Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: Eleven
Author: Orchyd Constyne and Ashek Thordin
Contact: ashekandorchyd@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: OEAM
Feedback: Yes! Always!
Disclaimer: We do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, het, incest, twincest, rape, torture, BDSM, kink, mpreg (eventually), violence, angst
Beta: Helena Snow-Renn, Chloe Amethyst
Cast: Thranduil/Erestor, Thranduil/Gwindor, Gwindor/Erestor, Gwindor/Thranduil/Erestor, Maglor/Maedhros, Maglor/Daeron, Maedhros/Fingon, Daeron/Thranduil, Thranduil/OMC, Daeron/OMC, Erestor/OMC, Glorfindel/Gelmir, Amrod/Amras, Legolas/OMC, Námo/Ingwë, OMC/OMC, OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC... just to name a few!
Summary: In the Seventh Age of Man, all the Elves who had wandered through Arda have returned to the shores of Aman.
Author Note: This fic is dedicated to the memory of Di, who had been a great lady. She left us far too soon.

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December, Tirion, Aman

It had not escaped Thranduil's notice that she had been watching him for weeks now. She was bent over a bin in one of the stalls in Tirion's main market, and Thranduil silently walked up behind her. He ran his fingers lightly over the cool skin at the nape of her neck, admiring the way wisps of dark hair escaped the clips that held the mass off her neck. She started and looked over her shoulder, and he smiled at her, the expression containing the simmering heat of desire.

"Lady Mithiel," Thranduil purred, sapphire eyes travelling over her face and the way her bodice moulded to her torso. "I was hoping you had no prior engagement this afternoon and would like to join me for a little game of Fox and Geese?"

Intelligent, silver-grey eyes took on an amused, yet mischievous, glint to them as Mithiel raised an eyebrow. "Fox and Geese?" she asked sceptically, turning and leaning back on the edge of the bin she had been perusing. A sharp half-smile slowly spread across her full lips. "Which role would you be playing in such a game, Sire?"

Thranduil's lips curved into a sly smirk. "My lady, I am always the fox," he replied.

She would have expected no less from the King of Laicanan. Standing upright, Mithiel pressed herself subtly against Thranduil's sturdy frame, looking up at his imposing countenance without fear. "Then beware, Sire," she warned in a low voice, laden with alluring connotation. "This lady's geese are quite eager to surround your fox. They will show no mercy."

"Ah, but the King's fox is eager for the goose's throat," Thranduil murmured as he cupped her face with one hand. "Sharp teeth are hungry for blood." Already, his blood rushed through his body, beginning to pool in his groin, and her scent only further enticed his arousal. His lips hovered near hers, his hand slipping down to her throat. Thranduil's long, strong fingers splayed along the vulnerable, pale flesh as he gazed down into her unashamed eyes. This was the sort of woman who thrilled him, and he was impatient to be between her thighs.

"It seems the game board is set," Mithiel breathed against Thranduil's lips, her eyes darkening to resemble molten lead. "Shall the pieces start moving?"

Thranduil felt her pulse speed under his fingers. "I think they already have begun, my lady," he whispered.

***

Thranduil closed the door to his bedchamber and watched Mithiel look about his room. She was beautiful, he mused. Stunning, really. Graceful as she walked, with her hair spilling down her back since he'd released it from her clip on their way back to the estate, Thranduil made a comparison he was not expecting. The brief thought floated through his mind that Mithiel's hair shined with deep blue highlights... unlike Gwindor's, which, hidden in the midnight depths, were russet tones, like fire in darkness.

He shook his head, banishing the annoying thought. Thoughts of Gwindor had no place within his mind, especially now.

Mithiel had endeared herself, though, as Thranduil made note that his soon-to-be tryst's bodice did not bear any of those damnable buttons so popular among the Noldorin women. Her dress was cinched in the back with laces. He walked up behind her, pressing himself to her back and dipping his head so his lips teased along the delicate curve of her throat. "My lady," he whispered, moist breath against warming skin. "You do not wear buttons."

"An apt observation," she chuckled with a shiver, her hands reaching back to grasp Thranduil's backside and pull him even more tightly against her. "Does that displease you, my lord?"

"On the contrary," he said, licking along the pulse under his lips. His fingers pulled the knotted laces apart, and then unhurriedly loosened the bodice as he nipped and suckled at her throat. Slowly, with only small movements, he thrust himself along the crevice of her backside. She felt delightful pressed to his body, her scents subtly changing as her arousal grew.

A sustained sigh escaped Mithiel's lips as the pressure on her ribcage was released, and her first deep breath came out as a pleasured moan. For a lingering moment, her nails dug into Thranduil's thighs, then they moved forward to untie his trousers, teasing with scratches along the taut fabric.

