

Thranduil read the next part more quietly. He still made certain to keep his voice as clear as possible, though it broke sometimes. Elrond did not insist on him beginning again. He was sure this was punishment enough.

“I thought I would die of pleasure at those words, combined with the skilful caress of his hand, and I came suddenly – couldn't help it – imagining my nights filled with him as well as my days. In his bed, naked bodies close together. He is a good teacher. I would have this.”

“I am so sorry, Pengolodh. Please forgive me.” At first, Elrond thought Thranduil continued to read, but then he looked up from the page, his eyes full of anguish. His gaze strayed to the ruler Elrond held in his hand, and he tapped the long edge of it against the desktop slowly.

“This is not about my forgiveness, or lack of it,” Elrond said. “To you, this fiction may be an amusing way to pass the time. But did you consider how others might look upon this prank? What if someone should come upon this and believe I was abusing you? Did you think of that? Did you think of what might happen should word of such reach your father?”

The youth shook his head, his unhappiness plain to see as he was faced with the adult consequences of his foolishness.

“Would you wish for me to be disgraced for a misunderstanding, or for me to lose the respect I enjoy here? Perhaps the love of your father. Even that?”

“No, Sir,” Thranduil sobbed. “Please believe me! I do not wish any of that!”

Elrond drew in a breath, then let it out deliberately. “Continue to the end,” he ordered, and Thranduil sobbed for a long minute before he could obey the instruction. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand until Elrond sighed in consternation and provided him with a handkerchief.

When at last he was done, Elrond laid the ruler down. “I am not an appropriate choice for your fantasies, Oroperion. I have known you all of your life. I love you, almost as a son.” He paused for a long moment, and remembered seeing the youths playing outside earlier.

“I take much of your time. From now on, you will leave an hour earlier each day and spend time with your friends. Each morning, you will report to me what you did with your free time, and I shall expect to hear that you had fun.”

“Yes, Sir.” Thranduil looked at him wide eyed and startled. “Whatever you wish of me,” he added weakly.

“I am often engaged with the healers at present, learning the finer aspects of their craft. I shall ask one of them to provide you with lessons that relate to desire and intimacy.” At that he was sure Thranduil wished to protest, but he merely agreed, completely deflated now, meek, almost broken.

“If you require a strict timetable to prevent you from misbehaviour, then that is what you will get from me. I promise you will have not five minutes of your own to repeat this... this aberration!” Elrond paused to breathe, realising he had become visibly angry, a thing that hardly ever happened. Thranduil was trembling and pale now, his eyes fixed on the ruler as if he expected Elrond to pick it up again and hit him with it.

“You will do exactly as I say, Thranduil,” he said at last, calmer.

“Yes, Sir,” Thranduil deferred, gazing at him. There was not a scrap of insolence left in him. Instead, he looked somewhat humbled. Elrond relaxed, seeing that, believing it to be over at last.

“Now, take the pages and throw them on the fire. I do not expect to ever see their like again. Do you understand me, Thranduil?”

“Yes, Sir,” he said, and trailed sadly to the fireplace, feeding the parchment to it sheet by sheet. His shoulders shook as he began to cry in earnest. Elrond felt his heart constrict in empathy, but he could not have done this any other way. Not without sending Thranduil away for good, and he had become used to having Oropher's boy around. Elrond found his studies went easier when he could glance up and see Thranduil there, sitting across from him. He knew it was an indulgence, but if he could stub out this adolescent silliness, then he could continue to teach.

“I would comfort you as I once did,” he said out loud. “But I think you have outgrown that.” He remembered all the times he had cuddled Thranduil as a child, growing up. Soothing him as a baby. Thranduil on his knee while he cried about a grazed knee or a nightmare. Those times were short, and they were over.

Elrond stood up. “Come here to me,” he said, and Thranduil came to stand before him, looking down at the floor. He could not be sent home with tears drying on his face and his body racked with wild heaving sobs. Elrond wrapped arms around him, and Thranduil cried against his shoulder, shaking, repeating his apologies over and over.

“Shh...” Elrond soothed, one hand behind the boy's head. “It is over now. Do not do it again and everything will be all right.” He patted Thranduil's shoulder with his other hand. That and his words seemed to do the trick, and the boy became quiet, his shuddering eased and he was warm in Elrond's arms. At that point, he let the youth go.

“Sit quietly for a few minutes. I will send a servant to fetch a glass of milk.” So saying, he led Thranduil back to his seat, surprised at the youth's easy compliance. Suddenly he was very obedient, but then he had been very upset too.

