Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Faladar	By : TheTVJunkie Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Hobbit, The Views: 6736 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Hobbit' or anything related to it. No copyright infringement intended. There's no money made of this story; all my works are written for entertainment purpose only!

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by JRR Tolkien and owned by whoever may hold the rights in this very moment you're reading this, various publishers and their corporate affiliates. All recognisable characters/situations/events happening are copyrighted by their respective owners. No money is being made from this fic and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Hello dear readers and Thrandolas shippers! This is the first joint venture fic of Doitsuki and TheTVJunkie, based on an utterly shameless roleplay between the two authors. Due to the fact that said roleplay is still in progress, we cannot guarantee weekly updates but will try to keep you entertained on a regular basis. But beware - This story contains a lot of explicit naughtiness and will probably get even more scandalous as it progresses (Yeah, we're proud of that). :D Ideas/suggestions/comments/kudos welcome. Flamers, get lost. Everybody else - enjoy!^^
Additional Tags: #Unresolved Sexual Tension #Sexual Awakening #Suggestive Awakening (see definition for details) #Intercrural Sex #Frottage #Dry Humping #Incest Father-Son Relationship #Thrandolas-Freeform #Overprotective!Thranduil #Possessive!Thranduil #Manipulative Thranduil #Insecure!Legolas #More tags to be added as the story proceeds #Magic
Definition of 'Suggestive Awakening': Encouraging mild debauchery to the point where it becomes perfectly natural to accept one's inner needs, no matter how depraved they are. Some scenes might appear dub/noncon-ish at first, but no true harm will be done. It's rather a 'push in the right direction' to be able to revel in one's secret cravings without remorse.
Lines in italics are thoughts/inner monologue.

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Thranduil sat alone one evening upon his throne, glass of wine in hand. It was always like this these days - he would relax amongst thick silken robes with loyal servants near to attend his every need... and his son would be nowhere to be found. He could not understand for all his wisdom and mental might why Legolas was away from home so often. The Prince saw something in the sickened forest and sought to cure it, Thranduil supposed. Or he was just addicted to fresh air.
'Pah. Here it is fine enough, dark and cozy.' His thoughts swam like fish through honey, not quite getting through to where he wanted to focus. Slow and drearily, Thranduil yawned. All he could do was gaze at the amber-lit crevices and winding paths leading away from his throne, and hope his son walked there. 'Ai, Legolas... where are you? If you are dead, I shall hunt you to the Halls of Mandos. We will see who is the brave adventurer then...!'
He downed the rest of his wine in a gulp, then held the glass out for more. His mood was already turning sour... unlike all that he'd indulged in that night, mainly chocolates and red wine. Proper food had no place at dinner when Legolas was not there to share it with.
Nothing felt right to Thranduil without his son.
Meanwhile, Legolas tentatively peeked around the corner of a nearby corridor which led to the throne room. He reached for his silken hair with one shaky hand, flinching as if burnt when reality came crashing down on him. His formerly lengthy tresses now ended unevenly at chin-length; thanks to some horrible incident in the depths of Mirkwood earlier that day. Sniffing, the prince inwardly cringed at the prospect of the verbal lashing he expected from his father, the ever stern and utterly handsome King. Thranduil's vanity was legendary after all, so having his son lose the beau ideal of long, perfect hair was beyond excuse, Legolas was sure of that. Even worse, he was probably in for a grounding of at least a hundred years of more, now that his overprotective Ada's fears of his precious son getting hurt on one of his stupid little adventures had proven well-founded.
'Why does Ada always have to be right?' The prince mused while he reluctantly made his way through the halls, silently cursing to himself in frustration. Pulling the hood of his tunic over his head in a desperate attempt to hide his hair, Legolas seriously hoped for his father to be either already asleep at this late hour or too tipsy to realise the full extent of the whole debacle and simply dismiss him.
'Or maybe I could see a healer tomorrow? Helping me out of this predicament, with nobody ever being any the wiser?' A pious hope, he had to admit.
Either way, procrastination didn't help the young prince's predicament now, so all he could do was hope for the best and get through with it. Crossing the throne-room, he finally stepped before the Elven King, humbly bowing his head. 'Adar, I have returned.'
