Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: Eight
Author: Orchyd Constyne and Ashek Thordin
Contact: ashekandorchyd@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: OEAM
Feedback: Yes! Always!
Disclaimer: We do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, het, incest, twincest, rape, torture, BDSM, kink, mpreg (eventually), violence, angst
Beta: Helena Snow-Renn, Chloe Amethyst
Cast: Thranduil/Erestor, Thranduil/Gwindor, Gwindor/Erestor, Gwindor/Thranduil/Erestor, Maglor/Maedhros, Maglor/Daeron, Maedhros/Fingon, Daeron/Thranduil, Thranduil/OMC, Daeron/OMC, Erestor/OMC, Glorfindel/Gelmir, Amrod/Amras, Legolas/OMC, Námo/Ingwë, OMC/OMC, OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC... just to name a few!
Summary: In the Fifth Age of Man, all the Elves who had wandered through Arda have returned to the shores of Aman.
Author Note: This fic is dedicated to the memory of Di, who had been a great lady. She left us far too soon.
Note: //...// denotes dreaming.

---

November, Tirion, Aman

Thranduil's moan was quiet. He was a near-silent lover, and there was a distinct reason for that.

Control.

He was in control of every aspect of his life and his body, from the Elves he employed to the sounds he made during pleasure. Though his moans and cries were soft and few, his partner was intensely vocal. The dark-haired, pale-skinned Noldo bounced up and down upon his lap enthusiastically, her cries echoing in the stone-walled chamber. His hands gripped her hips as he drove himself up into the warmth of her body, slick and inviting. Thranduil's eyes followed the motion of her breasts, her nipples still taut and reddened from his near-constant attentions before he'd entered her. Her head was tossed back, her long hair caressing his thighs as she clung to his forearms, and Thranduil smirked through his pleasure.

The Noldor, he supposed, were not *always* reserved.

***

Erestor and Gwindor had entered the manor through the kitchen, and the younger Elf had immediately set to making the evening meal, obviously working swiftly to make up for the time they had lost by the shores of the Sea. Erestor, however, did not stay in the kitchen, but sought out Thranduil. He strode into the bedchamber without preamble, unsurprised by Thranduil's constant wave of trysts, but slightly annoyed at the hindrance. Crossing his arms, he met Thranduil's eyes. "Will you please hurry it up? We need to talk." And his tone brooked no argument.

From behind sweaty locks, Thranduil looked around his voluptuous bedmate, frowning at the interruption. She paused, but Thranduil shook his head.

"I didn't say stop."

She glanced from Thranduil to Erestor and back again, her cheeks flushed both from pleasure and from embarrassment. Thranduil now glared at Erestor.

"She won't finish with you standing there, so go wait in the hall!"

Rolling his eyes and sparing Thranduil a sour look, Erestor returned to the corridor outside the room, leaning against the wall opposite the door.

It didn't take long, as Thranduil altered their positions, taking her swiftly on her hands and knees. Her climax was voiced shrilly, a sustained high note as she shuddered around him. Thranduil spilled himself within her, only a small grunt marking his release, and then parted from her. He wiped his groin with a discarded shirt, shoving his hair out of his face. He yanked on a robe and exited the room. Before he'd invited her into his bed, he had placed his rules firmly before her: once the pleasure was spent, she was to leave. Thranduil's dismissal was clear, and as he waited, she dressed and hurried from the room. Once he heard the front door close, Thranduil raised an eyebrow and waved Erestor into the room.

"Tell me, meldir, what was so damned important that you had to rush my play?" Thranduil demanded, shutting the door behind them.

He wasted no time with pleasantries or unneeded comments as he regarded Thranduil with eyes both deathly serious and ringed with concern. "Gwindor was forced sexually in Angband."

The Elvenking paused mid-step and turned to face Erestor. "He was..." A lot now made sense in his mind, as he was certain was Erestor's intent. Thranduil shrugged. "Your point, Erestor?"

"My point, Thranduil, is that you risk traumatizing him further if you approach him with blatant sensuality as you have in the past. I know you will never hurt him, but he is not in the state of mind required to understand that."

