Fifteen Years

Disclaimer: This is not my garden. I just play in it. I make no profit from this story, other than the personal satisfaction of getting it out of my head. All characters belong to Tolkien except for a few Original Characters that I have added, and as they are Elves, in some part, they belong to his legacy and will not be used for other purpose.

Just a note: Not much is known about Thranduil's family so I've taken some liberties with the them.

Fifteen Years in Lothlorien

Part Two: WHO?

Thranduil grumbled as he made his way down the hallway to supper. His eldest son, and heir to throne, Maeldor, stepped to his side as he walked. Both paused at the muffled wail of ecstasy that emanated through the door of his youngest son, Legolas. Maeldor rolled his eyes and Thranduil chuckled. While Maeldor was serious, and very committed to his kingdom and his betrothed, Legolas took after Thranduil, perhaps just a bit too much.

Even with an excellent dinner served, and Ferdal softly singing and playing the lute in the background, Thranduil could not focus. The Lady Galadriel had the finest courtesans in Middle Earth at Lorien, and Thranduil knew that whoever he sent to her must be the finest, the most amazing, the most talented and beautiful he could find.

Sighing heavily, he pushed away the plate of delicately spiced souffle in front of him and gazed about his court. Most of his men were warriors, hardened with the strain of protecting their home. None of them would lightly consent to going to Lorien for fifteen years! And certainly not as a courtesan, a play toy for Galadriels Court!

He glanced at his advisors. Plenet was handsome enough, and he could sing, Thranduil thought to himself. Then he watched as the scribe stuttered and stammered over a question asked by the court historian. No, Plenet had skill enough in his own way, but he was not a stunning conversationalist. One by one, Thranduil sifted through his court, and each time came up lacking.

He was so desperate that he wondered if dressing Imliere as a boy would fool anyone. Somehow, she managed at that moment to glance up from the curtsey she was making to his head scribe and meet his eye as her ample cleavage overflowed. No. Imliere would never pass as a boy. Thranduil sighed as he gestured the servant to bring him more wine. Much more.

Legolas finally joined them for dinner, his cheeks flushed as he took his place next to his sister. Thranduil frowned at him, but Legolas raised his glass respectfully, and stood, making a decent and impromptu toast to his father. Showoff, Thranduil thought to himself, even though he had to admit that it was a good toast, flattering without being overdone. He smirked and nodded at Legolas, who winked cheekily.

Thranduil was no closer a solution that night as he readied for bed. Ferdal knocked softly and asked if he was required, but Thranduil told him to take the night off, to relax and enjoy himself.

Ferdal gave him a bewildered look, but smiled and backed away, hiding the sorrow he felt at the missive. He knew that the fifteen year exchange was coming up, and that he was the only male courtesan. How could the King not want to spend as much time with him as possible before he was gone?

Thranduil was too distracted to notice the hurt in the eyes of his favorite as he returned to pacing his chambers. Educated, intelligent, beautiful, lusty, trained in weaponry as well as art... Thranduil threw himself down on his oversized bed and fell into a restless respite.

He was awakened just after dawn by the sounds of combat! Steel rang upon steel, and Thranduil leaped from his bed, dashing to the balcony. Convinced he would find his guards battling an army of orcs, he was surprised and disgruntled at the sight that greeted him. His beautiful Ferdal was sparring with Legolas in the gardens beneath his window. Morning sunshine glinted in eyes of blue, and off of bright steel as the two wove back and forth, working out their aggressions and fears. Ferdal's silvery blond hair was loose in courtesan tradition, while Legolas' golden blond braids swung as he parried and whirled. They were beauty personified; warriors of the Valar brought to life in the spring flower scented garden morning.

A sudden swift move from Legolas and Ferdal's sword flew from his fingers. Legolas advanced in a flash, taking the courtesan by the arm and tripping him to the ground, blade at his throat. His voice rang out as he knelt over Ferdal. "Do you yield?"

"Ai, I yield, Prince!" Ferdal's voice was a lusty murmur that made Thranduil shiver; "You may claim your prize."

Thranduil watched as his youngest son claimed the courtesan's lips in deep, tasting kiss. Legolas lay aside his sword to clasp Ferdal's head and raise his mouth deeper into his own, his throat muscles flexing as though he would swallow Ferdal entirely. Aware of his own body responding to watching to his son and lover embrace in the green grass, Thranduil finally found his voice.

"Well played, Legolas, Ferdal. If the two of you do not mind, breakfast will be served shortly, and I require Ferdal's presence."

Legolas laughed up at his father, rising easily and pulling Ferdal to his feet. With a bow, he raised his sword in salute to his father, and turned away, heading for the baths. Ferdal turned sheepish eyes to his King, relieved when he found there only amusement and a bright sheen of lust.

Thranduil called down softly, "Come up, Ferdal."

Ferdal grinned, picking up his sword and mimicking Legolas' salute. "If it is all the same to you, My King, I would rather go down."

Thranduil couldn't help the grin that spread across his own face. "Then come here, for I shall not be seen dallying in the garden like... well, like my sons!"

A short time later, Ferdal raised his head to look at Thranduil, his sweated body entwined with his kings. "Then you are not angry about Legolas this morning?"

Thranduil shrugged. "No. I think perhaps if you made any less lovely a picture straining beneath my sons body in amidst the daffodils, I might be bothered. As it was, the two of you were most... inspiring."

"I enjoy inspiring you, My King." Ferdal said softly, his pale blue eyes worn with worry. "I shall miss you."

"Miss me?" Thranduil asked sharply.

"The exchange, My Lord. It is only two weeks away."

"Thirteen days. And do not remind me." Thranduil muttered. He did not yet want to promise that he would find another way, but he soothed the pale yellow hair gently and kissed the high smooth brow. "Much can happen in thirteen days, Ferdal. Do not worry yourself unnecessarily."