At the sound of light footsteps and then lowered voice, Thranduil rose from his throne. A full wine glass was in his right hand as he made his way down the stairs, hips swaying with each heavy step. Gravity was lost on him now – the sight of Legolas lifted his heart and gave the feeling of weightlessness to his head.
"Iôn nín…" he purred, crossing the room in a few long strides. "You are late." There was no set time for Legolas to give his reports, but it was generally not this late that he made his appearance. Thranduil relished the taste of a long, sweet draught of wine before handing the glass to a nearby servant. Then all his focus went to his son. Due to his height he had to bend a little, for his body remained as close as was proper in public to his son… close enough for Legolas to smell the faint aroma of Thranduil's flowery shampoo.
"Ohh… I have worried terribly this night. Where have you been, and what have you been up to? Come, let me see your face." He made to press his hand beneath Legolas' chin, intending to let the hood fall away and give way to the beautiful face he so loved. There was a prickling sensation in the back of his mind that nagged at his eternal calm, telling him that something was wrong. One look at Legolas' face would reveal that.
Quickly averting his gaze, the young prince recoiled from his father's well-meant, soft touch. "I'm fine." He muttered feebly. "Have been losing track of time, I think."
Thranduil's icy, penetrating gaze always gave Legolas chills, unease creeping up in him every time he was around his father as of late, hence he fled from the palace whenever the opportunity arose. Furthermore, there was some odd heat stirring in his lower belly he could not fathom and that unnerved him greatly. Confusion, fear and guilt gnawed on him all the same as he took one hasty step back, the sudden urge to run and hide so overwhelming that at first he didn't even realise that his hasty movement had caused his tunic's hood to slip from his head in its wake, revealing the full extent of his ruined hair he was so desperate to hide. Instantly, the young blonde's eyes darted back to the King in horror, freezing in place.
'I'm screwed.'
The gentle murmurs of a drunken King ceased to a single, short breath. Thranduil gripped his son's shoulder and held the cut sections of Legolas' hair in his other hand. It felt so... scratchy, and that translated to pain in the mind of the elf who was surrounded by softness all day. Sure, Legolas had silky and shining hair but now it had been carelessly hacked off and... concealed.
"You.. tried to hide this from me? HOW COULD YOU?" His thunderous voice combined with sudden burning, threatening presence caused a few guards and servants nearby to shiver. In a swift motion he grabbed the back of Legolas' collar and started dragging him down the path, staggering a little. "You could have DIED out there and now you try to deceive me! Why? You want to perish in the forest and leave your Ada alone, is that it?" His grip of ice left little room for escape, unless Legolas wished to use violence and bite Thranduil's hand off. The golden palace doors loomed up ahead, where the cavernous Woodland Realm lead into a decadent home for the royal folk. The doors were opened by two obedient servants, neither daring to look their King in the eye. Thranduil only continued ranting at Legolas, hysterical.
'He could have died. I will lose him if I don't do something soon. No. He will not leave me. Not again. He is all I have left... and all I want.'
Being scolded like some small elfling who stole the last biscuit from a tin made the prince's cheeks flush in an even redder shade of embarrassment. Legolas struggled to free himself from his overdramatic father's iron grip, but to no avail. "Ada please," He tried to defend himself, suddenly sick to his stomach at the fact that said stirring in his lower regions only intensified as he was manhandled.
"It's only hair, it will grow back!" The prince whined, fearing his reasoning would fall on deaf ears just as it had many times before. Winning an argument against the Elvenking was close to impossible.
"I've not been in mortal danger at any time!" He fruitlessly continued his reassurances. Almost stumbling over his own feet when he was shoved roughly through the door that lead to his Ada's chambers, the younger blonde eventually lost his temper. "And THIS is why I had to hide this incident from you!" Legolas gestured wildly as he tried once more to break free. "THIS! YOU! Patronising me, smothering me with your ever present need to control my every step!" He spat, fresh tears welling in the shaking prince's beautiful eyes. "Assuming I will effectively end up dead out there, you will have no-one to blame but yourself, Adar, since it is you who's driving me away from the palace in the first place!"
The moment the harsh words left his lips, Legolas already regretted his furious outburst. This was so unlike him at all!
