“I am patient. I can wait.” He flicks his wrist and two of his royal guards are immediately upon you, dragging you from the small platform under his throne down the stairs.
“Wait!” You shout back at him. “I am no spy! Please, believe me, my lord! I am no spy!”
Your ministrations are to no avail; his pointy ears are not there for you. You are not even rewarded with as much as a last glance of his merciless glacial stare. Why should you be anyway? He is convinced about his truth.
“Please, I know nothing!” You continue your begging but you already are being dragged further down through enormous open caves and corridors. Your shouting drags too much attention but you do not care. You are not a spy and you wish to prove it. Yet, as you soon realise, you are being dragged to his dungeons.
After the door is shut behind you, you run to it, hitting and kicking the heavy bars, shouting curses in both common tongue and elvish. One hour passes and nobody is paying you attention. After two hours, the guardians change their duties and new watch is there, scrutinising you thoroughly but not listening to your pleas. Another hour later, food is brought to you but you have not power nor will to eat. All you are able to do is watching the bowl with some sort of mush, ignoring the smell of it. Slowly, you fall into peaceful slumber.
Suddenly, a strange noise is entering your dreams and you slowly wake up. Slightly disoriented you blink several times to acknowledge your surroundings and then a realisation hits you. You were caught by a regular patrol in Mirkwood. First they thought you were a trespasser but then they realised you are one of their kin, and therefore no trespasser at all. Your presence was not announced and your captors got suspicious what you were doing in their forest under such circumstances.
Interrogating by the king was short. He quickly made up his decision, not allowing you to say any word for your defence. Not that he would believe your story anyway. He locked you in his dungeons to wait there for further interrogation and that time, as it seemed, has already come.
You rub your eyes to chase away the last remnants of your pleasant dreams. Clumsily, you stand from the stony bed, straightening your clothes.
The king is standing there in your cell that is already locked again and the patrol is marching away, leaving you and the king alone. You gulp and bow, not talking before he allows you to do so. You see that he had changed his clothes before he came here but his demeanour is not any less stunning. He is tall as an oak tree and his autumn crown made of twigs and adorned with auburn leaves and berries makes him seemingly even taller. His clothes are simple yet the fabric is the one of the highest quality. Simple grey leggings are stuck into black leather boots that reach up to his knees, disappearing under the hem of his dark silver tunic. The tunic itself is adorned with floral motives that disappear and reappear in the dim light of torches. There are no magical lights in the dungeons and the surroundings are rather dark, but the king standing in front of you, scanning you with his cerulean eyes, is much more intimidating than the darkness. In his right hand, there is a large white knife and you recognise it as one of the pair of Legolas’ knives. You gulp again and take one step back.
“So,” the king starts with his expression vast of emotions, “finally we have time to talk privately.”
Your eyes dart to the bars behind him. There are no sounds except the falling water of a near waterfall you crossed during your way down here. There are no shadows of the regular patrols that you were able to see before. You indeed are alone and at his every whim.
“Tell me, [name], what were you doing in the forest, unannounced, armed and alone?” He is not moving towards you but he does not need to do so, you are scared anyway.
“Have you cut out your tongue?” He asks when there is no answer from you.
“No!” You finally manage to speak, or rather squeak and immediately cover your mouth. Your high voice bounces off the walls and returns to you as an obnoxious echo. “No, my lord, I have not.” You repeat silently.
“Good.” He says, expressionless. “I demand answers now. Why were you hiding in the forest and fled from my patrol? Why were you armed? Why did you not announce your presence before you entered the forest?”
You suck in air to answer but he does not allow you to do so. He raises the blade to your throat menacingly. “I must warn you, do not lie to me.”
You take another step back, hissing at him. “I was not lying, my lord. I am no spy. I work for nobody. My company was attacked in the forest and I am the only survivor. I ran because I thought it was more spiders.”
He scoffs and presses the blade to your skin. “I said no lies. Who are you working for? What do they want to find here?”
“I am not…”
He steps closer, not letting any space remaining between the two of you for you to breathe. “Tell.Me.The.Name.” He hisses, emphasising every single word. His eyes turn to even more glacial, pinning you to your current place.