Thranduil lifted his chin, eyes unreadable. "I have no interest in him. If he dislikes my choice of pastime, he is free to leave."

"Aye, and I offered him residence at my own estate," Erestor sighed, his dark eyes watching Thranduil keenly. "Gwindor turned me down. He wishes to stay here, Valar help us all."

"Did he?" Thranduil found this curious. The Elf had been raped, was shy of the sensuality surrounding him, and yet, he chose to remain in that environment. "Interesting..." The wheels were already turning in Thranduil's head. Perhaps he could seduce the Elf, gentle him and take him... and then be rid of the Noldo and all the distraction he caused.

"Thranduil," Erestor said firmly, "I told Gwindor you would respect his needs. Don't make a liar out of me." He knew Thranduil well enough to know the direction his mind was turning.

"Does he even know what his needs are?" Thranduil asked. "I doubt it. I could... help." A slow smile spread across his face. "I dare say he would enjoy a toss with me. Might do him a *world* of good, Erestor."

His eyes narrowed warningly. "Thranduil..."

Thranduil met Erestor's eyes, and then he sighed. "All right. I will not pursue him. But," he said, holding up a finger, "I will not cease my current activities. This is my home, my bed, and I will not be forced out of it or into some state of celibacy for him."

Erestor raised an eyebrow. "Did anyone ask that of you? I am not daft, and neither is Gwindor. He knows you will continue on as you are, and my guess is that he will continue leaving the estate whenever you take someone to your bed. He seems to be an Elf of habit," he commented with an absent look through the door of the bedchamber in the direction of the kitchen.

"What does that mean?" Thranduil asked softly. "'An Elf of habit'."

"I thought you had no interest in him," Erestor murmured before continuing. "I recognized the remnants of a potent, blue sleeping draught at his bedside, one that he no doubt found in his bathroom and has been taking every night in order to sleep. He also folds his clothing in a very particular way and uses his right hand for everything. His left was cut from him when he escaped Angband, if the histories are correct." The histories in Valinor were rarely incorrect. "He is a creature of habit."

Thranduil stared at Erestor for a long while, trying to discern what his friend was telling him. "What am I to do with such information, Erestor?" he asked slowly.

The question was easily answered, the words flowing naturally from Erestor's tongue in a tone learned from long years as a teacher, and even longer years in the council chamber. "Acquire some respect for an Elf who lived a life of darkness and is trying to adjust to a new existence in the only way he knows how."

"Is that so?" Thranduil murmured. He stared thoughtfully out one of the windows, internally debating something, and he slowly nodded. "You are right, Councillor. Thank you. If you will excuse me... I wish to bathe..." Distractedly, Thranduil wandered into his bathing chamber, the door shutting firmly behind him.

Erestor nodded, watching Thranduil disappear before exiting the chamber, his business with the Elvenking complete. Returning to his own chamber, he drew himself a bath, pinning up his hair. He would once again have to explain his absence to Elrond... which meant he would at least stay through supper and enjoy Gwindor's cooking before facing the livid Half-Elf.

***

Gwindor tossed and turned in a cold sweat. If he thought his pleasant day with Erestor would alleviate his subconscious of the nightmares of his past, he was dreadfully mistaken...

//Blistering heat from furnaces and molten steel, the sickening smell of searing flesh greeted him as his shaking body was dragged into the grimy room. His whole being seemed to pulse painfully with the beating of his heart, sending lightening sensations stabbing into the soles of his feet, which surely had not ceased bleeding yet after the treatment they had received mere hours before.

Another success... another collaboration discovered...

The air left his lungs in a rush as he was thrown atop a bench. Gasping to regain his breath, his eyes blazed with hatred and a spark of trepidation as his arms and legs were stretched then chained to restrict his movements.

The glow of red-hot iron was the only warning he got before...//

His harsh wail echoed off the domed ceilings of his room, resonating violently along the moonlit corridors of Thranduil's estate.

