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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.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Oropher/Elrond, Thranduil/Elrond, Legolas/Elrond, Elrond/Celebrían, Elrond/OFC
Warnings: Slash, het, graphic sex, bdsm, D/s, bondage, canonical character death
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I do not own the elves within or middle earth. They belong to Tolkien, and I am just borrowing them for a short while. I make no money from this.
Summary: A fanciful, smutty take on what Elrond’s story might have been through the ages.

Author’s Note:

Thank you to my wonderful reviewers!

Binky: Thank you for your compliments, I’m so glad you are enjoying it! As for Elrond being easy… the request was for a subby Elrond, and I’m really enjoying writing him that way.

Lee: I’m happy you are enjoying it, and I hope you like this new chapter.

Anon: Thank you for your comments! :) I’m afraid Thranduil doesn’t get any nicer here, though… in fact, he’s a little worse.

Chapter Seven

III 3434

Before he could even think about what he was doing, Elrond felt himself hauled to his feet, and he gasped at Thranduil’s strength, even after the tiring day, but he found his balance and stood before the new King. On Thranduil’s face was a rare look of indecision, and Elrond swallowed audibly, aware that Oropher was laid behind him still.

“Thranduil –”

“Quiet.” Immediately Elrond looked down, closing his eyes briefly as he gave up on speaking. He didn’t know what he had been about to say anyway. “And so you are,” Thranduil said then, as if in understanding. Alarmed, Elrond looked up, and suddenly there were warm lips pressing against his as he was almost crushed by the ferocity of Thranduil’s embrace.

Elrond made a startled sound, and Thranduil’s tongue was in his mouth before he could think to fight. His hands pushed against Thranduil’s chest as he leaned back to escape the intimacy. Normally, he wasn’t weak, but after the battle and the shock of finding his lover, Elrond simply didn’t have the wherewithal to defend himself against this, and he made a sound of protest that was muffled by Thranduil’s lips and tongue.

When it broke, Thranduil leaned his forehead against Elrond’s, his gaze serious and calm once more. Briefly, he saw Thranduil’s eyes flicker to where Oropher lay behind him.

“Come, Peredhil. We will continue this someplace else,” he said decisively, moving away but taking hold of Elrond’s hand.

“Continue? No! This is madness! At least I have shown my grief. Please, Thranduil…” His voice trailed off when Thranduil looked at him, and in the Prince’s – King’s – eyes, he saw the pain he himself felt at Oropher’s loss.

“Majesty,” Thranduil said softly as a reminder, his eyes narrowing slightly. Elrond shook his head at it in awareness. He thought he knew what this was, and he pulled his hand back, stepping out of the way so that Thranduil could see his father.

“Not like this… I can’t help you like this…” To his surprise there was a harsh laugh against his ear as Thranduil came close to him again, standing behind him.

“You misunderstand, Peredhil. I can help you. Or rather, we can help each other.”

It didn’t make any sense, but to force Thranduil’s attention to the still form on the bed, he had to turn and gaze at it himself, and he felt tears filling his eyes again as he remembered what he had lost this day. “Help me,” he repeated, meaning it to be a sarcastic question, but instead it sounded like a plea.

“Yes,” Thranduil stated calmly. “Come with me, away from here. Just a little way. You can come back in a while.”

Of course he couldn’t. In a little while they would be required to return to the front until the deed was done and Elrond sniffled miserably in indecision.

“You can do nothing here, Peredhil,” Thranduil argued reasonably, and at that Elrond allowed himself to be led away, finding himself leaning on the new King a little as they made their way to another large tent that was empty besides a bed and a large bowl of cleanish water.

At once it occurred to him how clean Thranduil was – even his boots had been shiny, and he knew that Thranduil must have been back for a while before him, for he had taken the time to wash. Noticing Elrond’s study of the bowl of water, Thranduil let him go and gestured to it.

“You are welcome,” he said simply. Elrond looked down at himself, at his boots that were covered in mud. They were a shiny black in places, but Elrond wasn’t fooled. It was the blood of the enemy, layered inbetween the red puddles he had been forced to walk through on the way here.

His clothes fared no better underneath his armour, wet with sweat and rain and tears. Every bare patch of skin was covered in some viscous substance, and Elrond shuddered. But at the thought of washing it all away, he quailed. No… it meant something, to carry on, to wash away the day in preparation of a new one, and Elrond shook his head mutely at Thranduil’s offer.

