Set in the Glorfindel Lion-heart alternative universe
Dramatis personae: Erestor/Glorfindel, Thranduil/Sloe (you *so* knew this had to come...)
Rating: orange.
Beta: Miss Zimraphel.
Warnings: Smut. (The audience goes "huh?")
Summary: Thranduil proves to be an Elf of quick decisions.
Author's notes: Fellow pagans among the readers of this tale might recognise some well-known traditions mentioned in this chapter. I see Thranduil as the "Green Man".
Have fun, and a merry, peaceful Yule time to all of you. And if you feel like being generous: Doctors without Borders always need donations. Thank you!
YULETIDE TALES, DAY 4:
Glorfindel Lion-heart:
4/4 - "The puzzled advisor"
When Glorfindel returned to their chamber, he found Erestor awake.
"I understand you are angry?" Erestor asked, stretching out lazily on the large bed.
Glorfindel pulled off his wet shirt. In his hurry to leave the pool, he had not bothered to towel off.
"How can you know?" he asked. "I have not said anything."
Erestor chuckled.
"Glorfindel - unlike me, you are a very polite Elf. If you slam the door shut, then you must be very angry. So come on, tell me: was it an annoying customer? A slow-witted archer?"
"No," Glorfindel growled. "Your father."
"Uh." Erestor winced. "Anyone injured?"
Glorfindel snorted.
"No, but I told him that he should mind his own business."
Erestor chuckled. "Well, he should. But it would not be Yule without a good, loud family quarrel."
Glorfindel frowned and flopped down on the bed beside Erestor.
"I cannot find this very amusing."
Erestor sat up.
"You must understand him. My mother wished to sail west. He insisted on staying here. And as usual, none of them was willing to compromise. So she left, he stayed here, and now he is lonely. Not that he would ever admit it, of course, but it is easier for him to fret over me than fret over himself. I wish he would find someone to..."
Erestor broke off.
"But he is married!" Glorfindel protested. "Your mother... how can you say such a thing?"
The warrior reached out for Glorfindel and touched his face.
"My mother is in Valinor. My father is here. Ideals are nice, but do not keep away the cold at night."
Glorfindel stared at Erestor in disbelief.
"But the Valar said..."
"The Valar, dear Glorfindel, have no say here. The forest spirits of Mirkwood are far more lenient and understanding with the weaknesses and needs of Elven nature."
Glorfindel did not reply. He knew all too well that a further discussion would lead to a big row. The ensuing silence between them was uncomfortable, something Erestor noticed as well, and he was the one to break it.
"My apologies, Glorfindel," he said, and his hand felt for Glorfindel's. "I did not want to be harsh with you."
Glorfindel sighed.
"I know, Erestor. Your customs and beliefs here are often different from mine, but it does not necessarily mean that they are always better. Sometimes... sometimes I wonder how it is possible to love you so much when all we do is arguing."
Erestor pulled Glorfindel close, and kissed his neck.
"The secret of any relationship is hard work. My parents must have spent half of their lives arguing. Do not allow me to shut you up - fight back. I fear this is only way to get an old warrior like me to compromise."
Glorfindel rested his chin on Erestor's head.
"Maybe your ada is right. Maybe you really do need a warrior by your side."
Erestor chuckled.
"Maybe. But it might as well be possible that he is talking a lot of drivel. And now enough with the discussions, there is still some time left to get in the spirit of Yule. Let me get you out of your clothes."
Glorfindel had to learn a million of small things to deal with Erestor's blindness: do not move the furniture in the room, or Erestor will fall over it. Do put every tool back where you took it from, or Erestor cannot find it. And never close the laces of your pants with a square knot, or Erestor will not be able to open it. It had been something Glorfindel learned very quickly after a romantic evening had been ruined by Erestor's angry frustration over an unruly knot in the laces of Glorfindel's shirt.
"You are tense. Stop thinking."
Erestor's voice pulled Glorfindel out of further musings on the difficulties of living with a blind warrior.
