King's Solace

Chapter 1: Grief


“Legolas?”

King Thranduil had looked up from the pile of documents strewn across his desk, when he sensed a presence in the study with him. His only son stood in the doorway, misery etched into the fine features of his beautiful young face. He’d retired for the night less than an hour ago, but now it was clear he’d been awakened by a very unpleasant occurrence. He stood uncertainly in the entrance of his father’s library.

“What is it, my son?” Thranduil urged. Eyebrows the color of pale wheat knit together in concern.

“I dreamt of her again,” Legolas whispered, and his eyes searched his father’s helplessly.

The king’s heart clenched in a spasm of sympathy for his son, and he stood, holding out his arms to Legolas, who swiftly crossed the room to press himself against his father’s chest as his tears began to flow. He wept without restraint.

Thranduil enfolded his son in his arms, and murmured soothing words. He had long since ceased to shed tears over the loss of his wife, but the aching void left by her absence had never dissipated. Five years had passed since the queen of Mirkwood had ridden out into the forest alone, an action that cost her life, when a small band of Men, thieves by trade, had murdered her for no other reason than to steal the silver, jewel-encrusted necklace she wore. All were caught and executed, but neither king nor prince derived any satisfaction from that fact. Their queen was gone.

Thranduil gathered Legolas in his arms, easily lifting him, and sat in the large chair behind his desk.

“What will we do without her, adar?” Legolas whispered.

“You are not alone, little leaf, and neither am I.” The king cupped his son’s chin and raised it, to look into his streaming eyes. “We will lean on one another, will we not?” he asked gently.

Legolas nodded in silent agreement, and sighed contentedly, making no move to leave his father’s arms. To the human eye, the two would have seemed to be brothers, very similar in appearance and close in age. Tall, golden and beautiful, many hundreds of years separated them, and although the prince was fully grown, he was still young enough to be involved in the studies that would teach him everything he needed to know as both a member of the Elven race and the successor who would rule Mirkwood, when the day came. To take his son’s mind off his nightmares, Thranduil asked, “How are your studies coming along? What is Aniond teaching you now?”

Legolas quickly brushed away the remaining tears from his cheeks, as he began recounting all the subjects he was currently being taught in his tutor’s home each day. Thranduil had chosen to send Legolas to classes attended by other young students, since he didn’t approve of the practice of royalty keeping their offspring separated from the inhabitants of their realms. Every future ruler needed to bond with his or her people from an early age on, he firmly believed.

Encouraged by the fact that a change of subject was lightening Legolas’ mood considerably, Thranduil pressed on, “And your friend…..?”

“Garand,” the prince injected, as a warm smile spread across his lips.

“Garand,” the king repeated, “how is he progressing, in your opinion?”

“Very well, I think. He has a quick mind as well as a good heart.”

An idea suddenly formed in Thranduil’s mind. “Legolas,” he looked down at his son, “why do we not invite him here for an extended visit? If his mother and father can spare him, of course. Would you like that?”

The prince smiled radiantly. “I would like that very much, Father. Thank you.” He wound his arms around the king’s neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And thank you for not pointing out to me that I am far too old to be sitting in my father’s lap,” he added, smiling wryly.

The Elven king’s face grew serious as he replied, “My Las, my own, you are everything to me. You will never be too old to be held by your father thus. I will have harsh words with anyone who says differently.”

Thranduil then cradled Legolas against him, and both father and son took comfort from it.

Chapter 2: Introductions


Garand’s mother and father not only allowed his visit to the palace, they sent him off with joyful blessings. He and Legolas attended their studies that day, and set out for the palace immediately afterward. Because most everything would be provided for him during his stay, Garand carried only a few belongings in a bag slung over one shoulder, and in his other hand, he carried his bow. Legolas had promised ‘much archery practice’, an activity they were both very fond of. They talked and laughed as they walked, and the time passed by so quickly, that neither of them noticed how near the palace they already were.

King Thranduil sat at the top of the steps leading to the entrance of the palace. He could see Legolas and Garand approaching in the distance, and he smiled to see how happy and relaxed his son was in the company of his good friend. He’d decided to meet them upon their arrival, and to welcome Legolas’ friend in a casual manner so as not to intimidate him. Thranduil had even sent the guards inside temporarily, since he was sensitive to the fact that the palace could be overwhelming to first-time visitors. He wore no crown or other symbol of royalty, dressed only in an ivory linen tunic, chamois-colored leggings, and simple brown boots. His magnificent flaxen hair was unbound, and blew gently in the autumn breeze.

The two young elves were now only fifty feet from where the king sat waiting, and still neither took notice of their surroundings, as they continued their animated conversation. It wasn’t until they’d reached the bottom of the steps to the palace that Legolas suddenly looked up and smiled delightedly upon seeing his father waiting for them.

“Adar!” he cried happily. Garand turned to face the king, mortified. He unceremoniously dumped his bag and bow on the ground, and dropped to one knee, his right hand over his heart, in a gesture of greeting and respect. “Majesty,” he said humbly.

A soft laugh escaped the king as he gracefully descended the stairs. “Garand, please rise,” he said. “I do not hold court this day. I am merely a father welcoming his son and his friend to our home. Peace, my son, welcome home,” he said gently as he embraced Legolas.

“Peace, adar, it is good to be home,” the prince replied, kissing his father’s cheek. “And may I present my dear friend, Garand. Garand, this is my father.”

Legolas’ friend rose to his feet, as Thranduil turned to face him. They were exactly the same height, and when their eyes met, blue ice locked with green flame. Both elves stared openly at the other, agape at the beauty each beheld. After several seconds, they came to themselves with a slight start, and the king was the first to extend his hand. Garand clasped it warmly. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Garand, and to welcome you to our home,” he said. “It is an honor, Sire, to be invited into your home and your presence. I thank you,” the younger elf replied. Even among the fairest of all races, Garand’s beauty was uncommon. His deep auburn hair was braided into a single, thick plait that draped over one shoulder and hung almost to his waist. His lips were full and well-shaped, with a delicate upward curve at the corners. Long, narrow golden-green eyes met Thranduil’s with an open, honest gaze. The king liked him immediately.

For Garand, the feeling was mutual. He stood in awe of the king. Thranduil was unlike anyone he’d ever seen, even Legolas. For although his friend possessed many great, princely attributes, the king possessed them to an even greater degree. He was taller, more powerfully built, more commanding, more everything. Even dressed as simply as he was, Thranduil radiated a regal presence that wasn’t lost on the younger elf, who also perceived tremendous compassion and intelligence in the depths of those turquoise-blue eyes. And as the three ascended the steps to the palace, Garand discovered that he looked forward to his stay with even greater anticipation.


