The Half Breeds

Author: Bird
Title: The Half Breeds
Chapter: Father and Son
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairings: Let’s see, all the normal ones…Haldir/OFC, Legolas/OFC, TWINS/OFC…Thranduil/OFC…Various OMCs/OFCs…etc…
Warnings: Some sexuality…a fight between Father and Son…
Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else…
Summary: Most of the Elves have sailed, but there are still quite a few left…Haldir is lonely. Elladan and Elrohir are bored. Legolas wishes to escape his home. Rumil and Orophin wish to find bed partners. The Avari want to be heard…
Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish/mid Forth Age (no exact date will be given)
Setting: Endore (otherwise known as Middle Earth, and basically the whole of Arda.) All places will be in their elvish names as this story is completely from Elven points-of-view.
Betas: Amy and Kath (the sweet dears putting up with my ADD and constantly changing mind…:P)

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Golden boy
Beauty untamed
Stupid and wild
(Natalie Merchant, Golden Boy)
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Slam.

Legolas pressed his back against the door, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes frantically searched the stone hanging overhead as his lips formed a silent ‘why me.’ He did not want this!

Sighing, he relaxed a bit, sliding down the cold wood till he hit the stone floor. Cradling his aching head, he replayed every word spoken in anger, every hateful glare. The weight would crush him if he didn’t harden his emotions.

He swept his eyes across the room, committing to memory every simple aspect of it. The rumpled bed in the center; the fireplace against the far wall partitioned off by two wooden straight-backed chairs, and the warm fur rug stretched out before the flames; the gilded mirror, the only legacy remaining of his mother. His washbasin and table, and a simplistic wardrobe, those were the extent of his possessions. A few tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of woodland life, hunting, riding…and the many animals that lived in the surrounding forest. A soft glow filled the room from the three lamps set into the wall.

By no means was it lavish. Nothing like his father…

Knock. Knock.

“Go away.” He stood and forced himself harder against the door, spreading his long legs out and bracing himself.

“You are acting like an elfling!” The anger in Thranduil’s voice no longer affected the prince as Legolas steeled his heart against any remorse. “YOU are the PRINCE of Eryn Lasgalen! YOU must accept your position!” Crinkling his nose into a sneer, the king pounded heavily against the door. Capturing the handle with his hands behind his back, Legolas could feel it twisting as his father tried to barge in. But he was no longer an elfling.

“Adar, you can no longer overpower me with your strength alone.” The door handle ceased to turn, and he could sense his father pausing as if to ponder his son’s words.

Thranduil leaned forward, his forehead against the oak. Closing his eyes, he pictured his son on the other side of the door. His mirror image, physically and in temperament. Golden hair pulled back in a severe warrior knots crowned him, crystal blue eyes that flashed dangerously when challenged, and a lean, sinewy form hardened from a thousand years of training and war.

The exact image of Thranduil in his youth.

And the same rebel spirit.

“YOU are too old to behave like this!” The king bellowed as Legolas threw the door open to face his angry father.

“I do not wish to be king! Would you be willing to leave your subjects in the hands of a ‘reckless youth’, as YOU yourself put it?” Both stood with their legs slightly apart, hands clenched in fists at their sides. Pale blue bore into pale blue. The only difference was the slightly larger older elf and the more slender younger elf.

Ellon and ellon were bathed in a flickering light from the torches lined along the corridor, and it glinted off their golden tresses. Shadows found the angles of their aristocratic features, magnifying the anger lining their faces. Jaws clenched in stubborn pride.

“If I have to tie you…”

“TIE me to the throne? And what good…”

“I will BEAT you in…”

“Into submission! Right. And how would that look?”

An elf-maid walked into the hall and stopped abruptly at the sight of the king and prince yelling at each other in the cavernous corridor. Timidly she stood by, waiting for them to finish. She dared not seek their attention. Everyone was used to these outbursts between father and son, and had learned early on that to step between them was to secure the wrath of both.

Finally aware of another, Thranduil whipped around to face the subdued maiden.

“What?”

She dipped into a graceful curtsy under his critical eye, tipping her head so that her golden tresses swept the floor. Straightening to her full height, she met his cold expression.

“My lord…” she began. Legolas cut her off.

“Adar, you may go back to the drudgery of ruling, but I am leaving!” Though he still watched the elleth, Thranduil replied to his son.

“Did the War teach you nothing…Nothing? You fought beside King Elessar, and yet you still seek to shirk your duties…” He caressed her with his eyes, snaking his tongue out to moisten his bottom lip. Legolas followed his father’s line of sight, knowing full well where the king’s attentions lay. Her eyes were downcast, but he sensed that she knew exactly what the king was doing to her with his gaze. She virtually glowed from Thranduil’s homage to her.