Thranduil sat upright in his bed, blinking away sleep, and glancing around the shadowed room. "Legolas?" he mumbled, his mind instantly returning to the times when his youngest son awoke from nightmares. He rubbed his eyes, swung his legs around, and grabbed a dressing gown, throwing it on to cover his nudity as he stumbled out his bedroom door. Of course it wasn't Legolas... Legolas didn't live with him here.

But Gwindor did.

He made his way down the hall to Gwindor's room and let himself in. "Gwindor?" he called softly, voice rough from sleep. "Gwindor, you're likely to wake up all of Aman at this rate," Thranduil teased as he padded up to Gwindor's bedside.

Gwindor gripped the bedsheets, his face contorted into a grimace that made his erratic breathing come out in hissing rushes. With the way his vivid dream world grasped his senses, he could not hear Thranduil's call, could feel nothing but the remembered sensations of blood spilling from his feet, and his skin burning beneath hot metal.

Thranduil blinked the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes before he reached out to gently shake Gwindor. "It is only a dream, meldir. Wake," he insisted, his voice taking on the commanding edge of a king. He sat on the edge of the bed, giving Gwindor one more shake, his tone insisting his words be heeded. "*Wake*."

With a startled gasp, Gwindor was ripped from his sleep, his right hand flying up from the sheets to grasp whatever had a hold on his shoulder. Taking a few ragged breaths, his eyes began to refocus, and he recognized the golden hair and blue eyes of Thranduil, illuminated only by the pale light filtering through the doorway into the darkness of his chamber. "Thranduil..." His voice was shaky and his hand tightened on Thranduil's arm as tears filled his dark eyes.

"Aye," Thranduil breathed, cupping Gwindor's face with his right hand. "'Tis only me. No creatures lurk under your bed, nothing breathes in the darkness." He spoke like a father to a frightened child, his words soft and reassuring. The tears hovering in Gwindor's eyes tore at his heart, much to Thranduil's dismay, but he shoved aside the disquiet the reaction caused, focusing instead on his cook's distress. "I am here."

Gwindor's eyebrows knitted together as he attempted to keep the tears from falling... and failed miserably. He closed his eyes, turning on his side toward Thranduil as he cried. He felt terribly childish for sobbing softly in front of the fabled Elvenking, and his feet flexed rhythmically, ridding themselves of the phantom sensations his memories had called forth. Holding tightly to the hand at his shoulder and taking what comfort he could in the warm palm at his cheek, he slowly composed himself. "I..." the word came out as more of a croak, and he cleared his throat before trying again. "I did not mean to wake you, Thranduil."

"It's all right," Thranduil murmured, rubbing his thumb gently over the wet cheek. "I have been woken by far worse. Do you want to tell me what the dream was?" He would not push; Erestor had said to respect the Noldo's boundaries, and though it was strange for him, he felt compelled to try.

Gwindor's throat tightened at the question, and he had to breathe deeply for a moment before he could answer, his eyes opening and focusing on the sapphires that gazed down at him. "Angband..." He hated the word; he hated the place, though it had long ago been thrown into the Sea. "They found us again... helping others escape."

Thranduil nodded. "And what did they do?" It was a gentle push. He was of the opinion Gwindor had yet to face all that had happened to him, and if he could help, Thranduil realised, he *wanted* to.

Gwindor cringed, not wanting to return to what he had just been pulled from. But something inside him urged him to answer Thranduil's questions. After all, the Elvenking always expected answers, did he not? "They... scored our feet so we could not stand, could not run. They branded us, and beat us until there was nothing but pain... if they did not just kill and save themselves the trouble..." Gwindor bit his lip as it quivered, once again fighting back tears.

Shifting on the bed, Thranduil pulled Gwindor against his body, resting the Noldo's head on his chest as he wrapped his long arms around him. "Have you been having these dreams ever since you returned to the living?" he asked, his voice rumbling deeply under Gwindor's ear as he stroked the messy dark hair soothingly. It disturbed him how right Gwindor felt in his arms, and he tried to push the thought from his mind.

Gwindor nodded with a hiccupping cough, clinging to Thranduil's robe. The presence of the blond Elf was like a shining light compared to the darkness of his nightmares, and rather than question the source, he accepted the comfort that was offered, letting the steady beat of Thranduil's heart soothe something deep inside him.