Chapter 3: Realization


Garand slipped easily into the routines of palace life, and he was a comforting presence to Legolas, whose broken heart finally began to heal. His friend had an effortless way of making him laugh and lifting his spirit, which was appreciated not only by Thranduil, but also by the palace servants, who had been so very worried about their beloved Prince since the death of the Queen. Without exception, every member of the palace staff adored the King and his son, and all of them were more than willing to take extra pains to please them. Garand noted this, and he felt doubly honored to be the close friend of someone who inspired such love and devotion. He also felt the stirring of something else when he was in the presence of the King. Something that went beyond the sympathy he felt for Thranduil in his grief. The father of Legolas was august, and possessed a great strength of spirit, or he would never have been able to perform his duties as king and continue to be the dutiful parent, while coping with the violent fate that had befallen the Queen. Garand admired him greatly for this ….. and for his beauty. Sweet Varda, but he was magnificent! The younger elf became increasingly aware, with each passing day, that he was losing his heart to the majestic Thranduil.

The king was also aware that something had changed in him. He no longer felt that he trudged through each day’s duties, merely going through the motions, but once again taking interest, even delight, in the decisions he was required to make on a daily basis. He found himself excited about problem-solving, not dreading it as he had been for some time. Something else was happening to him, something that caused him slight apprehension, only because he had never felt it before. Attraction to another male. Not that he frowned on such feelings. It certainly wasn’t uncommon among the Elves, even marriages between two males weren’t uncommon, but the yearning he felt when he thought of Garand was new to Thranduil. He found himself eagerly awaiting the evening meal that he shared with Legolas and his friend, when he would ask how they’d spent their day. The enthusiasm and vitality of the two younger elves was infectious, and the King found himself smiling almost through the entire meal, even as he stole quick glances at the auburn-haired elf who sat to his right.

Of late, Thranduil had taken to watching his son and Garand in their leisure activities on the lawn outside his library. It began one afternoon, as he was reading through proposals submitted by the Council. He heard Legolas laughing in pure and unrestrained enjoyment, and he smiled unconsciously. When Garand’s lyrical laughter joined in, accompanied by the giggling of small children, Thranduil’s curiosity got the better of him. He rose and moved to the open archway that overlooked the grounds outside. What he saw caused him to grin openly, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the column of the archway. Legolas lay on his stomach on the grass, while a small boy, the son of one of the servants, sat astride his back, as if riding a pony. They both watched as Garand and another boy played a spirited game of Orc Hunt. The auburn-haired elf ran frantically back and forth, shrieking in an uncanny impersonation of an orc’s cackling scream, while the child fired imaginary arrows in his direction. Garand’s glorious cinnamon-colored hair was loose and swayed magnificently as he ran. When he turned to run in a direction that presented his backside to the King, Thranduil stared in fascination as the ends of the elf’s hair fell into a V-shape in the back, like an arrow pointing directly to the swell of his perfect buttocks. The smile slowly faded from Thranduil’s face as an emotion he thought was long-lost, washed over him. Desire. Heat flooded his groin so quickly that he stood upright with a start as his hand convulsively gripped the column beside him. Have you lost your mind, your majesty? That is the closest friend of your only child, you are lusting after. He shook his head in reproach and turned away, assuring himself that he was simply tired and that the longing he had just felt would never return. But it did return, time and again. When he saw Garand, when he heard his voice in the palace halls, and every time the beautiful young elf crept into the King’s thoughts. And Thranduil felt that desire most keenly, as he did now, at the evening meal, when Garand sat so intoxicatingly close. The older elf couldn’t possibly have known that it was every bit as difficult for Garand to sit near the object of his love and carry on a casual conversation, when every impulse in his body screamed at him to sit astride Thranduil’s thighs and devour his beautiful mouth until neither of them could breathe.

Then something extraordinary happened. Garand reached for the carafe of wine to pour more for himself and the others at the same instant that Thranduil reached for it, and their hands met in a highly-charged touch. Both elves felt it profoundly, and when their eyes met, the realization of the shared feeling caused them to smile shyly, as they withdrew their hands. In the next instant, their eyes flew to Legolas in apprehension, but he was busy tearing a chunk of bread from the plate in front of him, and hadn’t noticed. Thank the gods, Thranduil and Garand thought simultaneously, and they carefully avoided physical contact for the remainder of the meal.

Chapter 4: Fulfillment


With a jolt, Garand came out of his reverie that night, to find his fists clenched in the coverlet beneath him, and his heart pounding wildly. Disoriented, he stared at the intricate design of the ceiling in Legolas’ room, as he struggled to calm his breathing. Garand looked quickly over at his friend. Had he wakened Legolas with his thrashing? No, the other elf lay peacefully on his back, one arm flung out beside him and the other bent with his hand curled in the crook of his neck. His half-closed eyes and the long, slow rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was deep in reverie. Good. The least he could do was to not interrupt Legolas’ repose after coercing him into several hours of archery practice after the evening meal. Garand had been thrumming with excited energy after leaving the dinner table and the King’s presence, and he’d suggested a few rounds with the bow and arrow. Legolas had gladly complied. But when two hours had passed and his friend showed no signs of calling it a day, the Prince had said wryly, with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided smile, “I thought I was obsessive about the sport.” When Garand pleaded for ‘just a few more’ shots, Legolas had smiled indulgently and agreed. Afterward, the auburn-haired elf felt that he had finally succeeded in working off the edginess he’d been feeling after the encounter with Thranduil at dinner, and he did indeed slip deep into reverie the instant his head sank into the pillow. But it was short-lived, and he drifted in and out of wakefulness. His few resting moments were laced with dreams of Thranduil; Thranduil standing waist-deep in a pool at the bottom of a waterfall, beckoning to him, Thranduil reclining naked on a bench covered in green velvet, with his hands clasped in front of him and one elegant leg drawn up, Thranduil sitting on his throne, dressed only in breeches and leather arm braces as he clasped his hands above his head and pushed his hips forward invitingly, whispering, “Come take me, lover.”

