Faded Light
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
10,239
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
10,239
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
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.
Malice
(For additional notes and disclaimers please see top of Chapter 1.)
Chapter 17
Malice
“...when were you planning on telling me?”
Though Thranduil remained outwardly composed his blue eyes flashed dangerously in barely held anger, long fingers holding tightly to the silver goblet on the small table beside his chair.
Ruthlagor had known the elvenking long enough to be cautious of that look, a look feared in Oropher’s day and which Thranduil had inherited from his father. It had also been seen occasionally in the eyes of the king’s sister and more than once from Prince Legolas...
The chief advisor schooled his features and waited for the enraged king to elaborate on his previous question.
“The Easterling slavers you and Saelbeth have been interrogating...why was I not told at once of their connection to my son?”
“I thought it prudent until we learned more about...”
“Damn you, Ruthlagor,” the king slammed his goblet on the table and was in Ruthlagor’s face so quickly, some of the wine spilled over staining the wood’s delicate finish.
"I am not an Elfling,” he said, his fists clenched tightly. “And though some would have it otherwise, I am still king of this Valar forsaken realm...I do not need you, or anyone, to protect me from life; especially when it concerns one of my sons.”
“Forgive my, my lord,” the advisor made an effort to look contrite, as in the back of his mind he dismissed those few who knew enough of this matter to have spoken to the king ahead of Ruthlagor, knowing what his reaction would be. He had no doubt that most who could have were too discreet to have done so...
“It was a poor decision whatever my motives.”
“I swear if you were not the husband of my sister and I did not have such need of you another would be taking your place this day.
“Now, you had best start talking before I again reconsider your employment,” warned the king, making an effort to regain his self-control, as he returned to his chair.
“A slaver captured by our scouts on the borders was found to have in his possession Prince Legolas’ royal pendant...” he stopped, choosing the best way to tell the king what they had learned from the now-dead Easterling.
“However, all that we could get from him when we questioned him was that the prince was taken alive. And taken on the marauder’s journey through the desert.”
He could see the effect his words were having on the king, but he continued. “He was...harmed by these men...and left to die, according to the prisoner...though there is another possibility if he was taken south. If he was alive when they crossed the desert...he may have been sold as a slave.”
The king was quiet for a long moment after Ruthlagor had finished, not needing to ask what his high-minded brother-in-law meant with his delicate use of the word harmed, and he thought of his nightmares and of his son being used in such a monstrous way...of him fading in some distant place without another of his kindred to offer solace...
“So he is dead.”
“Thranduil...”
“We both know what an immortal would suffer who was sold as a slave,” whispered the king and looked aside. “And if he was...” he could not finish. “Few survive that.
“I suppose I have known for a long time that I might never again see my younger son, but some hope always remained in my heart.
“Do not concern yourself about me...there are yet things I must do before I surrender my life. I will no fall to grief over this knowledge...”
But it seemed to Ruthlagor life had already left the Elvenking’s eyes even as he spoke.
---------------------------------------------------
“...I really don’t think you would want the Elf back anyway, Arya,” Prince Emau tried to reason with the insufferable whore-master. “In his current state he’s as likely to die on you...”
“Slaves die, Highness. It is not my business to prevent it.”
He licked his lips, as he stopped to consider his next words. “Since Behdad had only paid half of the agreed price at the time of his death, by law, I still have a claim on the slave.”
“Majesty...” the young Man looked to his father, almost pleading. But the old king’s expression offered no hint of what his decision might be.
It had taken Dafi and Emau almost three weeks to reach the remnant of the king’s forces several days outside the city; first, waiting for the prince’s wounds to heal enough to allow for travel and then, finding a way out of the rebel-held stronghold; while the hateful whore-master had arrived at the king’s camp, seeking refuge, several days ahead of Emau and the elf, having lost everything to the rebels including every one of his slaves who had scattered at the first opportunity.
Discovering the Elf at the camp, he had quickly made up his mind to start over with what had been his most profitable whore.
The very sight of his former master here had all but sent the ailing Elf into seizures...the journey having proved arduous for an injured Man and a weakened Elf.
“He is too skilled a bed slave to waste as a common servant, Highness...he’s good for one thing, and that happens to be my line of business,” he said with a revolting amount of pride.
“In any case, my king,” said the young man turning back to his father and regrouping. “Arya’s is not the only claim. Mena, who is Behdad’s successor has offered to pay the debt himself and keep the slave, as is his right as well.”
“It is as his highness says, Arya,” said the king at last, taking an impatient breath.
In the midst of this war, it all seemed a rather foolish distraction to the ruler; though he could not deny he owed the slave something for the life of his son. Not his freedom of course, but the king could certainly live without much conceding to the aggravating whoremonger’s wishes. His trade had always been an acceptable practice among the Haradwaith, who derived much enjoyment from what Arya provided. But few in Javad’s acquaintance had such skill in giving their profession the bad name Arya did at every opportunity.
“I will consider each claim,” he said, “and decide on the slave’s fate.
“In my own time,” he added to the brothel-keeper. “Now, if you will both leave me, I do have other matters.”
Once alone, however, the king could not keep his thoughts from returning often to the subject of the delectable young Elf who had given him such pleasure.
TBC...
Review Responses:
Thanks for the review, Lonley_Mistress. While there are certainly a number of stories out there with similar premises, I don't think there is another one closely resembling my storyline. I first began posting this in early 2006. But I didn't know when I would be able to continue, so I took it down and began posting again last year with a number of small additions and revisions.