"Perhaps the Lord Irmo is trying to force you to face something within your past," Thranduil said. "Dreams are never idle things, and if they are vivid memories of your past, then in them lies the reason for them." He was quiet for a long moment, pondering his next words. "It... if you are truly haunted by these dreams, and if you wish to be rid of them, there may be only one course of action for you to take."

Gwindor swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What course of action?"

"Travel to Lórien and seek the counsel of Lord Irmo," Thranduil replied, lips pressed to the crown of Gwindor's head. He chastised himself for the momentary thought of how enticing the Elf in his arms smelled. "A small journey to seek the truths hiding in your dreams," he said, distracting his mind from the fragrant hair under his lips.

Gwindor shook his head slightly. "The Vala of Dreams is just angry with me... for forcing the nightmares away."

"You cannot know that for certain unless you ask him." Thranduil paused for a moment. "Or are you afraid of what the answer might be?"

There was a bit of silence following the question, during which Gwindor tensed. "I'm a coward," he breathed shakily. "There is not an ounce of honour or dignity left in me."

Thranduil put his hand under Gwindor's chin and forced the other Elf to look at him. "That is a lie, Gwindor," he whispered, his face close to Gwindor's.

Gwindor stared up at Thranduil, scepticism and deep-seated shame visible in the depths of his charcoal eyes. "How would you know?"

"Because I know undignified dishonour. I have looked such creatures in the eye, and you..." He took in all of Gwindor's face, letting out a soft breath. "You harbour neither in your eyes. I am known for seeing what most cannot, and I tell you with absolute certainty, you are more than you believe yourself to be."

They stayed like that for several moments, during which Gwindor's lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. His eyes, though not completely convinced, held a certain measure of relief, and he looked downward, unable to hold the piercing blue gaze any longer.

Thranduil couldn't help himself as he tilted Gwindor's head enough for him to begin to descend, closer to the Noldo's lips, but Erestor's words resounded in his head. Halfway through the dip of his head, he stopped. Thranduil swallowed, murmuring his question, the words having never before passed his lips. "May I kiss you?"

Dark eyes snapped back to blue, confusion swarming in their depths along with a modicum of anxiety. But of all the emotions that passed through his expressive features, confusion was the most dominant. "What?!"

The Elvenking shook his head, releasing Gwindor's chin. "Forgive me. I should not have asked," he said, his tone truly apologetic.

Gwindor blinked several times, a deep blush coming over his features in the dim light. Tensing slightly and looking away again, he ran a hand through his damp, messy bangs, pushing some of the heavy strands back from his face in a bit of a nervous fidget. He scooted back, moving a respectable distance away from Thranduil's body, immediately missing the warmth despite his discomfort.

It took all Thranduil had not to reach out and pull Gwindor back against him. He hadn't meant for Gwindor to move away. Thranduil shook his head slightly, amused at his idiotic behaviour. Slowly, he stood from the bed, tightening the sash around his waist. "I... will take my leave," he said, noting the anxious expression on Gwindor's face. "I apologize for causing you any unease. It was not my intention."

"W-Wait..." Gwindor stuttered, his brow furrowed as he bit his lip.

Thranduil paused halfway to the door, turning to look at Gwindor. "Do you need something?" Without thought, he asked, "Would you like me to fetch you something from the kitchen?"

Gwindor's blush deepened. "Well... not exactly..." He hesitated.

A frown touched his lips. "Water from your bathroom?" Thranduil was trying to figure out what he could do to relieve whatever tension he had created, which irked him in a way. It was odd, and he didn't understand it.

The offer actually caused Gwindor to smile. "I'm not an invalid, Thranduil," he dared to tease lightly. "In Nargothrond, after a particularly bad night, I would go to the kitchen and just... cook until I calmed down. It... is a bit much to ask, but would you join me? Keep me company?" It was awkward to ask his host, his *employer*, for such a thing, but he would rather be in Thranduil's company than alone.

