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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
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Author's Note: Well, the muses clearly liked this suggestion, because today I just sat down and wrote it.

So, for those who don't know, this is a request, written for lunarlumina, who wanted to see that sword fight from Thranduil's pov, where he lost to Elrond on purpose. Poor Thranduil. To make it up to him, next I shall be adding another chapter from Thranduil's pov, where he finally manages to get Elrond to surrender to him at the Battle of Dagorlad.

Just a warning. Thranduil is about fifteen here in human terms. Please skip if that offends you, though Elrond does not reciprocate in any way whatsover.

For now, I hope you all enjoy this.

Crushed

As he readied himself for his lesson in a small hut beside the training field, Thranduil was alone. It smelled of wood and old sweat in here, and he wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he checked over his preparations.

He took the time to make certain none of his clothing was loose, and that his hair would not get in his way. These were things Elrond insisted on, though when he practised alone, he would often leave his hair long and flowing. The way it drifted around him following his movements seemed to aid his instincts on timing and precision.

For now, it would not do. If he appeared on the field with loose hair, Elrond would just send him back to braid it, or perhaps cancel the lesson altogether as punishment. Thranduil scowled at that thought. He would not give his teacher any reason to cancel. Punishment, well that was a different thing altogether... he smiled secretly, imagining that exasperated look Elrond wore so well. It was a dangerous game, though. Sometimes, the punishments he earned were very harsh, and though Elrond never hurt him, he would sometimes make Thranduil cry.

Dismissing his thoughts, he drew in a deep breath as he buckled his sword to his hip. He, Thranduil, was good at this. Sometimes he even won. He did not bear a training sword like the other students. When his aptitude was noted, his father and Elrond had a sword made for him, weighted to his hand. He allowed himself to caress the hilt of it with his right palm. Now, then. He made sure he stood as tall as possible and walked out into the arena to face his teacher.

Not for him, sparring half-heartedly with other students whose minds were on books or some other silliness. He was special, singled out among all the youths in Lindon. Elrond taught no others, though he knew plenty were jealous of him. Thranduil smirked. They would be less so if they knew how many long days he had to spend quietly in Elrond's study for these moments. Often, Elrond would discuss lessons with him, and that enthused Thranduil, but the dull copying and essay writing? He could live without that.

They practised like this twice a week, and they were like islands of pleasure in Thranduil's existence. Today, it would be even better. Often, the other students would gather to watch. Not him, he didn't fool himself, though he suspected some of the weapon's masters might. They always seemed to have studied him when he saw them, and would compliment him or offer him some piece of advice to apply to his method. The youths in the audience would gather to watch Elrond fight. Probably, they were wishing to be in Thranduil's place.

But today. No one would watch them today. Gil-galad was giving a demonstration with his spear at the other end of the training ground, and quiet swells of oohs and ahhs came from over there. He and Elrond would fight today unobserved.

It was slightly overcast, which made for good light. Neither of them would be blinded by the sun shining on a blade or a piece of armour. Thranduil breathed in again. The grass was freshly cut, and it had rained during the night. He could smell the damp earth, slightly springy beneath his feet. That was good too. It would lend his movements grace.

Elrond awaited him, stood alone in the centre of the arena, his eyes closed as he too readied himself for the fight. Thranduil watched him for a moment, not announcing his presence. He too had braided his hair away from his face, and Thranduil was regretful of it, imagined how that dark hair would look flowing freely over Elrond's armoured shoulders.

If the only Elrond he saw was the one who seemed willing to drown in books and scrolls, Thranduil might never believe this version existed. He was strong and tall, even fearsome. He gulped as he let his gaze rove freely over his teacher's physique. Then licked his lips. He brought to mind the few times Elrond touched him. As he grew, becoming aware of his desire, Elrond touched him less and less the more he wanted it. He longed now to be younger everyday, as if that would bring back the version of his teacher who was not averse to handling him.

As he watched, Elrond drew his sword – eyes still closed – bringing it up to his face, the tip of the blade almost touching the sky. Thranduil was entranced, and hopelessly smitten. He knew it, and he could not help it.