Ferdal nodded against his chest, but the aching fear was not eased. Thranduil felt it and slid away from him slightly, smiling at him. "Come. Let us go to breakfast. Let me think. Perhaps there is another way."

Breakfast was a chaotic affair amongst the Thranduilions. All five children, their assorted spouses, close friends, and advisors would meet in the family dining room, and plan their day. As Thranduil and Ferdal approached the sounds of laughter and arguing filled the air, along with clanking plates and sloshing milk. All fell silent as he entered and took his place, then there was the usual morning rush to all greet him good morning at the same time.

Thranduil glanced around the table. His daughter, Laiamel, was in a heated argument with Maeldor, and they were shuffling a stack of bits of fabric between them.

"I don't see why we need new draperies in the Main Hall." Maeldor was grousing, "There is nothing wrong with the ones that are there!"

"They are hideous! And ancient. And moth-eaten!" His sister retorted. "Now help me! The weaver said he needs the colors by this afternoon."

Maeldor looked over the scraps and tossed one out. "That one."

She looked at it with distaste. "Really? It's rather..."

"It's gaudy!" Legolas said lightly. "Look."

Quickly, he snagged out two scraps. "This dark green with the yellow threads for the main draperies, and then this sheer yellow underneath, for when we want to open the draperies and let the light in a bit."

Laiamel leaped up and kissed him on the cheek. "Legolas, your mind is brilliant! What do you think, Ada?"

Thranduil looked lightly at the scraps of fabric in her hand, chewing and swallowing his toast slowly and thoughtfully. "Well, I wouldn't call his mind brilliant, pen-neth. But all of my children are more intelligent than average."

The table burst into laughter as she huffed slightly, "About the colors, Ada!"

He chuckled a bit at his own joke and relented. "Just don't leave it up to Maeldor, please."

"Bah!" Maeldor frowned and buttered his toast with more force than strictly necessary. Quickly, he turned the conversation to the new sword he was commissioning and talk turned to weapons.

As the others finished and dashed off to start their day, Thranduil sat savoring his tea, watching as Mirie and the servants cleaned the table and cleared away the mess.

Mirie finished her task and came to sit before him. "Have you come any closer to a solution to what we talked about yesterday, My Lord?"

Thranduil smirked slightly, "I take it you don't mean ink removal?"

Mirie had the grace to blush, running her finger under the edge of her collar. "I mean whom you are going to send to Lorien."

Thranduil frowned. "I've been studying every Elf in the realm. I see none who meet all of the qualifications. Everyone falls short." He sighed again. "I may have to let Ferdal go. Surely, if he begins to fade in Lorien, Galadriel will send him home."

"Are you willing to take that chance, My Lord?"

For Ferdal's sake, he wasn't. "Unless I find another way."

Mirie leaned across the table, a gentle smile on her lips. "There is another way, My Lord, but it may take some convincing, and we have not much time."

"Have you a plan, then, my queen of courtesans?" He smiled at his own joke and Mirie mirrored it briefly.

"Perhaps." Her voice was sly. "Who among your court is randy enough to bed a new Elf every night?"

"A few." Thranduil admitted, thinking them over.

"Who is intelligent, thoughtful, and always has the right words to say at an opportune moment?" She continued. When he opened his mouth to speak, she gestured him to wait. "Who has loyalty to your house that is beyond reproach? Who is a skilled fighter, a clever jokester, and beautiful beyond compare? "

"Why, Mirie, that would be me." Thranduil laughed lightly, then stopped when he saw the serious look on her face. "Mirie! I am King here!"

"I know." She nodded and her pale silver eyes narrowed as she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "And who, my beloved King, is just like you?"

Thranduil stared at Mirie for a long moment. What in Middle Earth was she getting at? Just like him? There was no one just like him! He was King Thranduil! Even his children weren't just like him, except perhaps Legolas.

Mirie smiled and leaned back in her chair as the King's eyes widened and he took in a sharp breath. He stared at her, huffed out the breath he'd taken, and said his sons name as though he had never heard it before.

"Legolas."

Mirie nodded. "He's never been to Lorien. They do not know him there. In fifteen years, you can deal to have him come back."

"He is my son." Thranduil said firmly, as though reminding himself of the fact. "I cannot simply order him to take down his hair and slap on a collar!"

Mirie shook her head. "None can become courtesan by order, My Lord. It cannot be, lest they die of grief and loss of will. It must be of Legolas' own free will that he chooses this."

"Then it cannot be." Thranduil felt frustration wash over him, to have had a solution so close and yet so far away. "I cannot see him giving his consent for such a thing."

"Can you not? I think he may be convinced." Mirie reminded him. "We have two weeks, My Lord."

Thranduil frowned at the beautiful maiden who sat across from him. "How long have you been a manipulative wench, Mirie?"

She smiled proudly. "There is a reason why courtesanship was the right choice for me, My Lord." Then she sobered, "It is not an easy path, but it can be extremely rewarding. I think we can make Legolas see the rewards in the circumstance."

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "What, exactly, do you have in mind?"

"First," Mirie's eyes drifted towards Ferdal, who was standing alone, gazing out the window. "We must make him see how desperate the circumstances are."

-------------------------------

Special thanks to

Manitou: For listening to me think out loud.


Emmess: Thank you for reading! Hmmm...not much of a surprise, was it?


Minuial Nuwing: Thank you! Thank You! :) I don't typically read het either! Funny that I enjoy writing it so much, though! I promise there will much more slashy goodness in the future.


Eawen Penallian: It gets even better, I promise!


nikkiling: Thanks for reading! Now if we can just convince Legolas that he WANTS to go to Lorien and be shagged endlessly by Galadhrim....