“Since when is the mighty Elvenking that paranoid?” You ask more yourself than him but he hears it and it fuels his anger even more.
“Do not mock me, little one. You are not in the position to do so.” He warns you again.
“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, finally finding your bravery. “Me, your own kin? You saw me grow, my lord, and now you are accusing me of turning myself against you?” You push the blade aside carefully. “I would never do that and you know it.”
“Then why did you left in the first place?” He pushes you to the wall behind you. You curse under your breath when the cold stone hits some of your fresh bruises on your back.
“Tell me the name and I will set you free.” He promises, his face barely one inch from yours.
“No, you will not.” You dare to look directly into his eyes and you can see there that you are not wrong in your suspicion. He is not letting you go, no matter what you are going or not going to tell. “I know you far too well. You are not letting me go this time and I am not going to tell you more than I have told you already!” You raise your voice and this time it is purposely.
“There are many ways to loosen your tongue, [name].” He grins.
Before you can even start to think what he means by that he sheathes the knife and grabs both of your wrists, turning them painfully behind your back. He refuses to go of them and presses himself to you, hissing silently under his breath.
You watch him carefully but from your position you are not able to see his full expression. He is perhaps grinning, perhaps smirking, perhaps his anger had finally found its way up through his guarded emotions, you cannot tell. All you can tell is the warmth emanating from his muscular body. He is the warrior of the sword, the best warrior in the whole Arda and you now have the privilege to feel the marble-hard muscles closing around you. Many ellith would give their everything to be in your current position. Yet you are not enjoying his closeness that much. Your arms are painfully strained behind your back and his closeness does not allow you to take a deep breath.
“Let me go!” You shout at him.
“Not before you tell me the name.” He snaps back at you. “Who paid you for spying on me? What do they want?”
“I am not working for anyone!” You try to reason him.
“The name!” He grunts.
“Please, my lord. You are hurting me.” You whimper when the straining in your arms is too much to bear. Suddenly the pressure is gone and you are falling on the wall, your arms free. The relief makes you sob unwillingly and the Elvenking takes it as the sign he had broken you already.
“The name.” He repeats, pushing the stream of your hair behind your ear. You shudder when he strokes the pointy tip of your ear. “Ah.” He hums knowingly and strokes your ear again. “It seems you have some weak spot after all.”
“No, it is just the coldness in the air, my lord.” You reply, controlling your tone as much as possible.
“The coldness, you say?” He asks slyly.
“Yes, the one that keep seeping from your dead heart.” You snap bravely. You are awaiting that he will let go of you or perhaps backhand you but he seems amused instead.
“Is this everything you have, empty insults and lies?” He presses you to the cold stone again and brushes his lips around your earlobe. “I want to see what truly is inside you.” He whispers into your hair and you sob again. Your defences are growing thin and there is nothing you can do about it. His deep voice is enough to make your underwear wet.
You try to push him back but you would move the Misty Mountains sooner than this mountain of an elf in front of you. He laughs at your useless efforts and kisses your neck instead. The sound you make is far from being a frustrated whimper; it sounds more like a pleasured moan.
“There, there…” He whispers into your skin again whilst his hands travel down your sides to your hips. “Everyone has a weak spot. Are you ashamed I have found yours?” He asks in the same whispering tone that makes your skin tickle. Before you have the chance to answer his lips are on yours, capturing you in a lingering kiss. His lips are warm and soft; so different from how you expected them to be. His body is emanating heat that seeps into your veins and rushes to your body, pooling under your stomach. You close your eyes and sigh into his lips.
“Have I left you breathless?” He teases you, stroking your sides with deliberate slow strokes. “Or is it your unwillingness to tell me the truth?” He pushes you further.
“No, my lord. I have nothing more to tell you because what I have told earlier was the truth. My company…”
He does not let you to finish your sentence again. This time, his kiss is more demanding but gentle somehow. You fight the urge to melt into his embrace; to return his affections. Your brain shouts at you that he is playing with you. His intentions are to pry the confession from your lips and he is willing to use everything he has on you.
When his hand cups your sex through your thin leggings you cry out, breaking the kiss for good. He can feel your arousal now, there is no denying. A victorious smirk spreads through his face like a tsunami, washing away the indifferent expression he was holding for so long.