He is your father's lover, his mind told him, but even that did not cool his lust or his love. His body seemed to know Elrond, and he could not convince it otherwise. Actually, the thought that his father knew what it felt like to have Elrond's attention in that way only made it worse. Surely there was something of his father in him? Couldn't he make that work to his advantage somehow? Make Elrond want him too?

Thranduil could not help imagining it as he was stood there, stock still, together in the darkness of his room, Elrond's body hard, warm and naked, sliding against his, covering him, as stern there as he was in the classroom.

“You will give me everything I wish, Oropherion,” Elrond whispered, ever the implacable teacher. Thranduil swallowed as his mind furnished the vision.

“Oropherion!” Elrond said sharply, and Thranduil shook himself from the daydream, disconcerted.

“Yes, Sir!” he said automatically, without having to think, blinking quickly, finding himself in the arena facing Elrond with his concentration ruined. He sighed helplessly.

“Do you mean to daydream or to fight?” Elrond asked quickly, motioning Thranduil to his place with the tip of his sword. Thranduil hurried there, remembering what they were here for. He drew his sword slowly, his eyes on Elrond all the while.

“I mean to fight,” he said, lifting his head defiantly. Then he smiled. “Sir.”

Although Elrond clearly had the advantage before they began, he was sporting and didn't press it, allowing them to circle each other a couple of times before the fight began in earnest. Thranduil was grateful, using the time to settle his mind and control his breathing. Even Thranduil himself did not realise the full extent of his great talent, and it didn't take long at all for him to be ready. When he was, he did not wait for Elrond to attack, he began as he meant to continue – aggressively.

Everything in Thranduil's mind narrowed to what was between them. To the defensive movements Elrond made, and how they could be turned further to his own advantage. The sound of their swords was as of music to Thranduil, and often when he was observing others, he could tell the movement and direction of a spar, just by the sound, something Elrond had tested him on, unable to hide his incredulity.

Now, as always, he sensed his teacher was holding back, and yet he did not allow it to anger him. Thranduil merely sequenced his attacks until Elrond must fight back or be beaten. Then Elrond began, taking advantage of any gap in Thranduil's technique, so that it became something of a challenge at last.

Now he enjoyed it! Of course Elrond was still slightly taller, and stronger. He was an adult, while Thranduil was only nearly so, but he found if he tried, and he concentrated, he could compensate for that with his speed and execution. The intensity increased, the danger with it, and Thranduil heard his own heartbeat in his ears, urging him on, giving him his timing in clearly defined measurements.

Now Elrond did not wear that exasperated look. It was deadly concentration in him now, combined with awareness. Thranduil always felt powerful at these times. Their swords clashed, and only Elrond's greater strength saved him from a loss as he pushed Thranduil back. They swung their swords down and out at the same time, both of them fading back just far enough. Thranduil grinned, and so did Elrond.

No longer were they teacher and student. Now they were Thranduil and Elrond, and these were the times Thranduil loved best. He did not lose his place. To do so would be to lose the subtly altered relationship between them, that only existed in these moments. Under his clothing, he was half-aroused, but it was not sexual. It was because this was dangerous and thrilling. Elrond was not playing with him – he was trying to win.

Thranduil marked it in him, that determination, but denied him the advantage again and again. They were evenly matched, and Thranduil realised for the first time that when he was fully grown, Elrond might never win against him again. Startled at the thought, he parried a lunge as he looked into Elrond's eyes, and saw that he knew it too.

Instead of taking advantage of Elrond for overextending himself as he should, forcing him back, Thranduil retreated, almost stumbling. Elrond followed swiftly, still immersed in the fight, his gaze intense and frightening, his sword moving fast as Thranduil deflected thrust after thrust, eventually finding his sword flung away from his grip and onto the ground.

Before he could even realise he had lost the fight, Elrond grasped a handful of his tunic, pulling him close, Elrond's sword edge on his throat. The length of their bodies was pressed close together, Thranduil's hands clinging to Elrond's shoulders.

“You are dead,” he said shortly, his eyes still burning with desire and victory. He was so beautiful and breathtaking. “The enemy will show you no mercy.”

