Half the Distance

Title: Half the Distance
Series: Innocence Stripped Away
Chapter: Five: Wish It Away
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: soultornasunder@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Warnings: BDSM, Twincest
Beta: Fimbrethiel, Alex

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Imladris, Spring, Third Age 2086

Thranduil arrived with all the pomp Erestor expected him to. It was not a large delegation, but Thranduil didn't need a large host to make a spectacular entrance. He rode at the head of the column, dressed in rich riding clothes that hugged every inch of his broad, tall warrior body, his tawny hair flowing free in the light breeze. His fingers glinted with various rings, around his neck sparkled a large sapphire that complemented the browns and greys of his clothes, and atop his head was a diadem of intricately woven mithril and emeralds. Thranduil looked every bit the Elvenking he was, and Erestor silently cursed the Sinda bastard.

Behind the King and to his left was Legolas, wearing simple woodland garb, but nestled in his sunshine locks was a circlet of mithril, much simpler than his father's. The many years between Legolas' departure and his approach now had physically changed the Elf. He was as tall as his father, but his features were sharper, eyes a sea blue instead of the oak green, and his body was that of an archer -- lithe, nimble, and obviously agile. The coldness with which he gazed at the assembled Elves, though, made him seem far more unapproachable than the assured superiority that shone in Thranduil's eyes.

The host dismounted, and Thranduil and his son approached the group of Elven dignitaries that waited at the entrance of the Last Homely House.

"Welcome to Imladris," Elrond said as he bowed his head in respect to the Mirkwood royal family. "We hope that your journey was uneventful."

Thranduil's smile could have been considered mocking... Actually, Erestor thought, he was certain it was mocking! "Master Elrond, we live in a wood full of Orcs, spiders, and other monsters. Every journey is eventful."

Elrond chose to ignore the King's tone and turned his pewter eyes to Legolas. "Prince Legolas, it has been many years since you have visited my home. You have grown into a fine warrior."

"Thank you, Master Elrond," Legolas said quietly. "It is an honour to be here."

"You remember my wife, the Lady Celebrían, and my Chief Councillor, the Lord Erestor?" Celebrían held out her hand, which both father and son accepted, placing chaste kisses on the delicate ring on her index finger.

Erestor stepped forward as Celebrían stepped back, and his cool gaze met Thranduil's burning one. "King Thranduil," he acknowledged.

"Lord Erestor," Thranduil replied, and Erestor swore the Elf made the mere speaking of his name something obscene. The Elvenking waved at his son. "While it has been many a year since you saw my son, you will find him changed little in attitude."

Legolas' eyes narrowed as he shot his father an icy glare, only to shift the same angry gaze to Erestor. "Lord Erestor," he said blandly.

"Prince Legolas."

Uncomfortable. Yes, that described the situation. And over half those who witnessed it could not explain *why* it was uncomfortable. Elrond cleared his throat, drawing all attention back to him. "I would also like to introduce my Seneschal, Lord Glorfindel, and the Keeper of the Grey Havens, Lord Círdan."

Thranduil's eyes fixed upon Glorfindel's tall, broad figure, the hunger rekindled in his gaze. "It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, Lord Glorfindel."

Was that a blush that crept across Glorfindel's noble features? Erestor stifled a growl as he watched his mate bow to Thranduil. "The pleasure is mine, my Lord," Glorfindel said with a small smile.

Celebrían slipped her arm through Erestor's, mirroring how she held her husband's. "Come now, my Lords. I am certain King Thranduil could use this afternoon to refresh himself and his companions before the feast this evening."

"Feast?" Thranduil asked as he followed the Lady and her escorts toward the family's rooms.

"Aye," Glorfindel explained as he fell in beside the Elvenking. "Master Elrond has prepared a grand feast in honour of all the delegations, followed by dancing and entertainment."

Erestor could just imagine the smug smile on Thranduil's lips as he said, "You will have to save a dance for me, Lord Glorfindel..."

*****

Where the hell was that oaf of a king, Erestor wondered as his eyes darted around the throng of Elves who filled the Hall of Fire. Glorfindel broke through the sea of bodies with two goblets in his hands and a bright, open smile on his lips. He offered one of the glasses to Erestor, the heady scent enticing Erestor to sip the potent alcohol. It burned hot down his throat to sit like liquid fire in his belly, but that did not stop him from draining half his glass before Glorfindel could take a second swallow of his own.

"Erestor, is all well?" Glorfindel asked, looking down at the slighter Elf.