“Ah, I see…” He murmurs, starting to stroke you through the fabric. You whimper again, seeking for support in his muscular frame. “Is this the reason why you left so many years ago? Because you were lusting after your king?” He increases the pressure on your sensitive parts.
“No!” You yelp.
“You are terrible liar, [name].” He chuckles into your collarbone that is peeking through your blouse.
“It was not my lust after you that drove me away.” You manage to say between your pants.
“What was?” He kisses the pit under your ear and your skin prickles with Goosebumps.
“Thranduil, stop this madness!” You beg.
“There should have been “my lord“ somewhere. For your insolence you shall be punished.” He turns you so your back is facing him now. He presses himself to you tightly, his hands closing around your waist. Then your hands are caught and crossed before you so you cannot move. His hand slips underneath your leggings, cupping your soft mound.
“There, there…” He chuckles into your ear and his warm breath makes your skin prickle again. “I know what you are yearning for and I am willing to give it to you. But you have to give something in return. Information.” His fingers ghost over your wet flesh and you whimper. “Do we have the agreement?”
You need some time to catch your breath and he is giving it to you. When you are calm and you can think almost clearly, your defiance comes back as well.
“You cannot give me what I yearn for, my lord.” You state bravely. “You already had your chances and you wasted them.”
“Do not forget who you are speaking with.” He whispers before his tongue flicks over your earlobe. Instantly you lose all of your thoughts. “Why have you come back, [name]?”
You shudder. His arms around you feel so beautiful. His manly musk is engulfing you and you can feel that you are not the only one aroused. It might have been centuries since you departed but your passion is mutual and still present.
“It was not my decision.” You speak unwillingly. Another yelp leaves your lips when you feel him cupping your sex again.
“It was not wise to oblige then.” He strokes your nether lips gently, creating enough friction to frustrate you. “You should have not come back.”
“I had to.” You breathe out.
“You left without any farewell. Your presence here is not welcomed.”
“I do not think so.” You press your lower back to his bulging groin. “The mighty Elvenking is clearly pleased to see me again.”
He chuckles lowly and you shudder again. “You are reckless. You think that you can tame the dragonfire but eventually you are going to Burn.To.Ashes.”
His fingers find your sensitive nub and stroke it deliberately. You moan loudly, closing your eyes shut tightly. It has been centuries since you were touched like this for the last time.
“Say the name.” He whispers into your skin before closing his demanding mouth around the pulse on your neck. He sucks hard enough to leave his mark on you but you do not mind. It will heal before you leave this kingdom, you are very sure about it. His lips travel up then unless they reach that spot under your ear.
“Thranduil!” You moan his name and he chuckles into your skin.
“Not my name, tithen pen.” He reminds you. “Who sent you here?”
“My greed.” You answer, panting.
“Nonsense.” He replies calmly and creates more pressure on your sensitive spot between your legs. You writhe in his arms but his touches do not stop. “You were spying in my kingdom.” He accuses you.
Suddenly he lets go of you. Without his support you fall on the wall in a quivering aroused mess. Whilst facing the rough stone you cannot see that Thranduil tastes your flavour that lingers on his fingers.
“Are you still innocent?” He asks abruptly.
“What?” You turn to him and see the obscene gesture. A shiver runs down your spine. “You have no right to ask that, my lord.”
“Even if you were, you will not be after I am done with you.” He promises or threatens in a husky voice.
Your pupils dilate. “You cannot mean this.”
“Why not?” He teases you.
“Because elven kings do not relish in sexual affairs with their prisoners.” You cover your face with palms in frustration. You hear him chuckle again. Then you feel him getting closer to you but before you open your eyes you feel something cold touching your skin in the pit of your neck, just between your collarbones.
Your blouse unfolds under the sharp blade of the white knife. You shudder at the sensation and Goosebumps appear on your skin again. Your nipples harden under his heavy gaze.
“Beautiful.” He murmurs softly. He lets the blade to slide down your revealed torso and the feeling is incredibly arousing. In that moment you do not mind him to cut your clothing at all. Everything you need is him touching you on your most sensitive places.
