Dark Council- *added Epilogue*

Thranduil and Legolas still don't belong to me, which only proves that wishing doesn't necessarily make it so. *g*

CHAPTER 3


Lying back in the sunken black marble bath, Garand allowed his mind to stray. Encountering Rymir again had brought back to him vivid memories of the night of the banquet, but now his thoughts glided effortlessly past the unpleasantness with the councilman to what had happened after talking with Thranduil on the balcony. He had vowed to his lover that his fondest wish was to be his, and only his. What happened next surpassed the wildest of Garand’s dream

The Kingnd hnd his arms around his waist more tightly, and drew him closer. Looking up at Garand, his eyes blazed bright turquoise in the moon’s glow, made even brighter by the tears that pooled in them.

“Mine,” Thranduil whispered, wonder and thankfulness coloring his voice.

The young elf nodded assent. “Always,” he smiled lovingly.

“Then,” Thranduil said, “Will you please do something for me, my love?”

“You have but to name it.”

“Will you take contrfor for tonight I wish to be possessed by you,” the Elven ruler pleaded, his need evident in his voice and eyes.

Garand smiled radiantly and, taking both of the King’s hands in his, he began backing toward the doorway of the balcony. But Thranduil stopped him and shook his head firmly.

“Not in the bedchamber.”

Garand raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“In the garden,” the blonde elf added.

His younger lover looked at him in surprise. A slow smile spread across his lovely face. “Why, Lord Thranduil,” he said lightly, “I believe you are beginning to shed your inhibitions.” For the King had never been comfortable with absolute spontaneity in their lovemaking. As a ruler, a certain amount of decorum was demanded of him, and clandestine trysts in unusual locations were far too risky. But his beautiful, auburn-haired lover had gradually taught him the value of throwing caution to the wind from time to time, and he had done so, without even trying. It became increasing important to Thranduil to keep their love exciting, and never predictable.

“I fear you have had a terribly debauched influence on me,” he said in mock dismay.

Garand smiled deviously, tugging on Thranduil’s hand as he led him back toward the railing on the balcony. “Well then, let us see if I can perhaps corrupt you further. Shall we take the direct route?” he asked, glancing over the balustrade to the ground below.

The King hesitated and turned to look back at the crowd in the Hall. Garand stepped close to him and nuzzled his ear, murmuring, “Everyone is having a wonderful time, the wine is flowing, we will never be missed.” He looked questioningly into Thranduil’s eyes.

The Elven ruler smiled and nodded. They sat upon the balustrade, effortlessly swung their long legs around, and dropped lightly to the ground nearly thirty feet below. Clasping hands, they ran gracefully through the maze of paths that led to a smaller sunken garden. Here grew jasmine, bougainvillea, and many exotic flowers that only bloomed at night. Their scent was intoxicating to the two lovers.

Garand stopped and drew Thranduil down onto the soft carpet of grass, kissing him urgently, as he quickly divested them both of their tunics. He gazed at his lover’s form, stroking his hand over the King’s leanly muscled chest and abdomen. “Gods,” he breathed, “you grow more beautiful each day. You once told me that you felt blessed by the Valar, because I love you so. ‘Tis I, who am blessed. Nothing will ever separate us dearest, if it is up to me.”

“Nothing,” Thranduil agreed as he reached up to lightly rake long fingers through Garand’s thick russet hair, before cupping his hand around the younger elf’s nape to draw him down for another kiss. Each could taste traces of sweet, spiced wine on the tongue of the other, as Garand leaned over the King and deepened the kiss. He slipped his hands under Thranduil’s back, gathering him up ardently into his embrace as he slipped one leg between his lover’s thighs. Gasping at the contact, the Elven ruler tightened his arms around Garand’s neck and rhythmically caressed his leg with his groin.

Oblivious to all but each other, neither Elf realized that they had, in fact, been missed in the Great Hall. A lone figure crouched in the shadows of a large flowering bush less than twenty feet away. Cloaked and hooded, his greedy eyes glinting in the moonlight, Rymir watched avidly as the lovers writhed and moaned in their undying passion for each other.