It was this last dream that had wrenched Garand out of his reverie, and now he sat up in bed, knowing there would be no more rest for him this night. Careful not to wake his friend, he eased himself to the floor and padded silently into the hall. He’d planned to walk only until he felt weary again, but the magnificent works of art in the halls captured his attention and he wandered from one piece to another, gazing at each in awe. The young elf had just inspected a stunning sculpture and was moving on to a vase carved from marble, when a soft light at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head, he looked directly into a large room where several candles burned. As Garand watched, a tall form moved slowly back and forth several times before stopping with his back to the hall. The young elf tried not to gasp as he inhaled sharply. Thranduil. He was outside the King’s bedchamber. But why was he awake at this hour? He had obviously retired for the night, as he, like Garand, wore only loose-fitting leggings. His question was answered almost immediately, as Thranduil began to tilt his head this way and that, kneading the back of his neck with one hand, before turning to look at his shoulder as he rotated it gingerly. Garand understood then. Thranduil was a bundle of tension, and it was preventing him from getting the rest he so needed.

“Allow me to help you with that, your Majesty.”

Thranduil started at the sound of the younger elf’s voice behind him. He began to turn toward that voice, but Garand placed his hands on the king’s shoulders and gently, but firmly, prevented him from doing so as he began to knead the knotted muscles. At first Thranduil began to protest. Garand was, after all, a guest in the palace, but after several seconds of the gentle massage, he couldn’t deny the immense relief he was already feeling. And yes, maybe he was being selfish, but he didn’t really want it to stop. He let his head fall forward, pale wheat hair covering his face, as Garand knowingly applied the precise amount of pressure where it was needed.

“Where did you learn to do this, Garand?” Thranduil murmured languidly.

The younger elf smiled as he continued, “My grandfather is a healer. He taught me many useful techniques, and this one is something most everyone needs from time to time. Especially kings with heavy burdens to bear.” He leaned forward slightly, over Thranduil’s shoulder, to look closely at him. “Is it helping?” he asked hopefully.

“You have no idea,” the king sighed blissfully. “Thank you, Garand.”

Thank you, Sire, the auburn-haired elf thought as he drank in the sight of the lean, muscled back before him. “’Tis my pleasure,” he said aloud. “You have been so kind to me, offering me your hospitality here at the palace, allowing me to spend so much time with Legolas, I …..” he broke off when Thranduil reached up to place one hand over his, stilling it.

The king turned his head to look at Garand pointed “Yo “You are not expected to earn your keep, young Garand. Your presence here has been a blessing for both my son and me.”

Garand smiled, genuinely pleased. He glanced at the large bed in the center of the room and said, “You know, my lord, I could do much more good, if you would lie down.”

Thranduil looked at him doubtfully. “Truthfully,” Garand insisted, laughing.

The older elf hesitated before replying, “I must admit, I have not felt such a release of tension in many weeks.”

“Then, I insist you allow me to continue,” he said firmly. Please allow me to continue. There is nothing I would rather do than feel your glorious body under me.

Thranduil finally conceded. “If you are quite certain.”

Garand needed no further comment. He gently ushered Thranduil across the floor to where the bed stood, and indicated that the king should lie face down. The younger elf then knelt over the king and began his ministrations anew. He reveled in the feel of muscle and sinew beneath the surface of velvet skin, as his skillful hands coaxed the tension from Thranduil’s body. Gods, but he wanted him. Garand’s green eyes hungrily feasted on the beautiful form beneath him, and his breathing quickened as he felt himself grow hard. He moved down to kneel astride the backs of the king’s thighs and began gently stroking his thumbs upward along either side of his spine, beginning at the small of his back. The effect this had, took Thranduil by surprise. His eyes flew open, and he barely suppressed a gasp as warmth spread from his backside to his groin. This was a revelation. He wasn’t aware of being sensitive in that area. He prayed silently that his reaction had gone unnoticed by the younger elf, and he was thankful to be lying on his stomach, hiding the evidence of his arousal. But Garand had noticed. Noticed the king’s quick intake of breath, the involuntary downward movement of his hips, pressing his groin into the bed beneath him, and the slight arching of his back.

The beautiful young elf could no longer restrain himself. He bent down to place whisper-soft kisses at the base of Thranduil’s spine. The king shivered at the feel of warm breath on his skin. “Garand, stop, you must not. ‘Tis wrong,” he protested breathlessly.

Garand gently turned him to lie on his back, and moved up on hands and knees until they were face to face, and his eyes searched the king’s beseechingly. “Why, my lord Thranduil? Why is it wrong? I love you,” he leaned his forehead against the King’s, “and I want you.” At the younger elf’s confession, an answering emotion flashed in Thranduil’s eyes, but he only said, “You are young enough to be my son.”

“That is a human argument,” Garand chided, smiling gently. “The years impose no constraints upon us.” He began kissing and nipping the porcelain column of Thranduil’s throat, adding, “As you…kiss…well…nip…know.”

The last stronghold of the king’s resolve crumbled when Garand drew his tongue slowly up the side of his neck, feeling Thranduil’s pulse racing just beneath the skin. The older elf gasped as he convulsively clasped Garand’s shoulders and tossed back his head, offering more of his neck to the laving tongue. “Ah … Garand,” he moaned, “what do you do to me? I … cannot … I … oh, gods … more,” Thranduil groaned deep in his throat when Garand began lapping at his ear lobe, and gently scraping his teeth along the sensitive flesh.

When Thranduil began to arch into Garand’s caresses, the younger elf lowered his upper body, craving more contact. As his chest pressed into the feverishly hot skin of the King’s heaving chest, Garand moaned against the beautiful neck and ear that he was so hungrily feasting on. Such passion. He knew it would be so.

Thranduil slowly and sensuously entwined his legs with thof thf the auburn-haired elf, and sliding his hands down Garand’s back, grasped his buttocks and pressed his hips downward at the same instant that he opened his thighs to allow the young elf to drop between them, bringing their aching erections into contact through their leggings. Both elves groaned in unison, and Garand broke off his assault on Thranduil’s neck to gaze into the turquoise-blue eyes of the King. Thranduil gazed back in wonder at the golden-green eyes that appeared as old and all-knowing as the forest itself. He knew he should stop this, now, but when Garand began to slowly rotate his hips, lasciviously swiping his cock across the King’s, backing away and then swiping again and again, all reason fled his mind.

Garand felt the tightening of Thranduil’s abdominal muscles, and the tremors in his legs, and he knew he must restrain his pace, or it would be over before it even began. He instinctively knew that the King had been celibate since the death of the Queen, and therefore he would be exceptionally sensitive to erotic sensation. So the younger elf shifted his weight until he lay alongside Thranduil, who whimpered with need and reflexively reached for him. “Sssh,” Garand whispered soothingly, as his hand cupped the King’s chin, and dipping his head, he licked softly at Thranduil’s lips several times before fiercely claiming them with his own. He possessively sucked, nibbled and licked the soft mouth of the other elf until he felt him shiver uncontrollably. Stroking long fingers down the King’s neck and chest, he stopped when he encountered one of the metal rings that pierced both nipples of his lover. He broke off the kiss to look thoughtfully at the object for a few seconds. “Why did you mutilate yourself?” he turned back to Thranduil to search his eyes.