The white knife disappears again and your leggings slide down your legs. Moistness sticking to your inner thighs cools and creates slight discomfort. Yet before you can start to feel embarrassed, Thranduil“ s mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply. You melt into his touch instantly, weaving your fingers into his silken silver hair. His fingers travel across your skin and when they touch your breast you moan into his mouth, opening for him to deepen his kisses even more. Your tongues entwine like two snakes, dancing in the first part of a mating ritual. The kiss is leaving you breathless and Thranduil gives you time to recover. He peppers your neck with soft kisses, his hands roaming all over your heated skin.
“Beautiful.” He whispers into your neck. Then he straightens and seeks your mouth again yet you stop him.
“My lord, you cannot finish this.” You pant, your eyes desperate.
He returns you his gaze, stern for that matter. “What makes you think so?” He rolls your nipple between his fingers and you squeak.
His head leans down and he takes the tortured nipple into his mouth.
“Oh Thranduil!” You moan, arching your back towards him so he has better access to your flesh. “Avo dharo!” You beg of him, your voice hoarse and soaked with pleasure you feel under his ministrations.
He chuckles and stops abruptly. He does not pay any attention to your protests and travels his mouth up to your ear. “The name.” He whispers and nibbles at the pointed tip of your ear.
“King Bard the Dragonslayer.” You moan involuntarily.
Thranduil murmurs something in Quenya you cannot understand. You want to ask what he had said but his fingers flick over your throbbing nub between your legs delicately. You throw your head back and cry out in pleasure.
“You are so amazingly vocal.” Thranduil whispers approvingly. “Let me hear you again.” He dips one of his fingers into your moist heat carefully. He does not intend to cause you any pain as it seems. You cry out again and dig your nails to his shoulders for some support. “Why are you here?”
Writhing in passion that builds up within you, you are not able to answer. The sounds you are making are not words but random noises. Thranduil stops his ministrations and let you to catch your breath.
“Please!” You pant heavily. “Do not stop. Avo dharo, hir nīn. I need to feel you.”
He kisses you again with equal passion you are feeling. His hands take yours and lead them to the brooch under his neck. You struggle with it for a while but eventually you manage to unclasp it. You ignore the clattering sound it makes when falling on the ground. Thranduil kicks it away. He grunts when your mouth finds his neck this time. You kiss his throat with such intense passion and need for him you feel his hardened member to twitch in his leggings. Slowly you open his tunic, trailing soft kisses down his pale skin. You kneel in front of him peppering his taut stomach with your kisses and nips. You dive your tongue into his navel and he laughs. He is apparently ticklish there.
Thranduil shreds his dark silver tunic to the ground, revealing his muscular torso for you. You are more than willing to search every inch of him with your mouth but his straining erection is luring you even more. It must be uncomfortable for him to be stuck in his tight leggings for so long. You slowly unlace his pants, freeing his large throbbing member.
You cannot help but gasp when you see how big and hard he is, his head already leaking with pre-cum. Your eager mouth opens for him but he stops you and lifts your chin to look up at him.
There is storm of emotions in his eyes and you shudder unconsciously. He needs you just as much as you need him but he tries to restrain his need. It is how you have stated several minutes ago, kings do not relish in sexual affairs with their prisoners. He struggles to gain his self-control back but he fails when you kiss his delicate flesh. You lick his sweet pre-cum slowly, thoroughly watching his expression through half-closed eyelids. Then you grab his base and suck the whole head into your mouth.
Thranduil cries out and reaches for the wall to stabilise himself. His free hand entwines with your hair, encouraging you to move. You oblige and suck on him, each time deeper unless his head strokes the back of your throat. He is not pushing you even further but it is your wish to take him fully and you fight your gag reflex as much as you can. He knows what you are doing and tries to stop you but you are stubborn. How long have you waited to do this to him? How thoroughly have you practiced to give him pleasure he had not ever dreamt of? Yes, you left because you were lusting after your king so much it was unbearable. You had no idea he was lusting after you too.
He moans your name when your throat relaxes and you are finally able to take him further. You carefully take his heavy sack into your free hand and massage it softly and then your fingers travel even further to stroke the place right behind. Thranduil cries out your name and with twitching he fills your mouth. His taste is sweet and bitter just as the forest that is surrounding his underground palace. His wooden musk fills the air and tickles your senses. You slowly let go of him, releasing his member with an obscene loud pop. You lick your lips lasciviously, enjoying the taste that lingers on your tongue.