The Council member removed his hood and silently shrugged the cloak from his shoulders, letting it slip to the ground behind him. He then sank to his knees and leaned forward, palms on the ground, to peer through the bushes’ foliage at the scene unfolding in the sunken garden. His hair, so deep a black that it held blue undertones, like a raven’s wing, fell in long strands around his face and shoulders, the ends lightly brushing the grass beneath him. Caught up in the electrifying intimacy he beheld, his lips parted as his breath came faster and his blood roared in his ears. He became hard so quickly, that his erection threatened to burst free of the snug black leggings he wore.

Garand rose to his knees then and smiled at his regal lover as he removed his leggings with slow deliberation. Exposed to the balmy night air and Garand’s ravenous gaze, Thranduil stretched luxuriously, arching his back like a great, sleek cat, aware of the effect it had on his lover.

Rymir leaned forward a little more in his hiding place and drank in the vision of the magnificent blonde King. His eyes narrowed in appreciation. There was no denying Thranduil’s beauty, but he was too old for Rymir’s liking; no, it was the young warrior he craved. He focused his attention more acutely on Garand then, when the russet-haired Elf gripped the waistband of his own leggings and begun tugging downward. The Councils hes heart thudded even more loudly in his chest at the anticipation of seeing the object of his longing, unclothed.

When Garand at last knelt naked over the prone body of the King, Rymir closed his eyes against the blinding beauty of the young E It It was too much. By the gods, he surpassed all of Rymir’s expectations, to the Councilman’s delight. His body, hardened by years of outdoor training, bore the light bronze sheen of a soldier accustomed to spending many hours in the sun. His unbound hair, of the richest cinnamon hue, was now shot through with golden streaks, also wrought by the sun.

Thranduil stretched his arms out to Garand in silent invitation, and the young elf smiled, lowering himself into his lover’s clasp. As they kissed again, the King bent one knee and slowly stroked the back of Garand’s thigh with the sole of his foot. The auburn-haired elf gasped and drew back. “I am sorry, dearest,” he whispered ruefully, “but I want you so. I do not think I can draw this out much longer.”

‘Tis all right, meltha,” the King said reassuringly, “I am r for for you.”

Smiling gratefully, Garand rose to his knees again and reached sideways to break off the stalk of an aloe vera plant. He snapped it in half and squeezed its juice into the palm of his hand until it glistened with the soothing liquid. Scooping up some of it on the tips of his fingers, Garand spread it over his aching erection. Thranduil anticipated his next move, bent his legs and allowed his thighs to fall open, granting his lover access to the entrance of his body. Garand again coated his fingers with the aloe gel and began lightly stroking between the crevice of the King’s buttocks, before slipping one finger inside him. “Oh,” Thranduil breathed, his hips lifting in response to his lover’s touch. Garand gently inserted a second finger, unerringly found the spot that he knew would drive the blonde elf to a state ofverivering need, and began to languidly stroke it.

“Ahhh, sweet Eru,” Thranduil groaned between clenched teeth, as his rigid arms stretched out beside him, splayed fingers raking the soft grass. From his vantage point in the bush, Rymir nearly groaned aloud at the sight of Garand slowly, deliberately, unraveling his lover. Always before, the Councilman had preferred to be the dominant partner in lovemaking, but watching the warrior Elf adeptly ministering to the King’s needs now, he began to believe that he could relinquish that position. When he could no longer bear the confinement of his leggings, he reached down with one hand and loosened the lacings to release his enormously swollen cock into his hand. As he watched the two Elves, he began to slowly stroke himself, wishing that it was him lying on that soft bed of grass, about to be pierced by the lance of that beautiful warrior.

Garand gently withdrew his fingers from Thranduil’s body and bent to kiss him again. When their lips parted, the King whispered in his lover’s ear, “Take me now, Garand, I beg of you, take me as hard as you can.” His voice was little more than a rasp, so great was his need, and clasping his knees, he drew them up to his chest. Garand positioned himself between his lover’s thighs and entered him in one silken stroke. Both Elves moaned ecstatically, and a shuddering breath escaped Rymir as he watched.