“At least I don’t bed every female in my kingdom to drown my sorrows…” Slammed against the wall with Thranduil’s fingers wrapped around his throat, Legolas was more amused than worried. He chuckled boldly at the elleth’s small gasp of shock and fear. Over his father’s shoulder, past the rage, she stood pressed against the opposite wall, her eyes wide with terror. He smirked at the thought of how her father would soothe her later. Whisper sweet nothings into her ear as he took her, again and again…even then it wouldn’t be enough. Not now. Not ever.

“What would you know of my sorrows, Gwanwen [dead one]?” Tightening his fingers, Thranduil pressed his cheek to his son’s, whispering in his ear, his breath tickling against sensitive skin. “If you do not take responsibility, you are dead to me, Gwanwen.” Legolas slumped against the door when his father dropped his hand from his neck. Rubbing the reddened skin of his throat, the prince glared up at the king. A snarl appeared on his face as he stood once again to face him.

“You were dead to me a long time ago,” he hissed. Turning on his heel, he entered his chambers while his father watched him from the corridor. The elleth also watched from behind the king, clasping her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out at the words and actions of the two. Father and son had never gotten along well, but since the king had started pressuring the prince to begin his training to eventually replace him…well, things had gotten worse.

Everything had finally reached a peak, and the volcano had erupted.

Thranduil followed his son’s movements. A sword was strapped to his side, knives holstered to his back, bow slung over his shoulder, and a quiver stocked with arrows hung on his other. Facing away from the door, Legolas stopped to examine himself in the mirror mounted on the opposite wall. His father stared at him, standing with his arms across his chest, and their eyes met in the mirror. For split second, both were sure the other would break, but neither did and neither would.

Pride. Foolish, stubborn pride on both sides. Or was it a false sense of surety that the other would see the ‘error’ of his ways and come crawling before the other? Neither would do that either.

His heart broke at the sight of his son, his only child. Something tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he looked down into bright, big eyes, glistening with some untold mischief. Mussed blonde hair stuck out everywhere from the child’s head. His little fingers gripped the edge of his father’s tunic, tugging it hard. He was speaking, his small mouth silently moving as he related whatever horror he’d dragged the servants through…again.

Thranduil could not help smiling.

“So you are happy to see me leave?” The edge in Legolas’ voice broke him from his memories. Here stood that same elfling, grown and angry…and leaving. His own expression hardened, narrowing his eyes.

“You know my feelings, but you make your own choice. Just remember that only one path will allow you to stay here.”

Legolas snorted, waving away his father’s words. “Then step aside and let me go.” He slipped past him into the corridor and stopped before the elleth still against the wall. Smirking, he bowed to her, taking her trembling hand in his. He pressed his lips to her knuckles and raised his head to stare her straight in the eye. “I hope he enjoys you greatly.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as he winked at her, smiling cruelly.

Eyes shut, Thranduil breathed deeply through his nose as his son’s footsteps faded down the corridor, his fists clenched at his side. Tossing his head back, he stretched his powerful neck and exhaled slowly, desperately trying to release the repressed emotions. A tiny whimper caused him to flash his eyes open and abruptly face the tearful maiden.

Clutching her knees to her chest, she looked up at her king in all his shining glory. Even now he was an impressive sight. His tresses fell about him in waves of golden wheat, and eyes the color of the sky roamed over her again eagerly. It was true, she thought. He would take her, and mostly likely to ease his torment.

Thranduil stopped his gaze from caressing her, bringing his fist to his mouth and biting the knuckles gently to remind him of his son’s words. He hated them, because of the truth they bore. Turning from her, he battled with the urge to take her now and relieve his pain for a brief moment. Otherwise he would just go to his rooms never to find rest.

“Leave. Go. Now.” He barely whispered the words, tensing his body afraid it would take control. He looked over his shoulder at her again. She had not moved, but watched like a doe cornered in the forest. Once again the king was the hunter waiting to pierce the prey with his arrow. Her frightened expression had been replaced with a naïve expression of wonder and expectation.

She was familiar, but he had never taken her to his bed before. He had flirted with her previously, so she knew his mind. Making his decision he turned back to face the wall. He drew his tongue across his lips.

“Run.” He sensed her hesitation, so he faced her again. “Run.”

She was down the corridor before the smirk reached the corners of his mouth.

~

The horse whinnied in protest as Legolas cinched the saddle tight beneath its belly. Turning its head, the horse shook it angrily at the distracted prince. Pausing for a moment, he pressed his head against the animal’s side, reveling in the contact with the warm flesh. Filling his lungs with a deep breath, Legolas shut his eyes. The stable was warm despite the cool night’s air outside, and a warm light filled the building. Soft straw covered the floor, and the only sounds were the soft breathing of the animals sheltered within each stall.