Instead he sat on the edge of the bed and wore the filth like a comforting blanket. If he didn’t move, then neither would time. Forever, like this, in this day. His thoughts became numb and he hunched over, feeling a twisted knot of anguish in his stomach that took all of his attention.

Again he saw the still and lifeless body of his lover and friend before him, and he whimpered at the sheer pain of it, folding his arms around himself as if he would fly to pieces if he let go.

“Elrond?” Thranduil’s soft voice intruded on him, not quite unwelcome, but he didn’t feel like responding to it, and he stayed in the same position when he felt the bed dip beside him as Thranduil sat down too. “Take this,” he said in the same gentle tone, and Elrond began to wish he would shout.

He relaxed enough to take the tarred leather goblet from the King’s hand into his own, mostly because if he didn’t, he thought Thranduil might hold it for him while he drank, and he emptied the contents of it in one large gulp, not even feeling the spreading warmth of the miruvor. All that he could feel was the vast emptiness.

There wasn’t time for this – Elrond knew it but he couldn’t help himself. The numbness was a cold ingot of iron deep within him that couldn’t be touched, yet in a matter of hours he had to go back out there. He imagined himself picking up his sword again and going out to fight, and he shivered suddenly, turning to look at Thranduil in a kind of fear.

“I am going to die,” he said, his voice as emotionless as the cold. With some effort he unfolded his arms, though he kept his elbows tight by his sides, and looked down at his bloodstained hands. They were shaking. “I cannot fight.”

“Really?” Thranduil asked with detached interest. Elrond looked up again and saw the King removing his tunic. He must want to sleep, Elrond thought, I should leave. But then, even that couldn’t make him move.

“I am sorry… I know I have to go,” Elrond said quietly, trying to command his limbs to move.

“You aren’t going anywhere.” Elrond’s heart announced its presence within his chest in a lazy thud at the sound of the dark intent in Thranduil’s voice, and his mouth went dry. Did Thranduil expect to sleep next to him?

“That is ridiculous,” Elrond said, more to himself than the King. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“No, you aren’t.” Again, he felt his heart thud heavily, and just when his body began to obey him and he started to rise, a large hand rested on his shoulder, keeping him in his place. “But you will be soon.”

There wasn’t any fight in him – Elrond was right about that. Still, he protested when Thranduil began to peel his armour from him. It wasn’t the heavy iron armour of the humans, instead it was the lightweight hardened leather armour of the elves, yet still it covered him and he knew he would feel naked without it.

“Don’t,” he pleaded softly, laying a hand over his heart as Thranduil tried to take the biggest piece of armour that covered his chest. The King didn’t listen to his protest however, and Elrond’s hand fell away weakly at his insistence.

When all that was left were the thin tunic and breeches he wore beneath his battle armour, Thranduil left him alone for a moment or two to lift the tent flap and peer outside. As if it was happening in another world, Elrond heard the King ask for clean water and clothes for him as he rested in the same position as before, his arms wrapped around his body as though for comfort.

Elrond never noticed anyone else enter the tent, but when Thranduil stood before him he looked up and saw a neatly folded set of his own clothes and a clean bowl of water on the folding table. “Stand,” Thranduil commanded, and Elrond shivered, making no move to obey.

“Stand up,” he repeated firmly.

“Thranduil,” Elrond began with a sigh.

“Did you vow to serve me as your King?” Thranduil demanded then, completely stunning him with the direct question. Elrond thought back, remembering how he had kissed Thranduil’s boots as if it were a dream he had woken from. He wasn’t sure. “Did you not say: ‘I vow to serve you, my King?’”

It was like having someone else tell him the dream he was struggling to remember, and Elrond realised that it had been real then, as it was now, and he whimpered a little at the coldness of Thranduil’s tone. “Yes,” he whispered, not understanding why Thranduil thought it was important.

“Then obey me, and stand up.” Feeling wearier than he could ever remember, Elrond slowly got to his feet, not daring to unfold his arms for fear that he would lose his fragile strength and fall to his knees at Thranduil’s feet again.