The King grimaced slightly, and hesitated a moment before answering, as he tried to calm his breathing. “When my wife passed into the Halls of Mandos,” he replied quietly, “I felt only pain. Nothing else existed outside of that, for a time. Were it nor thr the love and comfort of my son, I think I might have gone mad. Then the pain passed, and there was ….. nothing. It frightened me. And I did something very stupid. I pierced my flesh because the physical agony it caused was preferable to the numbness. Now I keep the rings in at all times to remind me of my foolishness.” He smiled self-consciously at Garand, who tenderly returned the smile. “’Tis more than understandable, my love,” he said. Then the corners of his beautiful lips turned up in an impish grin. “But now, if you will allow me, I will show you a new purpose for these,” and he lightly traced a finger around one of the rings. Thranduil raised one eyebrow in curiosity. “And what is that?” he asked with a half smile. “Pleasure,” Garand replied enticingly, and bent his auburnd tod to engulf the King’s nipple, ring and all, in his warm mouth, and began sucking gently, but insistently. Thranduil gasped and bucked beneath him, nearly throwing him off, but the young elf held on to him, clasping him around the waist. He then threaded his tongue through the metal ring, curled the tip and tugged gently as his lips sucked greedily at the flesh beneath the ring.

Thranduil’s breath hitched in his throat for a few seconds, before a long, low moan escaped him. The sound sent a surge of heat rippling through Garand, and he laid a hand possessively on the King’s chest and sucked harder. When Thranduil began writhing powerfully beneath him, the younger elf slid his hand downward, over the heaving chest and abdomen of the King, until he reached the waistband of his leggings. He worked the tips of his fingers under the waistband and lightly stroked the soft skin there, teasing both Thranduil and himself, before inching down further to grasp the granite-hard column of flesh and begin stroking it. “Sweet gods,” the King hissed between clenched teeth, as his hands clawed at the bed, and his hips came up off the bed involuntarily, seeking more of the exquisite friction caused by Garand’s pistoning hand.

After several seconds of this, however, the younger elf became impatient. The King’s leggings were hindering his movements, and he was dying to see his lover in his full glory. He ceased his torture of Thranduil’s nipple and began trailing his tongue downward, stopping every few inches to bestow hot sucking kisses on the soft skin, as he lovingly peeled the King’s leggings back to reveal the prize he so craved. Garand exhaled slowly, a long breath that ended with a sigh, as he removed the leggings and dropped them to the floor, never taking his eyes off Thranduil’s beautiful sex. As the young elf gazed in silent adoration, the King became self-conscious and licked his lips nervously as he stared at the ceiling, waiting. Just as he was about to raise his head to see if Garand was still there, he felt a luscious wet heat enclose him, and his entire body tensed with the unbearable pleasure of it, as he groaned and turned his face into the pillow. Thranduil had never experienced a sensation like this, and the intensity of it took his breath away. Laying with his wife was never anything more than pleasant; the Queen had never been adventurous in their lovemaking, but what she lacked in imagination, she made up for in goodness and compassion. She had been more than wife and lover to Thranduil. She was his trusted friend and his partner in the ruling of his kingdom, and although they always made love with the utmost tenderness and respect, they did so without the slightest hint of passion.

Now, as Garand took him deep in his throat and introduced him to the delights he’d never known, the King moaned deliriously as his restless hands sought anchor everywhere; in Garand’s luxurious hair, in the coverlet beneath him, and on the bedpost behind him. He clutched frantically in a vain effort to brace himself against the almost painful pleasure that coursed through his body. A stream of incoherent words escaped him as he panted and gasped, “I … ah, that’s … good … oh, please … gods, Garand … stop …”. The younger elf drew back slightly and swirled his tongue maddeningly around the crown of Thranduil’s cock briefly before resuming the strong sucking motions. He closely noted every reaction of the King’s body, and when he saw the tensed, corded muscles in his thighs, the rigidly arched back, and the rippling of his abdomen as he drew one convulsive breath after another, Garand knew Thranduil would come hard, and he moaned in anticipation. Intensifying every action of his eager mouth, the younger elf set out to bring the King swiftly to the pinnacle of pleasure. He sealed his soft lips more tightly around the shaft of Thranduil’s throbbing member and sucked harder, moving his head with amazing speed.

Thrust into a frenzy of combined pleasure and pain, the King hovered between ecstasy and agony. Unconsciously, he dug his heels into the bed and pushed himself back, trying to escape the hot mouth that drew on him so ravenously, even as he wound his hands in Garand’s hair and pulled the young elf closer. Garand expertly moved in accordance with Thranduil. He firmly clasped the King’s slim hips and held to him, refusing for one second to release the treasure locked within his avidly sucking mouth until finally, finally, Thranduil bolted up almost into a sitting position, his mouth open in a silent scream, before the power of his climax flung him backward as he shot rapidly into the waiting lips of his younger lover. He found his voice again as his knees drew up and his back arched so sharply that only the top of his blonde head still touched the bed beneath him.

“Uhhhhhnnnn,” a primitive groan tore from his throat as Garand swallowed repeatedly, a sweet, contented smile on his lips as he lovingly drew from the King every last drop of his release. Gradually, the clenched muscles of Thranduil’s body began to relax as small tremors still shook him. Garand gently released his painfully sensitive cock and laid full length upon Thranduil, listening to his frantic heartbeat and feeling himself rise and fall with the strength of the King’s labored breathing. The auburn-haired elf gently stroked the muscled shoulder and chest of his lover, as Thranduil held him with weary arms.

“You have waited a long time for that”, Garand whispered, smiling.

“I have waited all my life for that”, Thranduil corrected him gently.

Garand raised his head to stare at him in disbelief. “No one’s ever …?” The King shook his head. “I am sorry, my love, I never dreamed. I would have been less impatient, had I but known. Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

“The tension is gone”, Thranduil said innocently, before the corners of his mouth quirked up in a barely repressed smile. Garand pressed his forehead to his as they laughed together softly.

Thranduil ceased laughing as he suddenly remembered, “But you have not spent …” and he reached his hand toward Garand’s still hard sex. The younger elf clasped his hand before it could attain its goal.