Erestor met his eyes squarely, not a hint of his unease bleeding through his cool demeanour. "Of course, berethen. Why do you ask?" (my spouse)

Glorfindel shifted from foot to foot. "Thranduil--"

"Is late," Erestor finished for him, ignoring the frown of annoyance that crossed Glorfindel's fair face. "You would think that it was rude enough for them to not arrive for the meal, but to also miss the merrymaking..." Erestor left the sentence unfinished as he swallowed the last of his wine, his head already spinning from its effects. He should have eaten more...

The crowd quieted as newcomers entered the hall. The King of Mirkwood was a vision in scarlet and navy blue. Thranduil's tunic was almost blood red, the fine glint of embroidered rubies making his torso seem to sparkle with each move he made. The trousers he wore were so dark that the blue could have been mistaken by mortal eyes to be black, but the sheen of the fabric would shimmer navy when the light was just right. His hair was a wild tangle of sunset locks; the circlet was nestled in the soft curls on his head, the mithril and rubies complementing his complexion perfectly.

Legolas was equally stunning in emerald and silver, his slim, compact body draped elegantly in deep green robes with tiny silver leaves trailing the hemline. His blue-green eyes were still distant, still cold, but his skin was rosy and fresh looking, and his pale hair hung in a straight sheet of honey. The sight of the King and Prince did not shock Erestor, for he expected some grand entrance with glorious clothing and aloof expressions.

What shocked Erestor -- and there was little in life that could shock the Noldo -- was what walked behind Thranduil and to his right.

The Elf was not particularly tall, perhaps just about Erestor's height, but was lean and sinewy, his flesh as pale as any of Thranduil's people due to their underground lives, and his eyes were wide, deep pools of cobalt. His face was rounded, but thin and fine -- delicate. He had a small nose that turned up slightly at the tip, and his brows were narrow and carefully kept. The Elf's hair was as black as a raven's wing, bluish streaks brought out by the candlelight of the room, but it was short, shaggily cut so that the midnight locks did not pass the base of his neck.

He was bare-chested, the piercings in his nipples shining in the gentle light, and a matching ring was threaded through the Elf's navel, all connected by a medium chain that formed a long, flattering 'Y' along his torso -- a torso that gleamed with oil! His bare feet padded silently across the stone tiles, and the breeches Thranduil had chosen for him rode low on the too-slender hips, the soft fabric pale cream and loose.

Across the room from Erestor, Círdan took in a sharp breath and Galdor blushed brightly at the sight of Thranduil's muvael. Elrond shook his head at the sight the royal family made as he approached the center of the room. Thranduil stopped several paces from Elrond, forcing the Peredhel to close the distance between them. Erestor, Glorfindel, and Celebrían were quickly beside the Imladrian Lord's side, all looking from the impassive Sindar to shocked Noldor faces around them. (lust-slave)

"Discretion, Thranduil!" Elrond hissed as he gazed at the bent head of the muvael.

Thranduil shrugged as he tugged on the chain, pulling the slave closer. "I am being discreet. He is, after all, wearing pants," he pointed out, waving toward the cream breeches that did little to hide the erection Erestor was certain the Elf *always* had.

Celebrían snickered in a most undignified manner as she nodded. "He does have a point, my Lord."

Erestor glared at Thranduil, his dark eyes dangerous in their silent fury, but the King only raised an eyebrow at him. Through their bond, Erestor could feel Glorfindel's fascination at the King's audacity, his lack of shame or modesty. Thranduil was right -- he was being discreet. If it had any other type of gathering, Erestor was sure that this muvael would have been led into the room completely naked, and the idea of such humiliation intrigued Glorfindel.

"Before we draw anymore unwanted attention," Celebrían said, "perhaps we should return to our table, have some wine and fruits while we watch Lindir and his troupe's performance..."

"Aye," Elrond said, smiling at his wife. "That is a lovely idea, melethen." Even as he turned away, though, he could not help favouring Thranduil with one last withering glance of disapproval.

*****

Whether it was intentional or not, Erestor would never know, but it was at the exact moment that the Noldo allowed himself to relax and believe that he could escape this evening without further dealings with Thranduil that the golden-haired king appeared at his table.

'Pedo uin balrog,' Erestor thought, having just enough etiquette to keep from voicing it. (Speak of the balrog)

Thranduil smiled down at the Noldo, a wicked mirth gleaming in his oak-green eyes. "Only you, fine Councilor," he teased in a booming voice, "could sit amidst such beauty and sensuality and be so totally unmoved by it. Are you quite certain that, at your age, you can still see clearly over such a distance?"

Glorfindel's laugh barked out before he could stifle it. He tried to turn it into a cough, but Erestor wasn't fooled. 'At least he made the effort,' he said to himself. Thranduil, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his amusement.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Erestor asked through clenched teeth and a wooden smile.

"Not at the moment, my Lord Erestor," Thranduil replied coolly. "I was actually hoping to ask your companion for the pleasure of the next dance."