Thanks for reading and commenting...it always makes my day when I get on the computer and find a new review...
Malice
“...when were you planning on telling me?”
Though Thranduil remained outwardly composed his blue eyes flashed dangerously in barely held anger, long fingers holding tightly to the silver goblet on the small table beside his chair.
Ruthlagor had known the elvenking long enough to be cautious of that look, a look feared in Oropher’s day and which Thranduil had inherited from his father. It had also been seen occasionally in the eyes of the king’s sister and more than once from Prince Legolas...
The chief advisor schooled his features and waited for the enraged king to elaborate on his previous question.
“The Easterling slavers you and Saelbeth have been interrogating...why was I not told at once of their connection to my son?”
“I thought it prudent until we learned more about...”
“Damn you, Ruthlagor,” the king slammed his goblet on the table and was in Ruthlagor’s face so quickly, some of the wine spilled over staining the wood’s delicate finish.
"I am not an Elfling,” he said, his fists clenched tightly. “And though some would have it otherwise, I am still king of this Valar forsaken realm...I do not need you, or anyone, to protect me from life; especially when it concerns one of my sons.”
“Forgive my, my lord,” the advisor made an effort to look contrite, as in the back of his mind he dismissed those few who knew enough of this matter to have spoken to the king ahead of Ruthlagor, knowing what his reaction would be. He had no doubt that most who could have were too discreet to have done so...
“It was a poor decision whatever my motives.”
“I swear if you were not the husband of my sister and I did not have such need of you another would be taking your place this day.
“Now, you had best start talking before I again reconsider your employment,” warned the king, making an effort to regain his self-control, as he returned to his chair.
“A slaver captured by our scouts on the borders was found to have in his possession Prince Legolas’ royal pendant...” he stopped, choosing the best way to tell the king what they had learned from the now-dead Easterling.
“However, all that we could get from him when we questioned him was that the prince was taken alive. And taken on the marauder’s journey through the desert.”
He could see the effect his words were having on the king, but he continued. “He was...harmed by these men...and left to die, according to the prisoner...though there is another possibility if he was taken south. If he was alive when they crossed the desert...he may have been sold as a slave.”
The king was quiet for a long moment after Ruthlagor had finished, not needing to ask what his high-minded brother-in-law meant with his delicate use of the word harmed, and he thought of his nightmares and of his son being used in such a monstrous way...of him fading in some distant place without another of his kindred to offer solace...
“So he is dead.”
“Thranduil...”
“We both know what an immortal would suffer who was sold as a slave,” whispered the king and looked aside. “And if he was...” he could not finish. “Few survive that.
“I suppose I have known for a long time that I might never again see my younger son, but some hope always remained in my heart.
“Do not concern yourself about me...there are yet things I must do before I surrender my life. I will no fall to grief over this knowledge...”
But it seemed to Ruthlagor life had already left the Elvenking’s eyes even as he spoke.
---------------------------------------------------
“...I really don’t think you would want the Elf back anyway, Arya,” Prince Emau tried to reason with the insufferable whore-master. “In his current state he’s as likely to die on you...”
“Slaves die, Highness. It is not my business to prevent it.”
He licked his lips, as he stopped to consider his next words. “Since Behdad had only paid half of the agreed price at the time of his death, by law, I still have a claim on the slave.”
“Majesty...” the young Man looked to his father, almost pleading. But the old king’s expression offered no hint of what his decision might be.
It had taken Dafi and Emau almost three weeks to reach the remnant of the king’s forces several days outside the city; first, waiting for the prince’s wounds to heal enough to allow for travel and then, finding a way out of the rebel-held stronghold; while the hateful whore-master had arrived at the king’s camp, seeking refuge, several days ahead of Emau and the elf, having lost everything to the rebels including every one of his slaves who had scattered at the first opportunity.
Discovering the Elf at the camp, he had quickly made up his mind to start over with what had been his most profitable whore.
The very sight of his former master here had all but sent the ailing Elf into seizures...the journey having proved arduous for an injured Man and a weakened Elf.
“He is too skilled a bed slave to waste as a common servant, Highness...he’s good for one thing, and that happens to be my line of business,” he said with a revolting amount of pride.
“In any case, my king,” said the young man turning back to his father and regrouping. “Arya’s is not the only claim. Mena, who is Behdad’s successor has offered to pay the debt himself and keep the slave, as is his right as well.”
“It is as his highness says, Arya,” said the king at last, taking an impatient breath.
In the midst of this war, it all seemed a rather foolish distraction to the ruler; though he could not deny he owed the slave something for the life of his son. Not his freedom of course, but the king could certainly live without much conceding to the aggravating whoremonger’s wishes. His trade had always been an acceptable practice among the Haradwaith, who derived much enjoyment from what Arya provided. But few in Javad’s acquaintance had such skill in giving their profession the bad name Arya did at every opportunity.
“I will consider each claim,” he said, “and decide on the slave’s fate.
“In my own time,” he added to the brothel-keeper. “Now, if you will both leave me, I do have other matters.”
Once alone, however, the king could not keep his thoughts from returning often to the subject of the delectable young Elf who had given him such pleasure.
TBC...
Review Responses:
Thanks for the review, Lonley_Mistress. While there are certainly a number of stories out there with similar premises, I don't think there is another one closely resembling my storyline. I first began posting this in early 2006. But I didn't know when I would be able to continue, so I took it down and began posting again last year with a number of small additions and revisions.
Thanks for reading and commenting...it always makes my day when I get on the computer and find a new review...