“’Tis not necessary,” he shook his head, smiling gently. “What I said earlier … I meant every word. I want you. But I also love you. Therefore, if or when you give yourself to me, it will be because you love and want me. Not because you feel indebted. I insist upon it ... and I will accept nothing less.” Garand sat up then and gracefully eased himself off the reclining King before bending to place a tender kiss on his lips. “Sleep well, my King”, he whispered as he turned to leave the bedchamber.

“Sleep well, Garand,” Thranduil bade him before adding, “Garand?”

The beautiful young elf turned as he reached the entryway, his eyebrows raised questioningly. The soft light of the candles danced over every inch of him, lovingly highlighting his beauty and striking gold through his loose thick hair. Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat for a moment before he was able to ask, “You have … loved … other males?”

Garand nodded. “Yes, my Lord, males and females.”

The King bit his bottom lip hesitantly, unsure whether he should even ask, but his curiosity won out in the end. “Do you have a preference?”

Garand smiled. “You, dearest. I prefer you.”

And he left the room as silently as he had come in.

Chapter 5: Confrontations


I have made a grave error, Garand thought when, after several days, nothing had changed between the King and himself. Indeed, it seemed to the young elf that his relationship with Thranduil had suffered rather than improved since that night when he’d lost all self-control in the King’s bedchamber. He sincerely had not intended for events to progress so quickly. Garand feared now that he had been too agressive, forcing Thranduil to experience feelings and sensations that he was not yet ready to cope with. Cursing himself for his impatience, the young elf was developing a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He will send me away, he thought, and why should he not? I have been a fool, and now I will lose both my heart’s dearest desire and my beloved friend. For the King would surely forbid his son’s friendship with him. Garand meditated on the past few days’ events, desperately searching for the slightest indication that he’d misinterpreted Thranduil’s demeanor, but all signs pointed to the fact that the father of Legolas was indeed holding him at arm’s length. For in spite of the King’s continued presence at the evening meal, Garand felt a profound distance between them. Thranduil still engaged in polite conversation with him, but he always finished his meal quickly and excused himself while Legolas and Garand were still dining, claiming his attention was required before the Council, or in his study, where agreements and proposals awaited his consideration. In short, Garand thought bitterly, anywhere that I am *not*.

Now, as Garand sat alone in Legolas’ bedchamber, an overwhelming sense of loss and resignation washed over him. Thranduil had summoned Legolas to his study some moments ago, wishing to speak to him alone. Telling the messenger that he would be along shortly, the Prince had turned to Garand.

“Can you wait for me here? This will not take long, I am sure.”

Garand had nodded mutely, and as his friend left the room, a feeling of dread crept over him. He was certain now that he should begin packing his belongings and prepare for the trip home. He stood and started to do just that, when Legolas returned.

“Garand,” he began apologetically, “I fear I must go back on my word. My father is sending me on an errand that will require several hours to complete. I would take you with me, but it promises to be very dull, and I would not subject you to that.” Legolas smiled. “Can you entertain yourself for a while? You have the run of the palace. Father has a marvelous library, feel free to visit it. I shall return as soon as possible, my friend.”

Although confused, Garand assured Legolas that he could easily amuse himself, and with that, the Prince bid him farewell and swept out of the room. It occurred to the young elf that Thranduil had probably sent his son on an errand to insure his absence while he confronted Garand with what had happened between them, and to banish him from the palace forever. When a soft knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, he turned to see one of the palace messengers standing in the doorway.

“Forgive the intrusion, sir, but the King wishes to speak with you in his study”, he said respectfully. This is it then, Garand thought dismally, as he followed the messenger down the hall. The King’s study was a good distance away, and Legolas’ friend found his feeling of foreboding was increasing with every step. When they came at last to their destination, the messenger stepped aside and waved Garand into the room.

“Please close the door behind you, and see that we are not disturbed”, Thranduil said quietly to the servant.

“Yes, my King”, he replied as he exited, pulling the heavy door securely behind him.

The room was very large, lined on all four walls with shelves containing books, files and maps of all types and sizes. In spite of this, the chamber had a comforting feel, serene and welcoming, as if the kind and gentle aura of Thranduil were stamped onto the very atmosphere of the place. The heavy brocade draperies were pulled open wide, and the bright midday sun flooded the room. Garand could not see the King as he sat in a large, high-backed chair in front of the window. The sun at his back engulfed him in silhouette; only when he’d heard Thranduil speak a moment ago, did the young elf realize the father of Legolas was present in the room. When he entered the room, Garand had made an observation that had struck him as very odd. Although the sun provided more than ample light in the study, numerous candles had been lit, supplying unneeded illumination.

“I apologize, Garand,” Thranduil said suddenly. “You are at a disadvantage, with the sun shining directly in your eyes. Will you please pull the draperies closed so that we may talk?”

“Of course, Lord Thranduil,” he replied weakly. His heart hammered in his chest as he walked on unsteady legs toward the window.

“Please come around and face me, Garand. There is something I must say to you,” the King said enigmatically, after the draperies were pulled to, and only the soft glow of the candles lit the room.

Garand walked as slowly as he could, dreading the words he knew he would hear. He kept his gaze downcast until he stood in front of the enormous chair in which the King sat. When finally he raised his eyes, his breath caught in his throat. Facing him was the image from his dream several nights ago, the night he had stumbled across Thranduil awake in his bedchamber, the night he still cherished in his heart. The majestic ruler lounged languidly in the chair, clad only in leggings and leather armbraces, his beautiful, sculpted chest bare, his well-muscled arms raised as he clasped his hands above his head. A smiled played about his lips, and the heat of his gaze nearly caused Garand’s legs to fold beneath him. But as he stared in disbelief, the young elf was aware of something else shining in the King’s turquoise-blue eyes. Love, pure and uninhibited.

“Alone at last,” Thranduil said softly, a playful tone coloring his voice. At those words, a flood of relief and joy swept over Garand, and he turned his face away from the King, as tears welled in his green eyes, and a sob escaped his lips.

“Garand, what is wrong?” Thranduil exclaimed, as he placed his hands on the armrests of the chair and prepared to launch himself out of it to gather his beloved into his arms. But Garand was quicker, and he fell to his knees at the King’s feet, winding his arms tightly around Thranduil and pressing his tear-streaked face against his chest. He sighed when strong arms enfolded him and pulled him even closer.

“My dear love, please tell me what has upset you so,” Thranduil whispered in his

“I thought … “ Garand replied hesitantly, “I feared I had destroyed any chance that you would return the love I have for you. I thought you would see me as a mistake you had made, and put me aside.”