“My lord?” Legolas jumped a bit, startled by the intrusion. Silence permeated the stable for minute. “My lord?” The elf repeated.

“What is it, Celegrod?” Legolas resumed saddling his stallion. The bay stamped in frustration as its rider eased the bridle over its head, buckling the side. Pulling the reins over the horse’s head, he gripped them loosely in his hand as he turned to face the white-haired elf behind him. Tiredness filled his eyes.

“My lord…”

“Don’t. Stop.” Legolas turned back to the animal, and stepped carefully into the stirrup and swung his leg over. Settling into the saddle, he looked back down to Celegrod. “He sent you, didn’t he?”

“No, my lo…” the elf started in protest.

“Please do not call me that, I am not deserving of such titles…” he sighed. Clicking his tongue, he guided the bay past Celegrod.

“He took her, you know.” The matter-of-factness in the guard’s voice irked the prince, and he stopped at the stable doors.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded, “I know.”

Celegrod walked into the stall next to the one Legolas had just emptied, coaxing the grey speckled mare within out with his soft whispers.

“What are you doing?” Legolas exasperated.

“Coming with you, Legolas.” Celegrod didn’t look at him or acknowledge the icy stare aimed at his back. Calmly he prepared his own horse and mounted. Settled in, he finally met the prince’s eyes. He ran a hand through his white tresses, keeping his eyes on Legolas. “I will not let you go alone. Your father knows nothing of this. I am making this choice on my own.” He patted the weapons at his side to emphasize his preparedness for the risks.

“You must know that he will deem you a traitor!?” Legolas was not sure he believed this. True, the two of them had been friends since birth, but to risk the wrath of the king and the pain of death for desertion and loyalty to one? “You MUST not come with me!”

Celegrod’s coal-grey eyes never wavered. “No, you cannot change my mind…” Legolas sighed in defeat, and pressed his stallion forward through the doors. The cold night-air hit his face like a slap. Breathless for a moment from the sensation, he discreetly rubbed his cheek expecting to feel it bruising, as if Thranduil himself had slapped him. He jerked a bit to shake away thoughts of what he was leaving behind. Instead he gazed up, letting the stars bathe him in their silver-sparkling light. Deep inside he felt so lost despite his warrior exterior and calm assuredness.

“Where are we going?”

Slowly, Legolas turned his head to face Celegrod, who had ridden up beside him. Barely forming a response, he mouthed something inaudible. Celegrod’s questioning expression was enough to make the prince find his voice.

“I don’t know…” he whispered hoarsely.

The other elf smiled sardonically, clicking his tongue and urging his mare forward. “Then I suggest you follow me…”

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Legolas was gone. Blank eyes stared at the ceiling, glowing in the pitch-blackness. A pain stabbed at a long forgotten organ in his chest. Images danced before his eyes of his own father fighting with him to take responsibility. He had refused, and then they went to war.

If only their last words hadn’t been in anger.

He could feel her breathing beside him, curled up against his side. Disdain filled him, for her and for his own lack of self-control, his use of sex to fill the aching void inside.

“Your majesty,” a feminine voice stirred him from his thoughts. He felt her slender hand skim down his bare chest to playfully dance in the nest of curls below his abdomen. “You are still tense, my lord.” Every muscle in his body flexed as she traced a line to his navel, circling lightly. She gasped when his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, pulling her away from him. Gently he placed her hand on the blankets between them and sat up, swinging his legs over the side.

For a moment, he forgot her again as he wiggled his toes in the soft fur of the rug. Then he felt her shift on the bed toward him.

Nails lightly raked his shoulder blades and down his back, tracing every ridge and muscle. She knelt behind him, bashfully exploring his naked flesh. Her nimble fingers slowly caressed their way over his biceps to link across his broad chest. She rose up, pressing her hardened nipples against his back; her chin nestled on his shoulder.

“My lord,” she gently breathed into his ear. “Allow me to love you one more time tonight…” A moist tongue snaked out to trace the edge of his earlobe, and she felt him tremble ever so slightly.

At first he didn’t move, but disgust slowly began to fill him, not just for her, but for himself as well. He grasped her hands and pulled them apart, releasing himself from her embrace.

“I am going out,” he stated, rising from the bed. Throwing a look over his shoulder to the elleth watching him in confusion, he pulled on his leggings. “You may stay if you wish, or you may go, but be out of my bed by sunrise.” Thranduil didn’t bother with a jerkin or boots, but closed the door behind him as he made his way down the hall.

Bewildered and wondering what she had done wrong, tears welled up in the spurned elleth’s eyes.