"Then do something to distract me," Glorfindel said, shifting into a more comfortable position.
* * *
The Yule celebrations had started out innocently enough. Legolas, as his father's oldest son, had lit the Yule log, with a small chip left of the log from the previous Yule, and everybody had sung a traditional tune. Glorfindel had never heard it before, but it was beautiful, haunting, and he hummed along quite successfully. While different from Yule in Imladris, Glorfindel found the tradition innocent enough, and prepared for a quiet, peaceful feast.
However, within the hour, he had to learn that Yule in Mirkwood was not a big feast - it was a noisy, merry, frivolous madness only three naked dancers short of an orgy. The tables groaned under the weight of roasted deer, boar and pheasants. To Glorfindel's left stood a large bowl with spicy baked potatoes, to his right one with boiled wheat and mushrooms. There were corn cobs, apples were decorating the table, along with twigs of holly, and the air was heavy with the scent of hot wine and cinnamon.
The tables were set in a circle, and in the middle, Elves were dancing wildly to the music of the minstrels. Of course there had been merriment as well in Imladris on Yule Eve. But not in such an exuberant way. The heads of all the clans were present, and none of them wore shirts or boots. They showed off their tattoos, the signs of their victories. Instead of the circlets Glorfindel knew from Imladris, the nobles of Mirkwood had their hair decorated with berries and leaves. Thranduil, the wildest dancer of them all, was only distinguishable from them as he wore a crown of holly and berries. He held a tankard with hot wine, and playfully tried to catch a young lady who giggled and waved a sprig of mistletoe.
"How do you like your first Yule here so far?" Erestor asked. It took a while for Glorfindel to come up with a reply; he was still processing all the sights and smells.
"This is beyond anything I could have imagined," he finally said. "It is amazing; I had never thought... well, it is very archaic."
Erestor laughed. He also wore no shirt, and to Glorfindel, he was the most glorious sight of them all. No jewels could have been more beautiful than the chain of dried berries around his neck
"Archaic! Ah, poor beloved, stuck up with wild Elves here for all eternity!" Erestor reached out and cupped Glorfindel's face. "Or so I hope," he added.
Glorfindel knew that, had Erestor not been blind, he would now have stared at him with the intense gaze that used to turn Glorfindel's legs into jelly. He tried to avoid this gaze; the sight of his lover's blind eyes was still something he had to get used to.
"If I have a say, I shall never leave," Glorfindel said, and was rewarded with a kiss that was so passionate that he almost toppled over and fell off the chair. In Imladris, such a public display of passion would have caused quite a few raised eyebrows, but here, those sitting near them cheered.
"Erestor!" Glorfindel gasped, his head still a little light from the kiss.
Erestor laughed again, and let go of Glorfindel. Then he searched behind him for his chair and flopped back into it. He grabbled for his tankard and took a long swig of wine.
"If I was free to do as I wished to, I would now throw you on that table and have my wicked way with you, beloved," Erestor said, and grinned. "But I am afraid this will have to wait. Though Yule has a tradition of celebrating fertility and love, this would take things a little too far, even for King Thranduil's standards!"
Glorfindel's face was all flushed, and the strong wine had gone to his head. He considered Erestor's words for a moment, then he jumped up and took him by the hand, pulling Erestor to his feet.
"Celebrating fertility is not for us, but as far as love is concerned, I cannot wait any longer," he said to his surprised lover. "Come!"
Under loud cheering from the Elves to their left and right, the two hurried out of the hall, Erestor trusting Glorfindel that he would see for him and not let him fall over anything.
"Where are we going?" Erestor asked.
"Training ground" Glorfindel answered, a little out of breath, "it is close by and nobody will be there now."
Shortly after, Erestor was pulled through the entrance of the cave the Mirkwood Elves used for their weapon training, and before he could say another word, Glorfindel had thrown him to the ground and was kneeling over him.
"You really cannot wait," Erestor grinned and shifted, making Glorfindel moan.