Thranduil's hands snaked over her shoulders and cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over the fabric covering her nipples. "I have certain rules when it comes to my games," Thranduil murmured, still working her neck with his lips. "If you wish to continue, you must agree to them." The pressure of his thumbs increased as he felt the flesh beneath harden. "I do not kiss those I take to my bed." He bit her throat. "I share myself only once, and when we are done, Mithiel, you will take your leave of my company. If you should need assistance when you go, that will be provided, but you will not remain when the seed is spent." The same rules each time, and Thranduil never failed to make certain his lover of the moment was not fully aware of what they were about to experience.

He licked from her shoulder to her ear, squeezing her breasts firmly, and breathed, "Do you agree to my terms, Mithiel?"

"Yes!" she moaned out, moved to distraction by the glorious sensation of her quick pulse throbbing throughout her body. Mithiel's fingers finally released the laces to Thranduil's leggings, and her hand delved beneath the material, grasping shamelessly at the hard flesh within the folds.

A soft, shuddering breath left Thranduil as he turned her to face him. With the laces loosened, he was able to pull the fabric of her dress down so it bunched at her waist, revealing her breasts to his hungry gaze. Her breasts fit comfortably in the palms of his hands, and he pinched gently at first before rolling her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. The difference in their height would have made it awkward for him to lean down to draw the tight flesh into his mouth, and he began to back them towards the bed.

The soft touches caused Mithiel's breathing to quicken, and she hummed while she took small steps backward. Her cheeks flushed a bit as her hand stroked Thranduil's shaft boldly, following the column down to where she could squeeze around the moist head. "Harder," she requested, making her preferences clear early. She pressed her chest into Thranduil's hands and tightened her grip on the tip of his sex.

Thranduil's eyes flashed, and he pulsed against her hand, immediately obeying the command. It was just the sort of encounter he'd been craving. He pushed her to the bed, briefly lamenting the loss of her hand upon his shaft, and tugged her dress completely from her body. Thranduil gazed at her, from the flushed cheeks to her pert breasts, down her slim body to focus on her sex nestled between her thighs. He unlaced his shirt, smiling with lustful amusement at her as the cloth fell to the floor, and he stripped himself of his trousers.

Mithiel watched with hungry eyes as the golden body was revealed to her. Rumours of the Elvenking had surged during his visit to Tirion, and Mithiel had listened with interest. While the size of Thranduil's sex was well known, no word had been spoken about the rings piercing his nipples. Any words of compliment quickly died on her lips, however, when Thranduil joined her on the bed. He bent his head to her breast, drawing one of her nipples between his lips and sucking forcefully. She cried out loudly as pleasure radiated from her chest, her fingers gripping at his hair as her hips arched up against his body.

Leaving one nipple for the other, Thranduil continued his assault upon her chest. Her enthusiastic response spurred him to spend several minutes biting, tugging, and sucking at Mithiel's breasts. He did not relent until even a soft breath over the reddened tips caused her to cry out and shudder under his weight.

Mithiel panted harshly, basking in the sweet burn at her chest where the skin had turned a rosy hue. Moist heat had settled between her thighs and she leaned eagerly into Thranduil's every touch.

His lips travelled down her body, and he parted her legs in order to lie between them. Sapphire eyes glanced up at her once, his hands splayed on her thighs, his arousal burning hotter as her scent pervaded his senses. She was musky and ready, and Thranduil pressed his mouth to her, tongue sliding between damp lips to tease her with one quick swipe. He grinned against her, using his fingers to spread her open and bare her to him as she moaned loudly. Slowly, he licked broadly up, tasting the sensitive flesh repeatedly before finally suckling upon the swelling nub.

Mithiel was responsive and vocal, crying out as her back arched and her hands flew into the golden locks of the Elf between her thighs. She urged him to continue, pulling reflexively at Thranduil's silken hair and moving her hips in time with the slow pace as it steadily built.

As soon as Thranduil was aware of the force he could use upon her, he exploited it relentlessly. After sucking her into his mouth, he released the flesh and lapped quickly, furiously. He moved his left hand down, away from the junction of thigh and pelvis, and rubbed lightly at the slick opening, and then he slipped two fingers into her writhing body.

A keening cry was his reward as the inviting heat trembled and constricted. It only took a few well-placed thrusts of his fingers in time with flicks of his tongue to send Mithiel over the edge, her lithe body contracting harshly as her climax sped through her every nerve.