Instead, he looked down in surprise when it was Thranduil who knelt before him, and despite it he felt strangely vulnerable, as though Thranduil’s presence before him had been a wall he was leaning against. Now he didn’t know what to do, and his eyes slid around him, encountering the bowl of clean water as he felt Thranduil undoing the laces of his boots.

Looking at it blankly, Elrond made no protest when he had stepped out of his boots and Thranduil began to undress him. At least the other elf was standing in front of him again, pulling his tunic up over his head, and Elrond relaxed his arms for a moment to stretch them out and allow the piece of clothing to fall to the ground in a heap.

A mat made of grasses was on the floor, and Thranduil bade him stand on it, which he did silently. He gasped out loud at the touch of the cold water against his skin as Thranduil soaked a cloth and began to clean him. For the first time it occurred to him that he was completely naked, but he said nothing, only wanting it to be over soon so that he could curl up and forget. Or remember. Elrond wasn’t sure which he wanted to do.

He was mostly unaware of what Thranduil did with him, although it did seem to take a good deal longer than it would have taken him. The water was cold, but Thranduil was unfailingly gentle, leaving Elrond time to wander in his thoughts as the soft cloth caressed him, cleansing his body and reviving him a little.

At last, Thranduil came to his face, and Elrond looked deep into the other elf’s fascinating eyes as he felt the touch of the damp material against his cheek. For the first time, it occurred to Elrond just how much Thranduil was doing for him, and his hand gripped the King’s wrist.

“Thank you,” he said from his inner world of grief and shock, and Thranduil smiled slightly. It was an odd reaction, but Elrond didn’t have the inclination to study it, and his hand fell from Thranduil’s wrist uselessly as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, allowing the cloth to wipe over his face and his throat.

His hair was in warrior’s braids, and would remain like that until there was sufficient time to care for it properly. He registered the feel of dry material against his skin, and closed his eyes again when he realised Thranduil was drying him down like a child. After that he was turned to face the bowl of water. It had been clear, now it was grey and brown in colour. Only his hands were left, and Elrond tried to pull back as Thranduil attempted to dip them in the water.

They were still covered in dirt and blood that head dried and caked around his nails and the creases on the palms of his hands. His hands. The hands that had touched Oropher, and given him pleasure. The hands that had embraced him before the battle, and touched his silver hair. The fingers that had stroked his ivory skin in affection and hope, for they had a great army that might just be indefeatable thanks to Oropher’s vision.

“No!” Elrond cried out, showing the first emotion since leaving Oropher’s still body, pulling away from the water violently. He looked at his hands, because Oropher had kissed his hands in love before they parted to take their allotted places, and the touch of his lips must still be there beneath the grime and the blood. How could he wash Oropher from his skin when he would never know that simple pleasure again?

“Wash your hands,” Thranduil said calmly, and Elrond looked into his eyes, seeing a kind of determination that frightened him. It shocked him so much that he didn’t realise his hands were in the water until it was too late, and he switched his gaze to look down at the muddy water in anguish, crying out at the loss. A single tear fell into the bowl with a small splash, mixing with the dirt and perhaps with the last remnants of Oropher’s kiss.

Thranduil had his hands in the water too, his arms wrapped around Elrond from behind in a loose but comforting embrace. Elrond couldn’t see through the water but he could feel it as Thranduil’s fingers rubbed against his palms and wrists. It was shockingly intimate. He could feel the heat of Thranduil’s body behind him as he slowly but efficiently rubbed the dirt from Elrond’s hands, yet the King made no sound, finally lifting them out and drying them on a clean piece of cloth by the side of the bowl.

“Lie down on the bed.” With a silent sigh, still staring in sadness and betrayal at his hands, Elrond went to obey, curling up on his side as his body seemed to want, protecting the pain that consumed him in case it should spread outwards and infect the world around him. It felt black and heavy now, and he slowly folded his arms around his middle – around it – as before, turning his face against the soft pillows as a sob escaped him but not the pain.

He offered no resistance when Thranduil rolled him onto his front, because that meant the pain was trapped by his hands as he pressed them against his stomach. His clean hands.

“When this is over, you shall allow Glorfindel to travel back to Imladris alone, and you will come with me.”

It took a few moments for Elrond to understand what was being said. There wasn’t a time after this. There would never be an over, and Elrond rejected the idea in a saddened sigh. “No.”