"No, I cannot," Glorfindel hissed, and took off his shirt. He covered Erestor's body with his own, returning his beloved's passionate kiss from earlier on, and then slowly nibbled his way from Erestor's neck to his chest.
Erestor bit his lip when Glorfindel's tongue teased his nipple. He became more vocal when his lover raked his fingernails over the flat plane of Erestor's stomach. Over these last months, Glorfindel had learned what Erestor liked, and now he put all his knowledge to use.
Glorfindel made short work with the lacings on Erestor's trousers, pulled them down his long legs and threw them aside. Then he chuckled.
"Dare I ask what you find so amusing?" Erestor asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Oh, nothing," Glorfindel replied, running his thumb over the tip of Erestor's cock. "I just really liked your custom of 'setting the Yule log on fire'. I think I will do this as well now."
* * *
"Has someone spit in your wine, Sloe?" Thranduil asked, and smiled at his sourly looking advisor. "It is Yule - come, laugh, drink, be merry, enjoy the love of a beautiful lady!"
"At the moment, I do not care for drinking, merriment or beautiful ladies, my king," Sloe replied, a sharp frown on his brow. "I wish to be left alone."
Sloe's sometimes rather sudden changes of mood were nothing new to Thranduil. Melancholy came and went like summer rains, and he knew that his advisor would get lost in dark broodings for days to come if he could not pull him out of his mood now.
Thranduil looked around. Those Elves who had not retreated to their chambers were on the brink of being too drunk to stand. It was falling asleep here in the hall now and awaking in the morning with a terrible hangover and a mouth full of sand, or retreating to his chambers as well, and the choice was not a difficult one.
"Sloe, what you need is a glass of good wine from my special stock to chase the dark clouds away. Come, let us leave the merry tipplers to themselves and retreat for a nightcap to my chambers."
Sloe did not reply, only watched Thranduil with a very odd expression on his face. Then he nodded.
"I thank you, my king. I am wary of this feast."
The two Elves left the hall, and walked down many corridors to Thranduil's chambers without exchanging a word. Once arrived, Sloe sat in a chair by the fire, and Thranduil rummaged through a shelf in search of his best wine.
"Ah, there it is." He blew the dust from the bottle and fetched two glassed, then returned to Sloe, who was lost in his thoughts and stared in to the fire.
"My best wine, Sloe. I hope this will help you to cheer up."
Thranduil flopped down in the sand in front of Sloe's seat, and soon the bottle was open and the glasses filled. For a while, the two Elves sat in amicable silence, then Thranduil pulled a twig of holly out of his crown.
"Another Yule has passed, and yet I have not given my crown to the lady of my choice. I fear I am not a good example for my son."
Sloe shrugged.
"You could ask Legolas' mother. She would make an excellent queen."
Thranduil groaned.
"Now do not be ridiculous, Sloe. You know very well that she refused my proposal because she was in love with that scout she is living with now. I fear it is my destiny to be mentioned in the history books as the queenless-king with the many sons. I am afraid I am not the favourite with the fair ladies of Mirkwood."
Sloe could not help but smile.
"Who would have thought - when you arrived here with your parents, the ladies almost fell over each other to look after you."
Thranduil laughed.
"No doubt! I was a lovely Elfling!"
"My king, you were a terrible Elfling," Sloe said. "I remember how, on your first Yule here in Mirkwood, you pelted me with a spoon full of apple sauce."
They both chuckled, then silence fell between them again. The fire was beginning to die down, the shadows grew longer. The flickering of the flames threw strange patterns on Sloe's skin, and just like in the morning at the pool, Thranduil stared at his advisor. It was not the first time he saw the long, black hair, but now he noticed how it clung to Sloe's skin, wild and unkempt, how elegantly Sloe's long-fingered hand held the tankard.
A question came to Thranduil's mind. It was a thought full of madness, inappropriate, and it would have probably never been voiced if it had not been Yule and Thranduil had drunk so much wine.
