Dark Council- *added Epilogue*

CHAPTER 2



Morning’s light found Garand lying on his side, an arm bent beneath his auburn head, as he gazed adoringly at the King who had so easily captured his heart. He often indulged in this activity, since he almost always awoke before Thranduil. His lips curved upward gently as his eyes traced the profile of his lover. Like a fan of silk, Thranduil’s wheaten hair billowed out over the pillow beneath him. Eyes the color of a robin’s egg gazed upward in reverie, unseeing, below soft golden eyebrows that winged up very slightly toward his temples. The most perfect, chiseled nose Garand had ever seen graced his face, and those lips. Ah gods, those lips! Soft and beautifully shaped, the bottom one was slightly fuller than the top, forever stirring in Garand the urge to suck it, like ripe fruit.

Garand glanced down between their bodies and saw his hand nestled safely in the King’s, as it was every morning when he awoke. Whether it was Thranduil’s hand that sought his in the night, or vice versa, he knew not, but he felt that he could lay like this for all of eternity, if it were possible. But it was not, especially today, when he was to lead the silversmiths and engineers to the location where he had spied, quite by accident, the senseless decimation of the irrigation pipe that so many of his people depended on to provide food for themselves and others.

The Elven warrior raised his hand, still sheathed in his lover’s, to his lips and softly kissed each knuckle of Thranduil’s strong, graceful hand. He then gently laid it upon the King’s chest, before quietly extricating himself from the bedcovers. He glided across the floor with a warrior’s stealth, and finding his clothing, pulled on his leggings and the open-front tunic he’d been wearing the day before. He didn’t bother to tie the tunic’s wide sash belt, since it was very early and no one would be stirring in the palace, with the exception of some of the kitchen staff. He passed through the bedchamber door, easing it closed behind him. When he turned to proceed down the hallway, he found himself face to face with Rymir, a member of the Council, and an Elf whose presence Garand tried to avoid at all costs.

Rymir stood mere feet away from Garand, making no attempt to hide the lecherous insolence of his gaze, as his pale gray eyes hungrily wandered over Garand’s exposed torso. Well, some things never change, the young warrior thought as he recalled a similar scene that took place nearly fifty years ago, at one of the banquets Thranduil periodically gave to show appreciation to the Council members for all their efforts on behalf of the Elven people of Mirkwood, who had elected them.

After the extravagant feast was over, the attendees had adjourned to the Great Hall, where wine was served, musicians played softly in the background, and everyone gathered into groups to converse.

As they stood before a massive ornate fireplace, Thranduil and Garand greeted many Elves who approached them in groups and individually, one after another; some had questions, some wanted only to thank the King for his hospitality, but nearly thirty minutes had passed before the two lovers found themselves alone again.

“Shall I bring us some wine, dearest?” Garand asked, at the first opportunity.

“Yes please, meltha,” Thranduil said gratefully. “I have talked so long, my throat is dry.”

With a promise to return shortly, Garand set out to track down one of the many servants who circulated among the guests, wielding large trays covered with goblets of fine Elven wine. Unable to find one in the throng, Garand waited just outside the kitchen door until a young male emerged with a tray newly replenished with full goblets. Stepping up to him, Garand politely asked, “May I?” indicating two of the goblets at the edge of the tray.

The servant started slightly at the suddenness of Garand’s appearance, but seeing that it was him, relaxed and smiled. “Of course, Lord Garand,” he replied, extending the tray toward him. The auburn-haired elf had never been able to convince the palace staff that he was no lord, or nobility of any kind. He’d long since given up trying; the servants followed a certain protocol, and he had no wish to place undue stress on them. Thanking the young elf, he turned to make his way back to the King, only to find his path blocked by Rymir of the Council. Lurking on the edge of the crowd, he’d been watching Garand eagerly, as he always did.

“Ah gods, now there’s a beauty,” he’d thought, his eyes following Garand’s every move as he wove his way through the crowd. From the moment he’d first glimpsed him, the King’s new plaything had entranced Rymir. His appetite leaned toward young males exclusively, and while he’d had many a beautiful elfling in his bed, Garand was a jewel that far outshone them all.


Standing before Garand, Rymir’s blatant, predatory gaze slowly, lasciviously roamed over Garand’s body, lingering at the junction of his upper thighs. When the tip of his tongue emerged to lick the corner of his lips suggestively, Garand shuddered in disgust. Repulsed, the younger elf backed away, but Rymir closed the gap quickly, advancing on Garand until he found his back against a wall. He glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to notice his predicament.