Thranduil held onto her through her orgasm, but he did not stop moving his fingers in and out of her slick opening. He added two other fingers as he sat up from between her legs, leaning over her body as he continued to stretch her passage. Drawing one of her nipples back into his mouth, he slid his thumb over the swollen nub above her opening in time with his deep thrusting. He worked her quickly, anxious to be buried within her. In moments, her hands still tangled in his hair, she bucked against him as her thighs clamped around his arm, her cries echoing in the chamber.

He pulled his fingers from her as he sat back, reaching for the flask of oil kept at the bedside. Thranduil poured a generous amount into his palm, and then he began to stroke it into his hard flesh. Gazing down at her, he smiled slowly, grasping her ankles and lifting her legs high into the air, elevating her hips off the bed. Carefully, he pressed the head of his erection to her entrance and paused for the space of a heartbeat. Gradually he pushed into her, feeling the intense tightness surround him, and he shuddered when he had slid into her until she was a little over halfway down his sex. His hands gripped her thighs tightly as he withdrew and thrust back into her, the depth never changing as his speed increased.

Stretched wide, Mithiel felt sparks of light and heat travel the length of her spine with every deep push of Thranduil's sex. The slick glide of Thranduil inside her left her outstretched legs quivering. The fullness was overwhelming. The pace was perfect. And she pulled Thranduil down so his hair fell about their faces. Never moving to kiss him, she resorted to grasping frantically at his skin, her nails leaving vibrant streaks of red along Thranduil's shoulders, back, and chest. Digging her nails deeper, she nearly screamed out her third climax as it raged through her.

Burning channels of fire blossomed on his torso, and it simply fuelled Thranduil's lust. With a low growl, Thranduil withdrew, his breath short, and he murmured a command for Mithiel to roll over, rise up on her hands and knees. As she complied, moving with dazed slowness, Thranduil's eyes took on a smug gleam. He re-entered her, holding tight to her hips, checking his depth to keep from hurting her. Mithiel pushed back to meet his thrusts, and Thranduil's head lolled back, his enjoyment voiced in a nearly silent moan.

Granted a bit more control over her own body, Mithiel circled her hips, steadying herself as she swayed with the force of their coupling. Her dark hair began to stick to her back and shoulders as a thin sheen of sweat broke out across her smooth skin. Thranduil's thrusts tapered off and his hand slipped between her legs to begin stroking her once more while he languidly took her body. Her hands clenched in the sheets as he swiftly propelled her to another shattering climax. Mithiel's heart pounded as her groin throbbed in time with her pulse, and she moaned wantonly, swivelling her hips.

After a moment's respite, Thranduil parted from her a second time. He eased her up, arms wrapped around her waist as he bit along her shoulder, up her throat, until his ragged breathing teased her ear. "I want you to sit astride me, Mithiel," he panted, a hand groping her breast roughly. "Ride me quickly. Ride me hard." Thranduil released her, settling himself among the pillows at the head of the bed, eyes dark and flesh slicked with sweat, his sex jutting proudly from his body, waiting to be sheathed once more.

Mithiel moaned at the command, at the way her name rolled from Thranduil's tongue with a raw sensuality that she had heard from only one other. Eyeing Thranduil for a moment, she took in the breathtaking sight of the king awaiting her, before carefully straddling his thighs. Her back to Thranduil, she leaned over to grasp his sex, stroking firmly as she positioned herself, and then eased down onto the hard column. She threw her head back with a loud cry as she sank as deeply as she dared. Without a moment of hesitation, Mithiel followed Thranduil's command, rising and falling rapidly.

After a short while, when her legs burned from the exertion, she leaned backward to brace herself on Thranduil's forearms. Her pace increased slightly, and she let out a series of shaky cries as she thrust her hips with all the force and speed she could muster.

Thranduil's hips rose to meet her each time she sank down. His hands were splayed wide along her lower back, supporting her as she rode him, and her nails dug into his flesh. He allowed his hands to snake around her waist, allowing Mithiel to fall against his chest heavily. While his right arm remained tight around her, his left glided down her stomach, between her spread thighs. As his sex swelled, he rubbed the nub above where their bodies were joined. Her head rested on his shoulder, her lead-coloured eyes focused on his, cheeks flushed brightly, lips parted as she cried out each time he thrust up into her.

Her body bowed, her scream resounding as she violently trembled atop of Thranduil. Mithiel's world became nothing but surging heat and strained tension between her legs. The body beneath her stiffened, hands clenched around her, and Mithiel moaned weakly as she felt the rush of the Elvenking's seed. Even after he had climaxed, Thranduil kept piercing her, though the pace slowed, and then stopped. Mithiel sagged against him, breathing heavily, her body already aching pleasantly.