"Are you attracted to me, Sloe?"
The moment the words had left his lips, Thranduil wished he could have taken them back. What an idiotic thing to ask! Sloe would think him to be insane.
Sloe did neither drop his tankard in shock nor jump up and demand an apology. His only reaction was the arching of an eyebrow.
"My king, you should not ask questions that you do not wish to have answered," he said after a moment of contemplation. "You expect me to say 'no', but what would you do if I said 'yes'?"
Thranduil rose, and stood in front of Sloe. For a moment, the two Elves looked at each other, each of them finding in the eyes of the other something new, strange and scary. Thranduil inclined his head, then he took off his crown and put it on Sloe's head.
He could see how Sloe's hand tightened around the tankard, the knuckles standing out all white.
"Say 'yes' and you will see, Sloe."
Sloe broke the eye-contact with Thranduil, and starred at his king's chest instead. There was the ornament for the Battle of the Last Alliance. He remembered well how he had seen his king dying, and then thought Thranduil to be dead as well. He remembered the joy when he had found the young prince injured and alive, and how heavy Thranduil had been when he carried him through the snow.
He looked up.
"I have a son, my king. So have you. We are not - like that."
Thranduil rested his hands on the back of Sloe's chair, being very close to his advisor now.
"This is not the answer to my question, Sloe. I asked: are you attracted to me?"
He could see how Sloe clenched his teeth. There came no answer, but one look into Sloe's eyes told Thranduil all he needed to know, so he kissed him.
He had not thought he would really do it, this had only been a thought crossing his mind once or twice. Actually, he expected resistance from Sloe, even hoped for it. This would have given him the chance to get out of this ridiculous situation with an apology, blaming his behaviour on the wine.
But Sloe did not resist - after a moment of frozen shock, he dropped the tankard and returned the kiss. It was a clashing of teeth and duelling of tongues, none of them was willing to submit, both trying to set the pace for this encounter. When they finally broke off, they were gasping for breath. Thranduil looked at Sloe, half aroused, half scared.
"I... did not expect Yule to end like this," he said, and shook his head.
"No, me neither, my king," Sloe replied softly.
Thranduil's heart beat hard and quick. The air was thick with heat between them, and Sloe's taste was strong on his tongue. He wanted to kiss him again.
Thranduil placed his hand on Sloe's chest. It was a small relief for him to notice that the other's heart beat just as fast. The skin was hot to his touch, and Thranduil ran his hand slowly down Sloe's body, coming to rest just above the lacings of his trousers. Sloe shifted, not sure at first whether trying to avoid the touch or seek for it. He finally made up his mind and put his hand on top of Thranduil's, squeezing it.
Again they kissed, and this time, it was a long, wild journey. Sloe's hands fisted into Thranduil's hair, pulling painfully on the golden tresses. Meanwhile, Thranduil tore the lacings of Sloe's trousers open, closing his hand without further ado around Sloe's cock. The advisor bucked, for Thranduil, though he had never done this on another Elf, showed quite some skill in bringing Sloe to orgasm. He applied just the right pressure and speed, and when he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip of his cock, Sloe filled Thranduil's mouth with a loud groan, spilled all over his king's hand and then sank back into the chair.
Thranduil let go, then he wiped off his hand on his trousers and took a deep breath.
"Sticky," he said.
"Indeed," Sloe gasped.
Thranduil dropped to his knees in front of Sloe, and rested his head on the other Elf's belly. It was a hard pillow - muscles and skin, not the softness of a lady's tummy.
"We will be terribly embarrassed and feel like the biggest fools ever to walk on Arda tomorrow," Sloe said, still trying to catch his breath. Then he put his hand on Thranduil's head and began to stroke his hair gently.
"Maybe," Thranduil said, "but then again: maybe not." Then he pressed a kiss just beside Sloe's navel.
* * *
End of the "Glorfindel Lion-heart" Yuletide Tales. But more is to come!