Erestor quickly opened his mouth to protest, but it was Glorfindel's voice he heard. "It would be my honour," the Elda was saying.

Thranduil smiled ferally. "Shall we, then?" Glancing to the ever-present muvael at his heel, "Stay here with Master Erestor until I return."

Erestor's mouth remained open as Glorfindel offered a slender hand to Thranduil and allowed himself to be led onto the shimmering ballroom floor. His eyes followed the pair until his gaze was filled with the pale, oiled flesh of the muvael's stomach. Erestor grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sit. Down," he commanded, the words like acid in his mouth.

"Well, I must say I am surprised." Legolas' voice cut down Erestor's spine like cold water. "As shrewd a negotiator as you were during our last trade talks, it does appear that my father has gotten the better of you in your latest exchange."

Erestor took a deep breath as he turned to face the Mirkwood Prince. "This is not a trade," he said as neutrally as he could manage, "it is... just a dance."

With predatory grace, Legolas slid into the empty chair opposite the muvael. "I can see that the truth is still as much a convenience to you as it always was," he hissed.

The pressure of the evening was suddenly too much for Erestor. His hand slammed the table so hard that several people turned to stare. "When did I become the designated whipping-bitch for the night?" he lashed out in as loud a whisper as he dared.

"Ah, yes, I forget. It is usually you who is doing the whipping, is it not? This must be a strange sensation for you, then."

"Legolas, at this moment, I am a matter of seconds from making you king. No more fuel on the fire."

Legolas narrowed his eyes, all humour evaporating. "If we were in my home, such words could be considered treasonous, and you would not live to see the sunrise."

"Then it is fortunate that we are in *my* home, Prince. And if it is the sunrise that you long for, I can arrange to move your quarters to the room above the cock coop, and you shall never fear to miss a single one during your stay." Erestor leaned forward, his lips almost brushing Legolas' ear. "Your title, and the prestige that you believe this earns you, mean nothing to me. To me, you will always be the frightened child who gave up the gift of love because you disliked the wrapping paper. Remember that."

Legolas sneered. "Your love is a poison. A disease that you share with my father. It destroyed my mother, and it will destroy your precious Glorfindel. *You* remember *that*." He spun out of his chair and was quickly swallowed by the crowd.

Erestor felt the slow throb in his temples, the telltale sign of a terrible headache. He did not suffer from them often, but Thranduil had the ability to waken them each time he spoke. 'Could this night become any worse?' he mused to himself as he rubbed his forehead. But he knew that by thinking such a question, the Valar would show him just how bad the evening could become.

*****

Legolas still saw red as he pushed his way through the dancing Elves, Erestor's words still ringing in his ears. Love, ha! What he had loved was nothing but what Erestor had chosen to show him; that was not true love -- that was a lie.

"Legolas!"

He stopped and closed his eyes, counting to ten before he turned to face his father. "Yes, Adar?"

Thranduil's face was flushed, his eyes somewhat glassy from drink. "I want to introduce you to our host's sons." He motioned behind him, and Legolas was surprised to see two identical Elves approach. "These are the twin sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir."

Legolas could not help but stare at the twins. He had never seen such a pair! Twins were a rarity among their kind, and after his falling out with Erestor, Legolas had never returned to Imladris, which meant he had never had the opportunity to befriend the Lord's heirs. Legolas blinked several times before he bowed at the waist. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he managed.

"It is an honour to meet you, Prince Legolas," Elladan and Elrohir replied in unison, something that quite unnerved Legolas.

Thranduil laughed loudly. "I will leave you three alone. I do believe Lord Glorfindel is interested in another dance." He winked at Legolas. "And if I can annoy that dour Councilor just a bit more tonight..." he trailed off as he rejoined the crowd, his golden head lost among the dancing Elves.

"Your father--" Elladan began.

"Does not know who he is trifling with," Elrohir finished.

Legolas' eyes narrowed as the two twins turned as one and disappeared into the shadows.

*****

"Our sons have made a terrible impression with the King's son," Elrond murmured as he wrapped his arms around his wife's slim waist.

Celebrían leaned back into his embrace, her pale eyes intent on Erestor's furious face. "Our sons, while impetuous, know where the line of diplomacy is drawn and will do nothing to embarrass us. It is not for our sons that I fear."

Elrond followed his wife's gaze, and then he scanned the crowd, finding Glorfindel in Thranduil's arms as they danced. "You fear for Glorfindel's safety?"

"No," she said, her voice distant and sad. She tilted her head and caught her husband's eyes with her own. "I fear for Erestor, Elrond, not Glorfindel. There is a darkness, a shadow, that he carries with him. This will not end well, and much will be broken that may not be repaired."

TBC...