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First Summer in the Greenwood	By : RosainWonderland Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2030 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have no ownership over any aspect of Tolkien's work or of LotR. No money or profit will be made from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-First Summer in the Greenwood
- 1
Thranduil traced the splodges of ink with a fingertip. Despite appearances, there hadn’t been a mishap with a quill; the marks on the map were entirely purposeful. The elf by his side turned to the next page of parchment.
“Three,” he read. “Here.” He pointed to a spot a finger's width further North than the others. Thranduil dipped the brush in his hand into the pot of black ink once again and silently placed a dot at the end of that fingertip.
“You are certain that was the position?” he asked.
Almeldir nodded apologetically. “So it says.”
There was a soft knock at the door that led out to the library. Their resident cartographer, Nileth, looked up from her own notes with a frown.
“We’ve only just been brought the midday meal,” she noted.
Almeldir speared a mushroom, now cold, from Thranduil’s abandoned plate. He considered it for a moment before popping it in his mouth and chewing. “I for one would not object if they wished to supplement it.” He looked across the table. “Thranduil,” he prompted.
Thranduil glanced up from the map. “Hm?”
“There’s someone at the door,” Nileth said. “Your steward is hopeful for more food.”
“He is always hopeful for more food. Come in.”
A guard entered and bowed. “My lord. Your son approaches with the Imladris contingent.”
“Thank you, Siriann.” Thranduil replied. He set the ink brush down carefully upon its stone holder.
“Almeldir, you had best accompany me. Nileth, would you mind very much if we were to abscond and leave the rest of this to you?”
“Not at all.” She smiled at them, already taking up the brush. “Please do take Almeldir with you; in truth, I will be grateful to be able to proceed without the imminent danger of food debris on my maps.”
They left, stopping by Thranduil’s quarters where he shrugged on an outer robe and retrieved his oaken staff. As ever, it reminded him of the duty he had sworn himself to, of the trust placed in him. As they left and began walking to the throne hall, Almeldir cleared his throat.
“Before we meet them, I simply wished to say that you have my support and I thank you for the trust you have shown in me.”
Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him but kept walking.
“We have entrusted each other with our very lives in times past. A secret such as this is hardly of the same ilk. Nevertheless, you have my thanks also for your part in this visit. You are certain you remain able to take on a greater share of responsibilities until the Autumn?”
“Quite certain. Remember that Legolas will be assisting. I know you wish to protect him; such is the prerogative of all parents. But you know as we all do that he is of an age now to take on more responsibility and, Thranduil, I truly do believe that if any ill should ever befall you, the populace will require him to. I know I have speculated so before, but if he had been born when you were made King he would have been named Steward, I am sure of it. In some respects, Lord Elrond’s visit is the perfect opportunity for him to stretch his wings a mite.”
“You said similar of my Most Excitable Squire, I recall. Look how that ended.”
“It was not for lack of enthusiasm. Anyway, you cannot have thought too ill of him if he’s now a member of the palace guard.”
“Yes, I wonder if I shall live to regret that.”
He climbed the stairs to the throne and sat, Almeldir standing patiently at the base of the steps.
Word had reached Thranduil five days ago that the group from Imladris had been received at the Forest Gate. The length of time it had taken was unsurprising; if he knew his people at all, these unusual but invited guests would have been feted throughout their journey. It would have been an easy, merry trip. He knew from experience the continually varying company of curious elflings, the singing and storytelling as they travelled and had been informed that when the company had camped each night, they had been invited to eat with the nearest village, who had made merry in welcome. He had hoped as much and it certainly boded well. Having their beloved Prince as the liaison was likely to have facilitated that. Speaking of which, the sounds of a group entering the Halls reached him. He looked along the bridge and there was his son at the head of a group of just three others. They soon reached the dais.
“Sire.” Legolas greeted him simply, with a practiced bow, before stepping to the side and turning to face the three elves who had accompanied him and the rest of the honour guard.
Their visitors wore no armour, so close to their destination, but Elrond wore a simple circlet in his dark hair and though their weapons were undrawn, they still carried them. Not demanding that they be relinquished was a deliberate choice on Thranduil’s part, a silent declaration of trust that he hoped would not go unnoticed. With at least one elf of the Noldorin kindred amongst the party, any dispersion of tension would be invaluable. At least Elrond had quietly made certain that none of them had ever been associated with the Feanorian faction. He received them whilst seated on the throne, before descending and greeting Elrond as a brother-in-arms. It was a warriors’ embrace, faces crossing close enough to have kissed.