Garand knew immediately that he would not last long, but he would give his dear love the respite he so needed before he allowed his own gratification. Rocking his hips now, in a slow, measured tempo, the warrior Elf penetrated his Lord and lover over and over, and each time his cock was fully sheathed inside him, he swayed his hips slightly, from side to side, varying the sensation for him. When Thranduil groaned appreciatively, Garand opened his eyes to gaze at him; something he loved to do each time he took him. The sublimprespression on the King’s magnificent face devastated him every time. Sweet Valar, but he was beautiful in passion!

But, as he watched him now, Garand became aware of something in Thranduil’s demeanor, something he’d never seen him do before. He was holding back, trying to stave off the delicious tension inside him that was building surely toward an exquisite crescendo. The strain of his effort showed in his face, as his fair brows joined in concentration, and his jaw muscles labored with the repeated clenching of his teeth. It was then Garand realized that his lover was beating his fists helplessly on the ground beside him. My poor love, the younger Elf thought, you still cannot relax outside of our bed. He cupped the side of Thranduil’s enticingly flushed face with one hand, and lovingly stroked his flaxen hair with the other. His voice trembled with the imminence of his own climax as he murmured imploringly, “Let go, dearest. Just let go. You asked me to take control; please give yourself over to me. We are alone here. Let me hear you, please. You sound so beautiful when you release. No elseelse will hear, I swear it”.

The younger Elf changed the angle of his thrusts then, and increased their rhythm. This, coupled with the entreating tone of Garand’s voice, had the desired effect on the blonde King. His determination was slipping; he could no longer hold off the culmination of his passion. He no longer wished to.

“Ah yes, my love, that’s it,” Garand panted. “We will reach completion together, yes?”

Thranduil, in reply, jerked once, his legs stiffening and straightening, as his back arched. “Ah…..ah…..” and before his voice could grow any louder, the Elven warrior, true to his word, covered the sweet lips of his lover with his own, swallowing his strangled cries. The warmth of the King’s seed, as it seeped between their joined bodies, catapulted the auburn-haired Elf over the edge as well, and his heated cries mingled with Thranduil’s. Muffled by their ardent kiss, even Rymir couldn’t hear the combined sounds of their peaking together. But he knew what he saw, and the sight of the two lovers straining against each other in the extremity of their lovemaking was enough to trigger his climax. Still on his knees, he pitched forward and lay with his forehead in the crook of his outstretched arm as he bit his bottom lip to stifle his cries. He fondled himself furiously as he shot and shot onto the ground below him. When at last he could rise back to his knees, he peered again through the foliage to watch as Thranduil and Garand kissed tenderly. A pang of jealousy needled the Councilman. You do not yet know it, my young warrior, but I will have you, he thought hungrily. Then, realizing that the lovers would have to pass by close to where he hid in order to leave the garden, Rymir quietly gathered up his cloak, and stole away on still unsteady legs.


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Garand came back to the present with a start. How long had he been laying back in the bath, reliving that wonderful night with his dear love, he wondered. Feeling a little foolish for losing track of the time, he quickly donned a robe and returned to the bedchamber where Thranduil still reclined on the bed in peaceful reverie. Careful not to rouse him, Garand dressed quietly in black leggings and tunic, strapped his long dagger to his hip, and gathered up his bow and quiver of arrows. He stood silently beside the bed, gazing at his magnificent lover. Bending down, he inhaled the scent that was distinctly Thranduil’s, a unique mix of sandalwood and the wild violets that grew freely in the forest. “Have you any idea how much I love you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, and although he didn’t stir, a dreamy expression came into the King’s eyes and his lips turned up in a sweet smile for a moment. Garand kissed the side of his neck, his cheek and his forehead, before leaving to meet with the Council on the serious matter of catching a malicious vandal.


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Many thanks to my dear, sweet friend Sue, for suggesting I let that sneak, Rymir, watch.