“Garand,” the councilman purred, as he leaned forward and placed the palm of his hand on the wall beside Garand, effectively trapping him between his arm and the kitchen door. “How are you, my dear? I have not had the pleasure of seeing you around the palace recently.”

As Garand’s mind raced to think of a way out of his vulnerable position, he could not help noticing again how Rymir’s eyes reminded him of those of a snake. They bore into him intently, their silver-gray hue so pale that they seemed almost transparent. Garand had never much cared for those eyes. Where Thranduil’s eyes held warmth, humor and kindness, Rymir’s reflected only pure want and greed. And although he had done many good things for the people of Mirkwood, Garand could never help but think that Rymir’s every action concealed a hidden agenda, designed to benefit himself, when all was said and done.

Now, as Garand stood riveted, staring at those cold eyes, he realized that they were drawing nearer and nearer. He is going to kiss me! Garand thought in horror. He pressed himself harder into the wall behind him, in a vain attempt to elude the older elf, and turned his face away as dread and revulsion washed over him. At the same instant that he felt the councilman’s hot, wine-laden breath on his cheek, he heard a rich, melodic voice speak from be the the older elf.

“Rymir,” it said evenly. Outwardly, it seemed to be no more than a greeting. But Garand knew every nuance of his lover’s voice, and he heard the edge of warning it held, as Thranduil’s handsome face appeared over Rymir’s shoulder. The King stepped around the Council member to stand beside Garand, who leaned against him gratefully.

“Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” Thranduil asked Rymir, and the unwavering gaze he fixed upon him held a hint of challenge.

Suddenly, the councilman was all decorum and poise. “Why, yes Majesty, as always. Your banquets are not to be outdone.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” the King replied, as he smiled gently at Garand. Taking the goblets from his hands, he turned to Rymir and handed them to him with a polite “would you mind?” and, not waiting for an answer, took Garand’s hand and led him outside to a balcony overlooking one of the many gardens on the royal estate. When they reached the balustrade at the edge of the balcony, Thranduil turned to Garand.

“Are you all right, harma nin?” he asked urgently.

“I am now,” Garand replied.

The King asked tentatively, “I have not angered you, then?”

The cinnamon-colored eyebrows of the younger elf drew together in obvious confusion. “Angered me? How … why?”

The King sat on the balustrade and slid an arm around Garand’s waist, drawing him close to stand between his parted legs. “It occurs to me that I seemed to be laying claim to you in there. Forgive me if I have offended you, my love.”

Garand shook his head adamantly. “Never think that I could be offended by that. You must claim me, dearest. You must. I belong nowhere, if not to you. All I desire of the Valar, all I ask of life, is to be yours”, and leaning down, he cupped Thranduil’s beautiful moonlit face, and kissed him tenderly. “I am bound to you; a decision I made gladly, willingly, but not frivolously. I am your possession, my Lord, and I am honored to be so.”

The King told him that night that he need never tolerate the treatment he’d endured at the hands of Rymir, and now, as Garand and the Councilman stood regarding each other in the silent hallway outside the royal bedchamber, the young warrior Elf recalled his lover’s words.

The brazen Rymir slithered closer to Garand, eyes narrowed with lust Garand kept his face passive and stood his ground. The raven-haired Elf stopped scant inches from Garand and whispered, “Why do you not come to my room tonight, pretty? I can show you things the King could never dream of. I have vast experience at making exquisite young Elves scream. You would not regret it, I assure you.” And for the second time, he leaned toward Garand, yearning to claim his sweet lips with his own. He neither saw nor felt Garand move; only heard the whistle of the dagger’s blade a fraction of a second before he felt its cold kiss at his throat. He stiffened, his eyes growing wide.

A cold smile spread across Garand’s lips as he whispered into the Councilman’s ear, “Think you still that I am nothing more than the King’s pampered concubine?”

Rymir shook his head almost imperceptibly, terrified of driving the dagger’s tip any farther into the soft flesh of his throat. Garand relented.

“Then I trust this incident will not be repeated, Councilman Rymir. Good day,” he added casually as he replaced the dagger in the sheath at his hip. Satisfied the black-haired Elf was now aware that he never went anywhere unarmed, the Elven warrior walked calmly toward the royal baths. Putting Rymir out of his mind, he began to map out a plan for investigating the irrigation pipe vandalism, and therefore fulfilling his vow to his beloved Thranduil.


***************