“It is good to see you, my old friend.“ Elrond said warmly. “We are most glad of the invitation. You know my advisors, of course.”
Elrond indicated two Sindarin elves, both of whom he was indeed familiar with. Both were knowledgeable, measured and, perhaps more importantly, not inclined to pry into Elrond’s personal dealings. One had been an advisor to Ereinion Gil-Galad in Lindon for a time, so Thranduil did wonder on occasion whether he could recognise certain patterns in Elrond’s behaviour. Erestor had once mentioned, for example, an atypical tendency to be ill-tempered for a time after Thranduil left Imladris. However, they had not been given cause to believe this elf had reached any untoward conclusions. Thranduil nodded to them in acknowledgement.
“Your journey was untroubled?” he asked them.
All three elves smiled and the stiff formality thawed somewhat. Elrond answered, “There was some discord, mainly a debate on the matter of directions; it seems that our maps may be out of date.”
“I see. You must review them against our own while you are here. I am certain there are developments in the West that we will also need to be appraised of. You took the new Path, as I advised?”
“Indeed we did.” Yes, Elrond had certainly heeded Thranduil’s advice on the matter, and noted it. He had also noted that their escort had remained exceedingly vigilant until well within the Elvenking’s territory.
“I look forward to news from the West. For the moment, I imagine you are all somewhat weary of travelling.”
“The last stretch has been a great joy to us all, I believe.”
“I am pleased to hear it. Guests are rare here, so expect to be made much of. We can proceed with introductions and such at a later date. Please be welcome in our home. If there is anything you need, simply let someone know. There will be a feast and celebration tonight, to which you are all welcome as guests of honour; these elves here will show you to your rooms and will tell you all that you need to know.”
They all bid each other farewell for the time being and as they left, he brought Legolas to him with a gesture.
“Have the rest of the company been met and housed?” he enquired.
“Yes, Adar. There are seven private individuals but they have their own lodgings. Our dancer friends are among them, as we hoped."
“Yes, I am glad they could come. It has been some time since they were last able to. You have taken the names and occupations of these private individuals?”
“We have a full listing.”
“You have made them all aware of the invitation tonight?”
“I have.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Good. Galion tells me all is prepared for our contribution and, of course, the people are more than ready.”
They shared a conspiratorial look. Any cause for festivities was a valid cause for most of their people and the feast of welcome for the commencement of the first visit of the son of Elwing was unlikely to be passed over. He continued.
“Very well, my son. Pass me this list and bring the others through.”
Some time later, Thranduil paused and listened down the corridor one final time as he grasped the door handle. Nothing. As it should be at this time of day, in this section of the familial quarters. He let himself into the small sitting room, closed the door once again and silently slid the lock into place. He crossed to the bedroom door and paused. There Elrond was, beautiful, graceful and so very welcome. He was stood beside a small chest on the dressing table that was full of papers and, in the torchlight, looked disconcertingly like Dior Aranel. Thranduil felt himself begin to drift into memory and yanked himself back. He leant indolently against the doorway with his arms crossed.
“I trust you have been made comfortable?“ he asked. “Let me know if there is anything you require.”
Elrond watched him with gentle scrutiny and blindly picked up and straightened some papers, before putting them back down in the same spot. He crossed from the dressing table to stand before him and kissed him in a much more intimate welcome than they had exchanged in the throne room.
“Welcome to the Greenwood” Thranduil murmured, and ran the fingers of one hand through a few strands of dark hair.
“Why do you loiter there? I didn’t cross Caradhras and the plains of Anduin for you to be standing in doorways.”
The familiarity of the touch of Elrond’s lips, and the feel of his arms sliding around his waist, made it seem as though they had never been so distant from each other. The perceived gulf between them proved illusory, the very idea now appearing ridiculous. Languid kisses lured him away from the solidity of the doorframe and into the room.
“I thought it might be best to allow you to regain your equilibrium.” He replied, as Elrond’s lips touched the hollow of his throat. “Evidently, such consideration is unnecessary.”
A caress over his shoulders and down his arms doffed his heavy outer robe to fall upon the floor. As Elrond slipped the first fastenings at the neck of his robes open, he reached for Elrond’s belt with one hand and, with the other, closed the door behind him.
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First Summer in the Greenwood