“Put you aside?” Thranduil repeated, incredulous. “I cannot conceive of one day passing without looking upon your beautiful face”… he cupped Garand’s cheek in the palm of his hand … “or hearing your voice” … he softly brushed his thumb across the younger elf’s bottom lip … “I’ve thought of naught but you since that night. Everything I have done since, has been to prepare for this moment. I have worked long and hard, to ensure that all my responsibilities were met, because I wanted our time together to be ours alone, without the distraction of unfinished business hanging over us.” The King gently whisked away the last tear to fall from Garand’s green eyes. “I should have told you what I was about. I never, for a moment, considered how it would seem to you. Forgive me, Garand.”

Thranduil pressed his forehead against Garand’s and closed his eyes. The younger elf stroked the King’s flaxen hair lovingly, kissed him gently and whispered against his soft lips, “It no longer matters. You are here … with me … now. ‘Twas only a misunderstanding.”

The ruler of Mirkwood drew back to gaze into the magnificent emerald eyes of his young lover. “If it is any comfort to you, I too have experienced a measure of fear and uncertainty these past few days.”

Garand cocked his auburn head to one side and frowned in concern. “Fear and uncertainty about what, dearest?” he asked.

Thranduil dropped his eyes for a moment before replying, “About your sincerity. I feared that you were only toying with me, that seducing a king was but a game to you. But,” he added quickly when Garand opened his mouth to protest, “’twas fleeting. I knew in my heart that the fear was unfounded. I have only to look into your eyes to be assured that you are not capable of such callousness or duplicity. And now, may we please put this behind us? Because if you do not kiss me *now*, I think I shall die.”

Garand smiled sweetly, and curling his hand around the nape of Thranduil’s neck, he drew him into a searing exploration of his mouth. The King sighed against Garand’s qing ing lips, and without breaking the kiss, lifted his lover to his feet and back down again, so that he knelt astride Thranduil’s lap. To the younger elf’s delight, Thranduil was already quite hard, and he moaned happily as he slowly shifted his hips from side to side, gyrating his buttocks against the Kings’ groin and drawing from him the most exquisite sounds he had ever heard.

Thranduil pulled his mouth away from Garand’s with a tremendous effort, and nuzzled his neck lovy. y. “Ah Garand, my treasure,” he breathed heavily, “I love you so … let us have no misunderstandings about *that*.”

The auburn-haired elf took the beautiful face of the King gently into his hands, his green eyes shining with passion. “As I love you, my King, my heart,” he whispered. Garand smiled at Thranduil then, and once again robbed the King of his very breath. Each timed he smiled, the corners of his lovely lips curved upward, emphasizing even more the already well-defined bow of his upper lip.

Overcome with love and lust, Thranduil moaned and his arms tightened around his lover. “My love, you know not what you do to me. I could *consume* you.” Garand laughed gently and wrapped his arms around the Elven King’s neck. “Then please do so,” he whispered. “You will hear no complaint from me.”

“First,” Thranduil said seductively as he lightly fingered the moss green tunic Garand wore, “this must go.”

Garand raised his arms obediently and the King slid it off him in one fluid movement, dropping the tunic to the floor. Thranduil’s finger glided down his lover’s chest and abdomen lightly, before hooking into the waistband of his leggings. “*And* these,” he added. Garand gasped softly at the ruler’s touch. Everywhere Thranduil’s finger grazed him left aglingling trail on his flesh. He arose from the King’s lap and stood before him. He bent to remove his boots, then pushed his thumbs inside the waist of his breeches, but Thranduil clasped his hands, and when Garand looked down at him questioningly, his lover smiled tenderly and reached up to replace Garand’s hands. He slowly slid the leggings down, from where he still sat in his chair, keeping his eyes averted from the younger elf’s slightly shivering formil hil he had set the article of clothing aside. He then turned his attention to his lover’s magnificent body and sighed appreciatively.

Garand was an exquisite masterpiece, whose beauty outshone that of all the artwork in the palace, combined. His fair skin gleamed like polished marble in the glow of the candles, and the play of light and shadow on every muscle mesmerized Thranduil as he drank in the sight of his beloved. Lust turned his turquoise-blue eyes to deep teal as he gazed upon Garand.

Blushing slightly, Garand said, “I believe ‘tis your turn, now”, and he held out his hands to the King who took them immediately and allowed the young elf to pull him gently from his chair. Then Garand’s impatience took over once again, and he quickly removed the braces from Thranduil’s arms, before peeling off his leggings in one swift movement. The older elf started a little at the suddenness of the action, but was pleased by the urgency with which Garand disrobed him. He truly wants me, he thought wonderingly.

Thranduil reached for Garand, capturing the lips of the younger elf with his own, then pulled him closer still, as if he would merge them both into one. His hands slid down Garand’s back and hooked behind the backs of his thighs. The young elf was made aware, in the next instant, of the astounding physical powerful of his lover, as he felt himself effortlessly lifted from the floor and carried toward the corner of the room where there sat a wide, low divan that the Mirkwood ruler had used many times to rest upon briefly when fatigue overtook him.


Thrilled by the feeling of being literally swept off his feet by his lover, Garand wrapped his long shapely legs more tightly around Thranduil’s waist, groaning as the King drew the young elf’s bottom lip into hingryngry mouth, gently sucking it as his tongue lashed back and forth across it. When the auburn-haired elf suddenly felt something cool, smooth and hard press against his back, he reached behind him with one hand to find that he was being supported by a marble column which stood in the center of the room. He moaned at the wonderful contrasting feel of the cool stone at his back, and the searing heat of Thranduil at his front. The King clasped the backs of his legs more tightly and pushem upm up higher, before fastening his lips on the side of Garand’s neck and sucking and licking the soft, sensitive skin there. Garand cried out, arching his back and raising his hands above his head to desperately clutch the pillar behind him. He briefly wondered if Thranduil meant to make good on his threat to devour him, as the King avidly sucked, nibbled, tasted and kissed every inch of his neck from jaw to collarbone before attacking the other side with equal fervor. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when he felt Thranduil’s hand leave the back of his leg and wrap possessively around the shaft of his pulsating erection.

“Ahh, Varda!” he groaned loudly and clenched his legs around his lover more tightly, when Thranduil began to slowly, agonizingly stroke up and down his length. Oh, torture. Delicious torture.

“Thranduil!” he exclaimed, “Oh, gods … take me now, I beg you, or you will kill me!”

Thranduil drew back and looked into the face of the beautiful elf. His chest heaved with his need and his usually calm serene features were flushed with blatant hunger.