For a long moment, nothing changed. Elrond held him there, still, and Thranduil saw how close Elrond's lips were to his own, and he was prevented from it by Elrond's sword at his throat. He wanted to beg, or plead, or something. His body reacted for him, becoming hard now in desire. His breathing slowed and he felt light-headed and heavy at the same time, just as when he had stolen a half-bottle of his father's wine.

At last, something changed in Elrond's eyes as they stared at each other. They cleared, and then widened in recognition. Elrond let him go so suddenly Thranduil lost his balance and fell to the ground on his knees, his body protesting at the lack of contact.

He was on his knees in front of his teacher. Thranduil began to shake his head to gain some clarity, but then Elrond spoke, making him look up.

“Our time together is over,” he said, his voice cool. Elrond sheathed his sword. Over? Thranduil did not understand. “There will be no more lessons,” he continued. “You should report for weapons training with the others from now on.” No! He enjoyed these fights! Thranduil could not even comprehend it. He opened his mouth to protest, to apologise, whatever he needed to do. He must have this!

“Do not come to my study any longer. Seek out your knowledge in the library. I have taught you all I can.”

Thranduil only stared up at Elrond as he felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. Over... the word repeated in his mind again and again. He could not mean it!

“No,” Thranduil said, not knowing what to do to make Elrond relent. Did he ever? “No, please! I will do whatever you ask. I am sorry. We will start again and I will do better. I did not mean to displease you!”

What had he done? What did he do wrong? Thranduil could not see it, and he panicked, becoming enraged and upset in equal measure because he could not articulate the feelings that were coursing through him. Not in any adult way. Not in any way that Elrond would understand. He knew it, and he hated it, and he knew he sounded like a child as he cried and begged for mercy.

“Please don't, Pengolodh,” he sobbed, feeling something in his fëa hurt as well as his heart. “Do not send me away from you. Punish me instead if you must.”

Above him, Elrond sighed. “And what would I punish you for this time, Thranduil?” he asked.

“I don't know! Whatever I did. Anything you want,” he cried in misery. “Just give me that instead. I will not complain, I swear it! I will submit to anything you devise!”

He sobbed at Elrond's feet until he felt hands under his arms encouraging him to his feet. Then he was in Elrond's embrace, and he cried like a child, more and more angry with himself for it as Elrond held him.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked, his breathing all off kilter so that his head felt bigger than the rest of him. Elrond held him close, arms wrapped around him.

“I do not hate you, pen neth. You know that is silliness,” he said, not quite stern. Thranduil moved his arms forward over Elrond's shoulders, then found his lips were close to Elrond's neck, and his body trembled with sobs and sudden helpless desire.

“But you do not like me,” he moaned, and then dared to kiss, only to find himself held at arm's length hastily. His heart felt like it was breaking as he sobbed again. It was as if the whole world had gone dark.

Elrond sighed. “Of course I like you. Do you see me teaching any other youth in the whole of Lindon?” Thranduil shook his head slowly. “Now will you stop crying?”

“I can't... You don't want me any more...” Thranduil looked at him and sniffled in misery.

Elrond looked very troubled. “Thranduil,” he said, as if in apology. “I have never wanted you that way. I cannot. My heart forbids it.” He pulled Thranduil close again, as if uncertain what to do, and now that made it worse. Thranduil shook his head and pressed his palms against Elrond's chest, trying to escape, but Elrond would not let him go.

“Stop! Stop that!” Immediately he gave in, and allowed Elrond to hold him, shushing him. “It is just a passing whim, this, Thranduil. It will pass, I promise you.”

“It isn't,” he argued sadly. “It is for all time.” Tears ran down his face and dampened the hard leather armour that covered Elrond's heart.

“Don't cry,” Elrond said softly, almost crooning, ignoring his words. Thranduil quietened a fraction, having an idea.

“If I stop will you let me still be with you each day?” he asked, hopeful. Elrond shook his head, decisive, and Thranduil felt his entire body shake as a new set of sobs began in him.

“Come with me,” Elrond said with some sorrow, one arm around him as they walked from the field. Thranduil's legs felt shaky, and Elrond let him lean against his greater strength. “I will take you to your father.”

~ finis ~

Author's Note: Well... it's a little bit of a snapshot. Hope you enjoyed. Please feed my Thranduil muse and leave a comment on your way out! :)
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The Teacher - Missing Scenes