Thranduil grabs you to your legs and leads you to bed. He throws you on it, dragging your backside to the very edge and then he kneels in front of you. Slowly he pries your legs open and traces his finger along your slit. He smiles at you and kisses your inner thigh. He travels his mouth down to your knee and then he turns his head to continue his teasing on your other leg, this time from your knee up to your throbbing centre. He does not pay any attention to the place where you need him the most and instead he kisses the soft mound and travels up to your navel. He dips his tongue into it just as you did to him but you do not squirm nor laugh. You are not ticklish there the sensation is arousing. More wetness pools between your legs. At that time you must be already leaking.
“Why have you come?” Thranduil asks, still softly caressing your skin. “Tell me and you will be rewarded.” He licks your core to show you that he means it and you cry out.
You lower yourself on the bed and suck in air almost violently. “We were on the quest.” You lick your lips and shut your eyes tight. His fingers travel along your slit again, stopping at your sensitive nub. He strokes it gently and sucks the inside of your left thigh.
“Some of his subjects had gone missing. He thought you imprisoned them as trespassers.” You answer with ragged breath.
He licks your core and you arch your back. “Continue.” He demands, slowly pushing one finger into you. He can feel that you are already so wet that you can take in more so he pushes one more finger into you, stroking you slowly. Your hips buck up to meet his fingers but he places his other hand on your lower abdomen to hold you firmly in place.
“I was in charge because I know this realm well. Oh Thranduil!” You moan loudly when you feel how he curls his fingers inside you slightly up in “come hither“ motion. He hits your inner sweet spot delicately and again; then he straightens his fingers and continues in his torturing pace.
“Were you supposed to sneak into my Halls?” He asks, his voice rasp and needy.
“Yes!” You pant as his humming hits your core. “Oh Thranduil!” You arch your back and throw your head back. His lips close around your clit and suck lavishly. You feel the pressure built up rapidly. You are so close to your completion.
He ends his assault on your core with a soft kiss just before you can come and draws out his fingers as well. You whine in frustration, your fingers immediately travelling down to replace his. He chuckles and catches them, drawing your hands up above your head. He adjusts them so he is able to hold them with only one hand and with his free one he lifts you and nudges you so you are lying on your bed fully. Then he nests between your thighs. You feel his member to press at your entrance but he does not come home, not yet.
“For what purpose?” He asks and slides his member along your slit, still not entering. He coats himself in your juices doing so.
“To free them, were they here.” You close your eyes and takes in some air. “Thranduil, please…” You beg. “I need you!”
He traces his teeth along your neck. “Do you deserve it, my little prisoner?” He teases you.
You raise your head to look at him. “Do it for yourself. You need the completion, my lord.”
He chuckles and kisses your chin. “So demanding little thing you have become.” He hums, pressing into your core.
You cry out in intense pleasure that engulfs you instantly. His head is big and he stretches you almost painfully. Tears pool in your eyes, the ones of pure bliss and joy. Your hands still held by his struggle against his force and he lets go of you, placing his elbows on either side of your head. He strokes your cheek with his fingertips.
“So beautiful…” He murmurs and kisses you passionately, slowly pushing deeper inside you. You whimper at the friction and raise your hips up to meet his. “So wet for me…”
You raise your legs to his waist to adjust his angle slightly, taking him further in. You can feel him to touch the barrier inside you and you bite at your bottom lip. He has not buried half of his large member inside you yet he is filling you already. You feel him to withdraw slowly and push against you again. Slowly he increases his pace as he feels you are getting used to his girth.
He kisses the side of your neck and your hands travel down his muscular back. You can feel stone-hard muscles under the velvet of his skin, how they flex and relax with his every movement. He is grunting into your ear, his warm breath caressing your skin. More kisses are changed between the two of you before his lips close around your forgotten nipple to pay it some attention too. You scratch his back as first wave of heat hits you. You are close again and you pray to Valar with each of your moans and cries for completion.
Thranduil stops abruptly and smirks down at you. “Close, are you?”
You pant again and close your eyes tightly. “Please!” You beg at him. “Let me finish.”