He licked his lips and whispered hoarsely, “Now?”

Garand leaned his forehead against the King’s and whimpered, “Now … *please*, Thranduil.”

Thranduil carried him the remaining distance to the divan and knelt gracefully on the floor, still easily supporting Garand’s weight. He bent forward and gently laid the young elf on his back. Then the King wedged his shoulders behind Garand’s knees and slowly pushed forward until they almost touched his chest. Stretching upward toward a shelf on the wall behind them, Thranduil retrieved a small vial, and showed it to his lover.

“Oil of evening primrose,” he explained. “Will this do?”

“’Twill do beautifully,” Garand whispered.

The King pulled the stopper from the vial with his teeth and poured the oil into the palm of his hand. He rubbed his hands together to distribute it evenly, then looked at Garand in concern.

“Are you comfortable, miiir?”

Garand gazed up at him seductively. “I will be more comfortable when you are inside me, meltha,” he purred.

Thranduil whimpered needfully, and turned his head to press scorching kisses to the inside of Garand’s knee as he reached down to lightly stroke the oil over and around the tight entrance to the elf’s body. Garand stiffened at the first touch of Thranduil’s finger, gasping and arching as the King prepared him. After anointing his rampant member with the oil on his other hand, Thranduil placed the crown against Garand’s opening, and the younger elf sighed in relief. Pushing gently but firmly, Thranduil penetrated his lover’s body, and immediately froze. His eyes widened, as he looked at Garand in wonder. Dear gods, how could anything feel so exquisite? He paused, trying to catch his breath, and Garand took the opportunity to slide his calves from atop the King’s shoulders. Thranduil instinctively caught the backs of his knees within the crooks of his arms and eased his lover’s legs apart wider, opening him up a little more for the next thrust of his cock. He was now fully imbedded within the blazing, velvety walls of his beautiful Garand. He had intended to take him slowly, tenderly, but that was no longer an option. Not with the torturously pleasurable constriction around him, threatening to drive him mad. Yet, he still intended to make this as good for his lover, as it was for him. Anything less was incomprehensible to the Elven King. He gazed down at the delectable form of his lover. Gods, he loved this elf, now more than before. As Thranduil watched his shaft plunging in and out of Garand’s body, his hunger for him increased. The young elf’s beautiful lips were parted as he gasped and moaned continuously. His thick russet hair clung to the sweat-slickened skin of his shoulders and chest, as his head tossed back and forth in abandon. Garand loved being taken by Thranduil and filled with him, and just when he thought it could not be more utterly delicious, Thranduil did the impossible.

At that moment, the King thought that he probably *could* consume his lover; he desperately wanted, no, *needed* to taste him and without breaking the rhythm of his thrusts, Thranduil bent at the waist until he was nearly doubled, and took Garand’s sex into his mouth, sucking greedily. Garand’s head snapped up at the unexpected sensation.

“Thranduil!” he cried, unutterable pleasure and frank amazement in his eyes. “You ….. ,” then his eyes fluttered closed and he was unable to say anymore, as his orgasm overtook him.

“Gods!” he wailed, as his release flooded Thranduil’s mouth and he thrashed upon the divan, clutching the arms of his lover. Inflamed further by Garand’s climax, the King immediately felt the telltale tingling at the base of his spine, signaling his own release. As a thick groan welled up inside of him, he let Garand’s softening member slip from between his lips. Gripping the younger elf’s hips, he ground into him furiously as his own seed erupted from him, jolting him again and again. When finally he was spent, he slumped forward and laid his head on Garand’s abdomen. The auburn-haired elf tugged gently at his shoulders.

“I need you close to me,” he whispered, his chest still heaving.

Thranduil climbed onto the divan and collapsed beside his lover, gathering him into his arms as he buried his face in Garand’s soft hair. The elven lovers lay still as their hearts gradually quieted and their breathing slowed. Thranduil leaned on one elbow and looked into Garand’s eyes.

“There is something you should know,” he said seriously. Garand raised one eyebrow in question.

“What is that, mellon?” he asked.

“I have had only one other lover in all my years upon Middle Earth, and we were wed. I do not take it lightly. I have already bound myself to you in my heart, and while you live, there will be no other for me. Can you accept that?” he asked apprehensively.

Garand smiled tenderly and reached up to stroke the King’s wheaten hair.

“I think I was bound to you from the moment we met. Please know, dearest love, that while you live, I shall never love *or* want another,” he replied softly.

They lay on the divan, talking quietly as they faced each other, their hands interlocked, Garand’s leg draped over Thranduil’s hip.

After quite a few moments had passed, the King said suddenly, “We must tell Legolas about us. ‘Twould not be fair to hide it from him.”

“Of course we must,” Garand agreed. He bit his bottom lip in uncertainty. “What do you think he will say?”

“I can tell you *exactly” what he will say,” an angry voice came from the doorway.

“Legolas!” Thranduil exclaimed, as he bolted upright, horrified.

The Prince’s errand had been carried out more quickly and easily than expected. He had returned in good spirits, planning to surprise the King and to urge him to go swimming with him and Garand. He had surprised his father, without doubt, and Garand and himself in the process. *His* surprise, however, had quickly gone from shock to disbelief to rage at the sight that met him when he entered Thranduil’s study unannounced. He stood rigid now, hands balled into fists and chest heaving in anger, as his eyes darted between his father and Garand. Without saying another word, he spun around and strode from the room.

“Legolas, my son, wait!” Thranduil pleaded, reaching out his hand toward his retreating back. He reached quickly for his leggings, intending to go after him, but Garand placed a hand on his arm.

“*I* should talk to him,” he said.

Thranduil shook his blonde head. “No, Garand, ‘tis my responsibility,” he replied sadly. “He is *my* son, and *I* am the one he is angry with.”

Garand smiled regretfully. “I believe we are equally in hot water with him at this moment. But the fact remains that ‘twas *I* who pursued *you*. You would not be in this predicament, were it not for me. It will be all right, let me do this; Legolas will see reason. He is level-headed and good-hearted. He has had the most kind and noble father in all of Middle Earth as an example.”

The King nodded silently, and Garand cupped his face in his hand and kissed his forehead, before pulling on his leggings and quickly running out the door after his friend. He knew Legolas would seek refuge in his bedchamber; he often referred to it as his ‘haven’. When Garand reached the room he hesitated at the door and drew a deep breath before entering.

He found Legolas inside pacing angrily back and forth, his back to the door. Garand approached him carefully.

“Legolas,” he said softly, as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “please hear me out.”