Thranduil held her for several minutes, waiting for his sex to soften before he gently moved her off of him. He stood from the bed, pushed his hair back from his face, and smirked down at her. "I believe the fox has indeed devoured the geese," he said, his voice low and sated.

"Perhaps," Mithiel managed to chuckle shakily with a satisfied smirk of her own. "But clearly the geese surrounded the fox. Let us call it a draw." Rolling to her side, she groaned as she slowly climbed to her feet.

He helped her up, offering the dress from the floor. "Thank you," he said sincerely, going to his wardrobe and removing a pair of loose trousers. It was an obvious dismissal, but his tone and eyes showed nothing but respect for her as he covered himself, only half-lacing the fabric.

Accepting her garment with a smile, Mithiel tenderly pulled her dress over her balmy skin. "The pleasure was mine, Sire," she replied, walking slowly to Thranduil and turning so she looked over her shoulder at him, the back of her dress and corset still parted in a plunging 'v'. "Help to lace me up?" An innocent request, as her keen eyes had taken on a tranquil, gratified glow following their tryst.

A small smile crossed Thranduil's lips as he reached up and began to lace the corset. He did not bind her too tightly, knowing his heavy treatment of her breasts must have left them aching. When he had knotted the laces at the based of her bodice, Thranduil brushed aside her hair, pressing a chaste, gracious kiss to her throat. "May your ways be green and golden," Thranduil murmured in parting.

Turning to face Thranduil once again, Mithiel smiled softly, rising onto her toes to press a delicate, grateful kiss to his cheek. "Farewell, my lord." And with a restrained whimper of discomfort, she saw herself out of Thranduil's chamber. She paused at the entrance to the estate only to wrap herself tightly in a warm cloak, which had been thoughtfully set out for her, and then departed, disappearing into the silence of the snowy evening.

***

Thranduil walked down the stairs and through the hallways until he stepped into the warm, well-lit kitchen. He watched Gwindor as he puttered around, preparing whatever elaborate concoction the infuriating Noldo felt compelled to create. His eyes, as they followed Gwindor, were smouldering chips of lapis, framed by wild, mussed golden hair. Vivid red strips decorated his chest and arms, and his trousers were laced only enough to barely contain his spent sex.

"Good evening, Gwindor," Thranduil said, voice like silken steel.

Gwindor's jaw was clenched tightly as he turned and inclined his head in formal greeting. Of course he had heard the resounding screams of Thranduil's latest conquest. How could he not have with the way the maid had been carrying on? Gwindor's eyes immediately returned to his mixing bowls. Thranduil's voice caressed his ears in a way that all but screamed of sex. His appearance was vulgar and unrelentingly carnal. He even *smelled* of sex. Gwindor gritted his teeth against the bile that rose in his throat.

Thranduil stalked closer to Gwindor, looking over the Noldo's shoulder. "And what have you planned for supper tonight? I do hope it is something substantial." His smug satisfaction was thick in his tone. "I am famished."

Gwindor gritted his teeth even harder, making his jaw ache. His senses were inundated with Thranduil's tryst, and with every step the Sinda took to close the distance between them, Gwindor's anger became more acute. His movements grew stiff as his hands tightened on their utensils. With a shallow breath, he struggled to maintain his dignity.

From the worktable near the rear door, Rhovandir watched the exchange. He stood and walked over to the pair, stepping between Thranduil and Gwindor, forcing Thranduil several paces back from the Noldo. "Sire, why do you not bathe and dress? By the time you finish, your supper will be ready." His old, grey eyes bore into Thranduil's sapphire gaze, telling him without words that he would accept no argument to the contrary. Thranduil was to go upstairs and clean himself up before he would be allowed entrance to the kitchen.

Thranduil glared at Rhovandir, but for too long the elder Elf had been like a parent to him, and Thranduil did not argue. He turned on his heel, exiting the kitchen in a flurry of gold and musk, his footsteps fading quickly.

Rhovandir returned to his worktable, silence descending in the kitchen as he finished slicing the carrots. As he picked up a potato, peeling it with practiced ease, his serene voice filled the air. "Ignore him," was the advice he offered to the distraught Noldo. "'Tis best to simply ignore him."

Gwindor spared Rhovandir a grateful glance, though his eyes still simmered with anger and hurt. Not hours before, he had made what he had thought was a large step forward with Thranduil. But now, due to Thranduil's actions, he felt cheapened, debased, and humiliated.

"How does one ignore a king who spits in one's face?"

To that, Rhovandir had no answer, and silence again fell upon the kitchen, though it was an unhappy, strained silence...

One that bled long into the night.

TBC...