“No.” He replies calmly. You squeeze your inner muscles and try to move under him but he stops you. “You still owe me some answers, tithen pen.” His voice is strained. He was close too. You cannot but admire his self-control. You would not be able to stop just before your completion.
You relax under him yet it is the hardest task you ever faced. Your skin is too small for you. There is too hot in your small cell and he is still within you, painfully hard. Tears flow down your cheeks.
“Oh, my darling.” He kisses those wet trails and strokes your hair lovingly.
“Please.” You whisper, stroking his cheek. “I will tell you everything. Just continue.”
“Do you promise?” He scrutinizes you. A silent nod is your only answer. He kisses your wet eyelids and starts to move again. This time his strokes are long and deliberate. Soon you are moaning again, squirming under his hard body. He carefully pushes against the barrier unless it relaxes and you cry out. He pushes further and you wonder how in the name of Valar is your body able to take him further in. Eventually he buries himself inside you up to his hilt. Your voice is rasp from all of your cries, your thoughts vanished. Pressure builds up once again and your muscles tighten around him.
Then he reaches between your bodies to stroke your nub again. Your body tenses and finally you fall down from the cliff. You see stars as your orgasm hits you, taking Thranduil down as well. His hot seed fills you as he draws out your peak. You both pant heavily. Thranduil collapses on top of you in exhausted heap. He nests your chest and you entwine your fingers with his hair.
Even after your lovemaking his hair is not dishevelled, at least not as much as yours is and that thought makes you grin. You still struggle to catch your breath. Then the reality hits you – you have spoken. You admitted that you are a spy and he will punish you for that. This heated episode was just that, fucking to get your admission. Your heart sinks into your stomach and you gulp, fighting back bitter tears.
“What is wrong?” Thranduil raises his head to watch you. He sees how you are fighting tears and he strokes your cheek. “[Name], why are you crying?”
“I am not.” You manage to say. Then you laugh bitterly. “So you loosened my tongue eventually.”
He is still watching you thoroughly. “Yes.” He replies without any emotion present in his voice. His expression is under his indifferent mask again.
“At least you have let me come.” You comment bitterly and push the Elvenking from you. You slide from the bed, seeking for your clothes. Then you recall how he had cut them with Legolas“ knife and your heart sinks again. When he does not provide you any new clothes – and he has no reason to do so – you will have to wear your old clothes for everyone to know how he used you for his personal gain/pleasure.
The bed squeaks when he stands up as well. Soon he is upon you, embracing you from behind. “You have promised me more answers.” He reminds you.
“You used me!” You turn to him and hit his muscular chest.
“You liked it.” He snickers.
You are not going to accept this statement but then his lips are on yours, claiming you again. Then a realisation hits you. Perhaps he has not used you after all. He has let you come first, drawing your peak even higher than possible. Could it be that he has some feelings for you? Perhaps he just cannot say it aloud as the elven law strictly forbids re-marrying. You sob into his mouth and circle your hands around his neck, returning his affections.
“More than that actually.” He adds teasingly after your lips part.
You look up at him, seeing your situation in different colours now. You smile and stroke his cheek. “What will happen next, my handsome captor?”
He grins wickedly. “I still do not have all of the answers. I think further interrogation will be needed.” He presses his already semi-hard member against your stomach. “I have some… tools to help me achieve my goals.” He whispers hoarsely.
You moan at the thought. “What tools?” A shiver runs down your spine.
“That is for you to find out.” He kisses you again, squeezing your backside whilst doing so. You bit at his lower lip approvingly. “Shall we continue?”
“I am at your mercy, mighty Elvenking.” You reply seductively.
He grins again. “Let us go then.”
Thranduil leads you through secret corridors of his underground palace. Both of you are still naked and it takes you some time to eventually arrive at his chambers. By that time you have blessed numerous places of the Halls and even more are to come. You are his prisoner after all and he has no intentions to set you free any time soon.
Chapter end notes:
Arda - the world
ellith - elven females (pl. form of elleth)
tithen pen - little one
Avo dharo! - Do not stop!
hir nīn - my lord
Arda - the world
ellith - elven females (pl. form of elleth)
tithen pen - little one
Avo dharo! - Do not stop!
hir nīn - my lord
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