Thranduil bowed his head. "I cannot think of anything I would rather do," he said. "Would you like to dress and meet me in the kitchen?"

His smile was small, but pleased, and he nodded, willing his blush to dissipate. "I will be down in a few minutes. I'm... I'm a mess."

A last glance was given before Thranduil disappeared out the door, and before he left, he said, "No. You aren't." Then he was gone, his feet silent as he treaded down the stairs and into his kitchen to wait for his cook to join him.

Gwindor looked at the place in the doorway where Thranduil vanished for a few moments, then slowly stepped from his bed, going to the washroom, where he cleaned his face and wiped away the balmy sweat his nightmares had caused. Changing into a comfortable pair of trousers and a warm shirt, he slipped on a pair of soft indoor shoes and made his way down to the kitchen, combing through his hair and managing only to cinch it back against the nape of his neck. His bangs still fell into his face as he entered the swinging door to the kitchen. Smiling gratefully at Thranduil, he immediately set to lighting a few candles for extra light, the warm glow comforting.

Thranduil was perched on a counter, peeling an apple with a thoughtful expression. His eyes rose when Gwindor walked in, and the smile brought one of his own to his face. He watched Gwindor walk around the room, watched him light the candles and begin preparations for his cooking. Curiosity grew in Thranduil until he could keep silent no longer. "Have you never been kissed? The look on your face when I asked..."

What was it about Thranduil's questions that caused him to blush constantly? Gwindor did not look up from the bowls he was ordering, answering softly with a small pause of his hands. "I was kissed... a long, long time ago. Before my... captivity... Finduilas and I stole small kisses when no one was looking."

"And you desire no closeness, no... intimacy... now?" Thranduil's interest in Gwindor's personal life had been piqued, and try as he might, he could not stop his mind from returning to how close his lips had been to Gwindor's. He quickly became distracted, wondering what the Noldo tasted like, how he would squirm in bed, or the sounds he would make at the heights of his pleasure. A small pit of sadness settled in Thranduil's stomach, though, as he realised that, in all likelihood, Gwindor would remain untouched, and his questions would never be answered.

Gwindor swallowed, sparing a glance over to the bit of counter Thranduil sat upon. "No... I did not choose rebirth with that in mind." He turned, disappearing into the storage room before reappearing with his arms full of ingredients. He set them on the counter in a very organized fashion, everything in its place.

A sense of deep disappointment settled over Thranduil. "A shame," he murmured, tossing his half-eaten apple into the bin.

"It's not a shame," he argued softly, his jaw tense as he began mixing ingredients together. "It's safe."

Thranduil looked at Gwindor's back. "It's lonely."

"But it's safe," he repeated, looking at Thranduil over his shoulder with eyes that spoke of pain, sadness, and betrayal. "I don't want to be hurt again..."

"How do you know you will be hurt again?" Thranduil asked. "You have refused the opportunity even before it is given."

"I don't *know*," Gwindor admitted quietly, his eyes hidden by his bangs. "I... don't trust easily, Thranduil."

Thranduil fell silent, because he had no words to combat Gwindor's own past, and he certainly was no Elf to speak of trust or love. He sat there on the counter, staring down at his bare feet, listening to Gwindor as he cooked, not liking what he felt one bit. Mainly because he was *feeling* anything other than the thrill of the flesh after so many years. It was disconcerting and unwelcome.

It wasn't long before Gwindor had placed a batch of muffins into the fire oven, and made a sauce for a small plate of fruit he managed to scrounge together. It was a smooth chocolate sauce, sweetened with sugar and flavoured with a spicy alcohol. Waiting for the muffins to bake, he set the platter in front of Thranduil with a small bowl of the sauce. "Here," he offered, "something a little different for the fruit."

"Do you do nothing simply?" Thranduil asked as he picked up a slice of apple, dipping it into the sauce.

"Rarely. Very few things about me are simple," Gwindor smiled, his eyes full of mysteries and a pleasant warmth.

Something flashed in Thranduil's eyes. "Very few things." Thranduil watched Gwindor putter about, and he chuckled. "You would make an ideal wife, Gwindor. Cooking, cleaning, and complication."