Elrond watched over Oropher's son as he drank the milk. At length the boy looked up from his desk.

“May I go, Pengolodh?” he asked. Elrond considered. His eyes had lost the red puffy look, and he seemed quite composed.

“You may,” he replied with a curt nod, then returned to his own work. He was hardly aware of Thranduil coming to stand by his desk until he spoke.

“Thank you for the lesson you have given me today,” he said, quiet and subdued. It was a piece of politeness that Elrond had taught him, and he hadn't been expecting it this time. Thranduil placed something before him, then turned and fled, the door opening and shutting quickly, leaving Elrond staring at the red, shiny apple Thranduil had left upon his desk.

~ finis ~

Thranduil's Story

One day when I was working in the study, Elrond came to stand behind my chair. He often did, to watch what I was doing, and sometimes he would correct me as I worked, but this day was very much different from the others.

After a moment he laid a hand on my shoulder and I had to stop writing. I turned around in my seat and looked up at him, and he was as handsome and desirable as ever. He was my teacher, but he was a good sword fighter too and I knew he had the body of a warrior hidden under his clothing. The long flowing robes he always wore were a disguise.

“What is it?” I asked, as he looked down on me, something different in his eyes. He sighed, and his hand moved from my shoulder to my face.

“I have tried to keep my feelings to myself,” he said. “But I see now it is in vain. I desire you, pen neth, and I cannot be content to sit across from you without knowing the taste of your lips upon mine.”

I was very shocked to hear this, but could not deny that his words awoke a secret desire in me that had been longing for him to say these things. I was certain that he must feel it too, and now I had the proof. I stood and slid my arms around his neck, reaching up.

“I feel the same, Elrond,” I confessed in earnest, feeling breathless. “Will you do it now and satisfy us both?”

His body was hard and warm against mine all at the same time, and he pressed me back against the edge of the desk as he bent his head. I closed my eyes and I did not know how much time passed. The heated pressure of his lips was very nice, and I found myself overwhelmed, clinging to his shoulders as he did what he wished.

What he wished was more, and though I knew I should protest, I could not seem to do anything as his hands roamed over me, searching for entry inside my clothing. He managed to unlace my breeches, and I felt his fingers curl around me. He touched me as I had touched myself so often whilst thinking about him, and I felt my head fall back in bliss as his hand moved on me.

He kissed my neck and all I could do was moan and call his name. I could feel the heat of his own desire pressing into the top of my hip, and I wanted to touch him in return. I reached out my hand, and he seemed to know, because he undid his own breeches swiftly and pulled out his hardness. It was long and thick, and I could barely get my fingers around him.

He watched my face, and I suddenly felt very uncertain. “I am sorry,” I said. “I have never done this.” He squeezed me and I forgot my thought. Then he laughed. “I cannot concentrate when you do that!” I gasped.

“I know. I will teach you this too, pen neth. Would you like that?”

I thought I would die of pleasure at those words, combined with the skilful caress of his hand, and I came suddenly – couldn't help it – imagining my nights filled with him as well as my days. In his bed, naked bodies close together. He is a good teacher. I would have this.

“Yes!” I cried out as he finished me with his hand.

When I had recovered, he was still hard, and I used both my hands to touch him, no longer looking up but looking down, marvelling at his size. Though my body was spent I still felt lust in my mind as he leaned forward, his hands on the desk at either side of me. It made me feel powerful, to touch him as his body shuddered with tension.

I had a sudden urge to kiss him there, and went down to my knees to accomplish it. He moaned, and I wanted to laugh at the proof that he enjoyed my touch. I licked at him, and he gasped.

“Your mouth feels so good,” he said, encouraging, and I looked up to find him watching everything I did, his eyes so dark my stomach leaped inside me. Slowly I sealed my lips around the top of him and moved my tongue. He let out a strange groan and came, his seed on my tongue before I let him go. It ran over my hand in spurts as I worked it out of him.

The taste of it was strange. I had been tempted to taste myself but had never done so. Perhaps we were the same. I wanted to know, and I looked up only to see him licking his own hand that had been covered with my essence. Taking it as an instruction, I lapped up all I could until it was gone before rising to my feet before him.

We tidied our clothing and he took my hand to lead me out of the study. He said I had lots to learn, and we should start as soon as possible. I felt giddy and proud as we walked through the palace hand-in-hand. He was mine, and I was his. At last.

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