The Prince spun around, grasped Garand’s arms roughly, and slammed him against the wall, pushing himself against him threateningly.

“Do you seek to replace my mother?” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“What?” Garand exclaimed, incredulous. Hurt and outrage lent him strength, and he seized Legolas’ shoulders, spinning him around until their positions were switched, his friend’s back to the wall, and his full weight pressed against him. “Even should I wish it, I could never replace that great Lady. *No* one could. Only a fool would try. Do you think me a fool, Legolas?”

As Garand spoke, Legolas saw betrayal and pain in the eyes of his friend, caused by his quick and careless words. He was immediately filled with remorse, and he gently clasped Garand’s upper arms.

“Only one fool stands in this room, my dear friend, and ‘tis not you. I know not what came over me. Can you forgive me?”

Garand drew Legolas close to embrace him. “I am your friend. Of course I can forgive you, if you will forgive *me*. You were never supposed to find out about Thranduil and I in this manner. Neither of us intended or wanted to keep it from you; we were discussing that when you walked in. Unfortunate timing for all of us,” he laughed.

The Prince smiled briefly, before a sudden thought stopped him short. “I must go and speak with adar *now*,” he said urgently. “He must be so upset by my outburst.”

“Go and talk to him, Legolas,” Garand replied. “I will wait here.”

“No, Garand, you come, too,” his friend urged. “What I need to say to my father is for your ears, too.”

They returned quickly to the study, and when they stepped inside, the sight that met them caused another wave of guilt to wash over the Prince. Thranduil sat on the edge of the divan, clad only in leggings. Patent despair was in his eyes as his elbows rested on the tops of his legs, and he held his head in one hand, while the other dangled between his knees. Legolas had never seen his father so miserable and dejected, and knowing that he had been the cause, was unbearable. Tears filled his eyes, as he choked, “Adar!”

Thranduil quickly raised his head at the sound of his son’s voice. The relief in his eyes, at seeing Legolas there before him, squeezed the Prince’s heart like a vise, and he ran to his father, knelt at his feet, and taking the King’s strong hands in his, kissed them and clutched them to his heart.

“I am so ashamed, Father,” he whispered. “I have behaved like a petulant child, and I know not *why*.” He hung his head, unable to look the King in the eye.

Thranduil placed one hand beneath Legolas’ chin, raising his head until he looked at him. “Were you jealous for your mother?” he asked gently. “There is no need, my son. She is here always,” he tapped his chest, “and nothing will ever remove her from my heart. Garand knows and accepts this.”

“That may have played a part in it,” the prince acquiesced quietly. “I may even have been a little jealous for *myself*. I saw everything between us changing, and I was afraid. Yet neither of those reasons excuses my reaction.” He looked down at his hands as they still held on to Thranduil’s. Taking a deep breath, he raised his eyes to look evenly at the King.

“I know what you have endured these past five years, adar, though you sought to hide it from me. I saw how you put aside your own pain to comfort me when naneth left us. I saw your heart breaking everyday, and I would pray to the Valar to send someone who would give you the solace that I could not. I never dreamt that that solace would come to you in the form of my dearest friend. But I have eyes, adar, and I can see the joy you bring to each other. It has been evident to me all along.” Legolas smiled shyly and blushed a little. “I even saw what passed between you upon your first meeting.”

He turned to Garand and held out his hand in a silent invitation. When the auburn-haired elf approached and clasped his hand, Legolas squeezed it fondly and looked up at his friend.

“Garand *is* the answer to my prayers for you, Father. I have no doubt of that.” He drew his friend closer to Thranduil and intertwined their hands. “And though you have no need of it, I gladly give you my blessing.”

The King’s eyes shone with love and pride, as he gazed at Legolas in wonder. “I truly have the finest son in all of Middle Earth,” he said softly. Frowning and shaking his head, Legolas began to deny his father’s words, but Thranduil stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You have consistently made me proud to be your father,” he continued, “from the day you were given to us, until this moment. As for what just happened, you experienced a moment of uncertainty; there is no shame in that. You feared for the security of your place in my life and my heart, and you are *still* uncertain. It is manifest in your eyes, and yet you push it aside for the sake of your father’s happiness. That is the mark of an extraordinary being, my precious son, but I wish to allay your fears. Nothing, I repeat nothing, will ever change what you mean to me. You believe that you did nothing to console me after your mother left us. ‘Tis not true, Las. You have been my beacon. Once, in a moment of grief and weariness, I thought of following your mother, but the light of your beautiful soul drew me back. I have derived as much strength from you as you have from me. Do not underestimate the healing power of a child’s love, Legolas. ‘Tis the most enduring of all bonds.”

Not until he finished his speech, did Thranduil realize that both he and his son were crying. They embraced warmly, and when they parted, the King drew the back of his hand across his eyes. “Well,” he said, laughing, “this has been a day for tears, has it not?”

He then clasped the hands of his son and his lover, and looking from one to the other, he said more seriously, “It has also been a day for learning. I myself have learned that I must be more forthcoming with my thoughts and my plans, so that confrontations such as this may be avoided in the future.”

“For my part,” injected Garand, “I have learned that I must at least try to rein in my impatience and allow events to unfold in their own good time, for the same reason.”

“And I have learned that from this day forward, I must always knock before entering a room,” Legolas said solemnly. Thranduil and Garand burst into laughter while the corners of the Prince’s lips twitched, and he grinned impishly.

We will be all right, Legolas thought contentedly. *All* of us. Though he did not contradict his father, he knew for a certainty that the King’s words to him were not entirely correct. Thranduil *had* suffered loneliness and anguish in the years following the Queen’s death. It was palpable to Legolas. And even though he knew that his father firmly believed, in his heart, that he was happy with only his son to share his love, the Prince believed to the contrary. Thranduil was an Elf of great passion and remarkable depth of emotion. He *needed* a mate, no matter how firmly he tried to convince his son and himself otherwise.

Because they had already grown quite fond of Garand, the palace staff accepted him gladly, although the nature of his relationship with the King was never openly discussed. Several members of the Council held their tongues in silent disapproval, but were in agreement that, for now at least, there was no need to confront Thranduil in regards to his personal life. He did indeed seem to be more focused on his duties, and more attentive to the smallest detail. On what grounds could they complain?

King Thranduil and his Garand grew to love each other more each day. The younger elf proved to be a valuable and trusted advisor to him, since he also loved their people and wanted only that which worked for their good. The Elven King considered himself blessed in every way. For the first time in five years, he truly felt complete, and the solace he had been denied no longer eluded him.

The End


Meltha: love

Miiir: precious

Naneth: mother