His arms elbows-deep in the washing bin, he shook his head with an amused chuckle. "Is that a compliment or a challenge to my manhood?"

A smug smile crossed Thranduil's arrogantly curved lips. "Which would permit me more liberties with you?"

Gwindor's eyes widened with shock at the audacity of the question, but after an odd moment of silence, he burst into laughter. The reaction surprised him, as it was the most carefree he had felt in the face of Thranduil's overt sexuality. With the laughter came a bit of the personality he had not felt resurface for a very long time. "Isn't it too early in the morning for such things? I have not had enough alcohol for that kind of talk, Thranduil."

"I wouldn't coax you into my bed by plying you with alcohol," Thranduil said honestly. He tilted his head, watching Gwindor with sharp blue eyes. "And some of the best encounters I've had in bed were in the early morning hours. An Elf can have one of the most resilient erections when he first wakes."

A deep shade of crimson came over Gwindor's features, moving all the way to his pointed ears. "I... oh..." He brushed his cheek with his shoulder absently, as if he could remove the redness of his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

Thranduil slid down from the counter, licking the chocolate from his fingers as he approached the flustered Noldo. He stopped a few inches from Gwindor, a small, seductive smile on his lips. "You are quite lovely when you blush that shade, Gwindor," he said, purring the other Elf's name.

Pulling his hands from the soaking dishes, he looked at his fingers intently as he dried them on a nearby hand towel. Thranduil seemed to tower over him when he stood so close, and it somehow made him more threatening. But right when Gwindor was forced to meet Thranduil's gaze, his sense of smell caught the scent of the muffins that had been cooking in the oven and his gaze went rapidly from the oven to Thranduil and back again. "Muffins!" he exclaimed, as if the small baked goods were sent to his aid by the Valar themselves. Moving to the oven, he removed the metal baking mould with a glove much like those used in the forge. His blush remained as he tended to his muffins, removing them from the mould and setting them to cool on a small rack.

The Elvenking sighed as he crossed his arms, and he looked out the window. The sun had begun to rise. "I suppose I shall go bathe and dress for my day," he said as he turned to exit the kitchen. He was unaccustomed to being rebuffed for muffins. It was an unpleasant feeling. "Best not to laze about in my dressing gown."

"Thranduil?" Gwindor spoke softly, his blush still stubbornly colouring his cheeks.

"Yes?" he said, pausing near the door, and turned to look at Gwindor over his shoulder.

"When you asked about kisses... I know you meant *more* than what I answered to." He paused a moment, debating whether to offer the information, as it was personal and had never been shared with another. "No. No one has ever kissed me that way." Gwindor glanced up at Thranduil, offering him a small twitch of a smile. "Thank you for keeping me company."

Thranduil smiled sweetly. "What I meant is of no consequence, truly. Your past is none of my business, and I overstepped a boundary by asking the questions I did tonight, though I thank you for sharing what you have." He gave a respectful nod. "And you are most welcome, Gwindor. It was quite enjoyable." Before he continued on his way, his brow furrowed and he said, "Take my advice. Seek out Lord Irmo. You might then find some modicum of peace in your sleep." Thranduil gave Gwindor one more meaningful glance, and half of the meaning in it even the Elvenking didn't understand, and then he ducked out of the kitchen, leisurely making his way up to his room to prepare for his day.

The gaze seemed to burrow into his head long after the piercing blue eyes had disappeared behind the door to the dining room, and Gwindor shook his head as he went back to finish washing his dishes. Lord Irmo... The Vala of Dreams would surely have answers to the questions he could not adequately voice, but something pulled at him, telling him to stay in Tirion. Erestor's words came back to him as well. Glorfindel of Gondolin had been reborn and sent back to Arda. Perhaps it was wise to seek out the fabled Balrog Slayer before he resorted to travelling across Aman to the Gardens of Lórien. The idea was appealing, and Gwindor resolved to find the Noldo in town that very afternoon if he could be seen at such short notice. Because, he reasoned, *anything* was better than another night of horrid memories he would rather forget than relive.

TBC...