A sudden stripe of red pain landed on his naked skin and he heard himself squeal in shock, turning onto his side again as he pressed his hands tighter against his stomach lest he should allow the pain to escape him in his distraction.

“Wrong answer.” A moment later, Elrond was writhing on the bed in misery as Thranduil tied and secured his hands above his head, and he tensed in desperation, bending his body to find a position that felt safe, wanting nothing more but to hold himself again.

When he had done, Thranduil came to sit on the bed again, and again he repeated his former statement. Once more Elrond said no, and this time when the cane fell on his buttocks, he felt the pain slip and he cried out loudly, certain that Thranduil didn’t know what he was doing.

They went through the same thing over and over, Thranduil punishing him every time he didn’t agree, forcing him to repeat back the instruction. Every time Elrond did, Thranduil added a little more detail to the idea, speaking of the caves and what they were like inside, describing Nimbrethil down to the clothes she would be wearing and the way she would embrace them both when they arrived.

Nowhere in any of these descriptions was the true King. They returned without him, and Elrond found himself repeating it again and again, until he almost began to believe in it. Thranduil didn’t spare the details, and he talked of how quiet and lonely it would seem, the sadness of the people whose lovers and sons and fathers didn’t return. But also he talked of the joy of those whose loved ones did come back. He described Nimbrethil’s sadness and grief at the loss of her father-in-law, but also her happiness and gratitude that the war was won, and that her husband and her friend were safe.

By the end of it, it was real, and although Elrond could still feel the pain, and knew he would want to hold himself again, he realised that it hadn’t seeped out and turned the world black. The world was the world, and the pain was still his, with or without his effort. There was still a battle outside, and he would rejoin it with Thranduil, but he would survive it.

Thranduil and Nimbrethil would need him as they struggled to take the reigns of the kingdom at the same time as they dealt with Oropher’s loss, and the unfulfilled prediction that they would take back their home.

“Do you think he knew?” Elrond asked at last, thinking of Oropher’s refusal to speak with either of them about his vision in Galadriel’s mirror.

“Undoubtedly.” Elrond sobbed at Thranduil’s agreement, imagining the heaviness Oropher had successfully managed to hide. Of course he had seen it, because now it all made sense. The preparation, the urging for the last alliance, the way he attacked before he should. The suspense must have been terrible. Elrond shuddered.

He took in a deep breath when he felt Thranduil lie behind him, because surely there wasn’t time to sleep.

“Did you think to only take what you needed?” Thranduil asked in amusement.

“What I needed?” Elrond questioned in return, feeling suddenly out of his depth now and afraid, but Thranduil simply carried on as though he hadn’t spoken.

“No. That isn’t how it works. Now I will take payment, aníra-nín, and I think I will use your body to give me the warmth and pleasure I miss while I am away from home.”

At last, and too late, Elrond realised what was afoot, and he fought helplessly against the bindings he had been put into just an hour earlier as Thranduil pressed against his back. “Please, don’t!”

“You will learn to surrender, I promise you. But for now understand that you have no choice. I will take what is due to me.”

“No!” He suddenly felt the new King’s naked skin against his back, and he jolted as though it burned him, wishing only to be free of what Thranduil planned for him. Instead he found himself whimpering when the King touched him, and he shivered because he knew there was no escaping this.

“Hush! Do not tremble so, Elrond! I will not hurt you, my little green leaf,” Thranduil said in amusement, stroking down the side of Elrond’s waist with one hand to calm him.

Elrond stopped twisting in his bonds and flushed. He could feel the colour staining his face, even if he couldn’t see it, and he still trembled, to his utmost disgust. “Do not call me such,” he tried to demand, but instead found himself almost pleading, “I am not inexperienced.”

“No, you are not. But I would be willing to wager no one has ever had you bound and helpless like this.” Silence fell for a moment. “Have they?”

“No…”

“Is that an answer to my question or something else? Because you should know I am not going to ask for your permission, green leaf.”

Elrond moaned miserably and shivered, and behind him Thranduil chuckled. “I think I have found a name for you… Legolas.”

“No,” Elrond protested, struggling again before falling still in defeat. “I do not like it!”