'Oh Valar, what is wrong with me?' The prince trembled when a howling attack hit him, rendering further conversation impossible for the time being. Little did he know that it was neither the lack of freedom nor hair that had elicited his hysterical fit but something that rooted much deeper inside his psyche, something that had been lingering beneath the surface for many years, hidden away in the darkest corner of his immortal soul. Sleeping. Waiting. Burning.
Thranduil was fuming as Legolas spat words at him but soon realized the source of his son's irrational behaviour. The loss of his hair was probably draining what little sanity he had left until his mind collapsed – and Thranduil wasn't going to have any of that.
He threw his outer robes to the floor and swept Legolas into his arms, tackling the prince to the bed.
'Stop your crying, and stay still. I must fix this. Now.' The longer Legolas went without attention to his hair, the worse it would become – and Thranduil didn't know how long Legolas had hidden this from him. He scrambled to sit on Legolas' stomach, forcing the prince to lie on his back.
"You must stay very still, my son. Your hair…it must be healed…or your mind will wither." The exact intricacies of what would happen were lost to Thranduil's tipsy mind, but the urgency was there. He'd heard and understood however what Legolas had said prior – that if he died in the forest, it was to be the King's fault for pushing him away.
'Look how I hold you now, close to my heart. How can you wound me so?'
Providing Legolas remained still enough, Thranduil would slide his fingers through that gorgeous golden blonde and begin to stroke. His magical energy was strong within his body as he'd not used it for some time, and restoring his son's health at cost of his own was easy enough to do. It required… some degree of concentration, though. Something a panicking, near frozen Elvenking was finding difficult to do.
He knew not what was going through his son's mind as he straddled him, squeezing Legolas' sides with his thighs. The tight grey leggings he wore did little to hide his warm, soft figure and his clenching muscles could clearly be felt. His entire body straining, he reached for his son's hair.
For a second, Legolas was stunned into horrified silence. His father's weight upon him, muscled thighs pressing against his hips made the prince squirm reflexively, worryingly aware that he would never be able to dislodge the much stronger elf. Legolas's stomach tightened painfully at the conflicting reactions of his mind and body, the latter seemingly acting on its own accord, beyond excited by the illicit friction created between himself and his father. It took all of Legolas' remaining self-command to will down his slowly building erection, mentally loathing his treacherous body for acting this way. To his Ada's touch. AND to being treated so roughly.
'I am doomed.'
His mind, however, despite all his desire for freedom, ached for the warmth and physical closeness Legolas was used to as an elfling. Comforting and soothing, the feeling of utter safety that he used to experience in his father's arms, sitting on the mighty King's lap as he was showered with fondness and affection. Innocent affection.
Emotionally cornered, Legolas decided on complying and, pushing all disturbing thoughts aside for the moment, remained still.
"I'm sorry about what I said, I didn't mean it." He admitted truthfully, still a little tense but gradually relaxing as he felt his tresses being stroked with such care. Like the old times. The prince felt himself arching into the fond gesture, closing his eyes. "Why would my mind wither?"
Legolas wasn't in the slightest aware of the severity of his situation; he had assumed this was all about Thranduil being Thranduil, overprotective and a drama queen.
Thranduil did not answer his son and leaned over him. His shimmering hair formed a curtain of silver and gold about Legolas' head, blocking any view of the room. Gone was the rich red canopy of the bed, now replaced with Thranduil's pretty face. Contorted in worry it was, but still with enough control for him to appear as he wished. Now, he looked deep into Legolas' eyes and bent his head until their noses touched. Then he began to whisper. This was no common healing chant, rather something that would transfer his own energy into his son's body. Legolas would not die, nor would his mind shrivel from all that he had lost today. Warmth glowed at Thranduil's fingertips, continuing to stroke hair down, until in the passing minutes he felt himself grow weak. But still he whispered, allowing Legolas' hair to grow in rich golden locks down to his chest. Then Thranduil's lips brushed against his son's… and he closed his eyes.
'It is done.'
Legolas couldn't help but shiver as his world closed in around him, leaving nothing but his beautiful Ada hovering above him. Concern was clearly written all over his face and it was just now that realisation came crushing down on the young prince. Obviously, Thranduil had not been jesting about Legolas being in mortal danger for losing his hair, this was not one of his wine-influenced Ada's infamous habit of making a fuss about nothing.
The moment their noses touched, the younger blonde's eyes fluttered shut as his mind revelled in the familiarity of closeness, the shivering subsiding. Mesmerised by the melodious incantation, Legolas felt the magic kick in as a comfortable warmth spread from his scalp to the very tips of his increasingly re-growing hair.
Eyes still closed, Legolas could have sworn he had felt the King's smooth lips ghosting over his own but then quickly dismissed the thought, fearing his corrupted mind to play tricks on him and heading for the gutter once again.
'Stop it, he's only helping you.' He reprimanded himself bitterly.
Thranduil wished to remain there for a little longer and he did, the welcoming silk of his bed sheets comfortable enough to rest upon. He placed most of his weight atop Legolas, his head falling into the space between the prince's shoulder and neck.
His breath could hardly be felt, a mere flutter of heat against Legolas' skin.
'Just a short rest… a few minutes. He will survive… he must…'
Thranduil collapsed upon the prince, leaving the latter gasping in surprise. Legolas' eyes flew open instantly, alarmed.
"Ada?" Legolas whispered, the King's weak breath close to non existing. "Ada, are you alright?" He added, more urgency to his voice this time. No reply.
Panicking, the prince grabbed his Ada by the shoulders, shaking him best he could from underneath his father's dead weight. "Ada, please wake up!"
Legolas' hair had not exactly reached perfect and proper length but Thranduil had done his best, now completely exhausted. The moment his lips had touched his son's, his concentration had wavered… and in that second, something happened. He knew not what it was, however. All that mattered now was the peace… the closeness… and ah, Legolas was speaking to him, and he had to respond.
"...Mngh..." All he could manage was a feeble groan. His hands were losing heat the longer they remained still, so he stuck them under his body. He felt Legolas shaking him, his own head rolling back and forth… then he fell to one side. Gazing through a blur, he felt a warmth in his chest the longer he looked at his son. Only for a few minutes could his eyes remain open before a deep sleep pulled him into unconsciousness. Before he lost himself however, he pressed a hand to his son's chest. He wished to let Legolas know that they would both be alright, and that he was not dying any more, despite feeling so himself. So drained of energy he was, only comfort called him now rather than immediate duty. He had saved his son from certain slow and painful death… but what he'd done to himself was yet to be discovered.
Legolas let out a sigh of relief at his father's response, weak as it was but unmistakable in its intent of all-clear. He wearily smiled at his father when Thranduil rolled off of him, coming to rest at his son's side. The prince raised his hand and gently tucked a wayward strand of the King's soft hair behind his pointy ear.
"Thank you for rescuing me, Ada." He whispered, refraining from emphasising his gratitude by giving him a peck on the cheek, fearing his own body's reaction. Instead, he reached for the King's bejewelled fingers, humbly kissing the back of his hand.
Even in this utterly exhausted state the Elvenking remained an epitome of grace and elegancy, briefly leaving Legolas to wonder if that's what his Ada looked liked after engaging in the throes of passion. His inappropriate train of thought was soon interrupted though as the young blonde noticed that his father's slight shivering, the King's eye growing heavy and slowly closing in obvious exhaustion.
Legolas hadn't noticed the odd glance his father had shot him only seconds ago as he concentrated on the hand that was pressed to his chest in reassurance. A cold hand, Legolas noted with concern...
Tucking the two of them up in the heavy brocaded, fur-laced blanket, Legolas snuggled as close as possible to his beloved Ada, wishing to warm him with his own body heat. Oddly enough, this was the only time his mind spared him dirty images popping up before his inner eye, condescendingly letting the prince drift into a dreamless sleep.
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A/N: Thanks for reading. We'd be happy if you shared your thoughts with us! :))
A short explanation on the title: Faladar (fail-la-dare, origin: Silver Elves) - A sense of something impending...either something about to happen or something that needs to be done. - We are aware that this is not particularly Tolkien Elvish but since it suited so nicely with our storyline we thought it fit to use it as a working title. However, the final story title might change over the course of this roleplay. :D
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Faladar