“That is precisely why it is perfect for you, green leaf. Do not argue with your King.” Then, to his lasting dismay, he felt Thranduil’s fingers sliding over him, slick with some greasy substance that made it easy for them to slide into him deeply, until he was breathless and pleading for it to stop.

It did stop, but not for long. Elrond groaned when he felt Thranduil’s hard flesh pierce him, sliding past the little ring of muscle to invade him. This was Oropher’s son! It was wrong! He was already tense, but now he struggled again in vain as that rod of flesh slid deeper, taking him all the way, slow but forceful.

Behind him, Thranduil sighed in satisfaction. “Well done, green leaf,” he praised. “That is the hardest part over with.” Elrond sobbed in shame as he felt Thranduil pulling back, only to thrust forward again, accompanying his movement with another deliberate sound of pleasure.

“Are you crying, green leaf?” Thranduil asked incredulously. Elrond sniffled, unable to wipe his face clean of the tears when his arms were secured above him.

“No,” he said stubbornly, still shaking, his breath hitching a little to betray his state as his body unconsciously squeezed around Thranduil’s length.

“Yes, you are!” Thranduil stated. “Oh, green leaf…” he moaned, kissing the back of Elrond’s neck lovingly, “how beautiful you are! I should have taken this from you a long time ago.”

“Do not say such things!”

“When you return with me, you will be mine, Elrond. Is that clear?”

“What do you really want from me?” Elrond cried out in shame as Thranduil continued to take him against his will.

“I want you to enjoy it, green leaf,” Thranduil said harshly. “I want you to admit you want this. I want you to be with me in body and soul because you will only survive if you believe there is something to return to – do you understand?”

Elrond’s struggles ceased and he laughed bitterly. “So you think this is the answer?” he asked, incredulous. “How do you expect me to react?”

“I expect you to live!” Thranduil answered, his voice so fierce that Elrond involuntarily flinched. “I expect you to relish the pain and beg me for more. I want you to fight me and lose. I want you to surrender to me wholeheartedly, knowing that when this is over, I will take you to my home as a captive and a plaything.” Elrond listened to Thranduil’s words, and a strange feeling came over him, not unlike the feeling he had when Thranduil had forced him to kiss his boots. He felt the King slide deeply inside him again, and this time Elrond shocked himself with a moan.

“And yes, I want you to enjoy it all.” Elrond imagined himself being led into the caves by Thranduil as a captive, and he knew he was reacting in a wholly unexpected way.

“Don’t…” he pleaded. Not because he was hurt and humiliated now, but because he was beginning to understand what Thranduil wanted of him.

“This war is about hope, Elrond, and if you fight without it, you will perish whether the enemy kills you or not.”

“This is not hope,” Elrond argued stubbornly.

“Yes, it is. I want you. I want you to be mine. Mine to take and to play with. And I want you to desire it too.”

“But why like this? Why be cruel?” He felt he was whining now, but after everything that Thranduil had done for him, this felt like betrayal.

“Because it is not in me to be anyone but myself. I am not my father, green leaf, but I will love and cherish your surrender to me as dearly as he loved your serious nature and loyalty.”

“If you tell me you aren’t seduced by this, I will let you go, because it defeats the purpose.” Thranduil did indeed stop moving then, and almost instantly the pain Elrond had forgotten about came back. He moaned softly in regret, and closed his eyes. About to reply, he felt Thranduil’s hand close around his member, which to his surprise was hard and ready.

There was a little movement behind him, and Elrond felt Thranduil inside him. He sighed in pleasure. “Surrender to me, green leaf. Surrender to your King.” As Thranduil kissed the back of his neck, Elrond moaned again, feeling the terrible black pain lessen, and he pressed back against the King’s body in deliberate invitation, feeling a strange and frightening shiver of excitement run through him when Thranduil laughed softly.

“I surrender,” he said softly, trembling again because he didn’t know what this was.

“I know. Trust me. It will be all right, Elrond.” And Elrond wanted to believe. He knew that he could, and that was the worst thing. It would be easy to deny it all and to treat this as abuse – but it would be cowardly. Whatever Thranduil’s motives, Elrond was sure the new King wasn’t out to hurt him, and Elrond had never been less than brave.

To be continued…

Translations:

aníra-nín – my desire

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading, I hope you are enjoying it. Comments/constructive criticism welcome. Please review! :)
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The Teacher