Work Text:
I
“The king will not see you today,” said the elven guard. “If you have any business, you may speak with one of His majesty’s advisers.”
Bard sighed. He wrote to the king twice this month asking for an audience but got ignored so he rode all the way here intent on not leaving without talking to him. Just a few months earlier, they fought side by side, Thranduil and his people helped the lake town folk to survive the winter and all seemed well. But now it looked like the king wanted nothing to do with him. He kept telling himself the king was just busy with his affairs but when weeks turned into months, he decided he needed to know what went wrong.
“Tell the king I shall not leave until I speak to him.”
The guards exchanged some words but Bard knew too little Sindar to understand them. One of them disappeared inside the palace. Bard started to have doubts about his plan. What was he doing? Perhaps the king indeed was busy. Perhaps he was out hunting in the forest. Perhaps it was foolish of him to leave all his affairs and come here like this.
Just when Bard contemplated turning back, the elf returned.
“The king shall see you now.”
Finally, the guards stepped aside and let him pass. Bard got off his horse and headed towards the massive stone doors.
Bard was always a little intimidated by the halls of the elven king. As a boy, he loved listening to his mother’s stories about the dark forest filled with magic, the great halls carved into the mountain and the ancient powerful elven king. As he grew up, he got to meet some of the elven bargemen and realized most of the stories were superstitions and tales meant to keep children away from the forest but now that childish awe came back to him.
The doors creaked and opened, moved by some magic force. The palace interior was spacious and magnificent, with massive pillars and passages running deep into the mountain. But there was a darker side to them. In times of danger they served as a fortress and deep down held a dungeon for those who incited the king’s wrath. And then there was the high throne of carved wood adorned with massive antlers. Thranduil was already tall but perched on his throne, he towered over anyone who sought an audience.
Bard made his way across the narrow passage to the platform where Thranduil sat on his throne, his face cold. It was Spring now and his ornate crown had woodland flower blossoms that seemed to grow on it. Bard took a bow.
“Greetings, your majesty.”
The king remained silent so Bard stepped closer and spoke.
“Have I offended you in any way, my Lord?” The Bard pleaded. He could not understand the sudden change in the king’s attitude.
“What nonsense,” was Thranduil’s cold reply. “You’re a king now. Have you nothing better to do than come here just to ask foolish questions?”
“I shall not leave until I hear the answer.”
“Then you may as well die here waiting”, was the reply as the king descended from his throne and made to leave with his usual swiftness and grace.
“What happened to you?” Bard said but the king gave no reply. As Thranduil was about to go past him, in a sudden impulse, Bard grabbed his arm. For just a moment, Thranduil’s icy mask slipped.
The guards immediately pointed their spears at him but the king raised his palm in a dismissive gesture. Bard let him go but Thranduil did not move. For a few moments, he seemed to be contemplating something. Finally, he started walking towards the inner chambers but not before gesturing for him to follow.
They walked for some time, along the cold narrow corridors lit with red torchlights. The king’s magnificent robes simmered in the dim light swaying with his graceful movement. He almost seemed to be flowing over the floor. Finally, they reached an ornate door and Bard followed the king inside.
Thranduil took a bottle from the table and poured the wine into two chalices. The king was notorious for his love of wine and had it delivered from all over Middle Earth. Bard took a sip. The wine danced on his tongue unraveling an exquisite pallet. But his attention was soon shifted towards the room’s interior.
He looked around the chamber. It was richly decorated but rather small and clearly not meant for the eyes of the outsiders. He wondered if any human ever stepped inside. He felt awed and humbled. Deeper in the room there was a large wooden bed with ornate bedposts, hinting that this might be the king’s chambers, though it seemed a little too plain to be fit for a king. There was a single large window on one side, the rest of the room illuminated by small amber lamps, lined along the walls.
Thranduil held up the chalice as if posing for a statue. The elven king was as always unreadable. Bard waited patiently. Finally, he spoke.
“I had this place built to remind me of Menegroth, where I grew up.”
“The palace of Doriath? But it was…”. Bard only ever heard about Beleriand in songs and legends. He knew the elven king was ancient but he could never fathom he had seen the First Age.
“It was magnificent. Beautiful halls carved into the mountain, filled with light, decorated with precious gems.” The king’s eyes looked distant, as if he returned thousands of years into the past. “I used to walk those halls as a boy, marveling at their beauty. Not knowing I would be king one day.”
Bard was confused by all the revelations. The elven king seldom spoke more than a few words at a time so he listened carefully. Thranduil walked to the window, his back to Bard.
“Did you know it was the dwarves who built it? And they were also the ones who destroyed it, murdered the king and plundered the treasures of my people,” he continued.
“I was but a youth when Beleriand sunk and my people came to Middle Earth. My father moved East, away from the Noldor and into this forest. Back then it was green and thriving and he made it our home. He was welcomed by the Silvan who lived there – and he built a capital in the South and named it Amon Lanc. We lived there happily until Sauron came. We had no ring to protect us. The evil spread and all we could do was move further and further north until we crossed the river. Out beautiful city has been corrupted, turned into an abomination…”
“Dol Guldur…” Bard uttered despite himself.
Thranduil seemed to shudder at the name but said nothing. Instead, he continued.
“Finally, we decided to join the alliance of Noldor and men. Our people were excellent hunters and craftsmen but we were not warriors.” Thranduil’s face was still but his eyes were filled with sadness.
“My father died in the War of the Last Alliance, along with most of my people. We fought bravely but there was no end to the orcs. My mother passed away from grief. I took what was left of my men and headed further north, away from all the darkness. But slowly, the darkness followed.”
“Finally, we settled over the river and here I built these halls. They may not be as grand or as magnificent but they belong to me and my people. I owe nothing to the dwarves, Noldor, or men.”
Thranduil fell silent and Bard wasn’t sure what to say.
“My Lord. I ask for nothing of yours. I merely wanted to learn the reason behind your silence. You have not replied to my letters and it worried me. I only come here seeking your guidance and friendship.”
Thranduil looked at him with a piercing gaze.
“You say you come with friendship but it is something else you seek.”
“Trust me, my Lord, I have no other motives,” Bard pleaded.
“You desire me, do you not?” the king asked suddenly meeting his eyes.
For a few moments, Bard was left speechless.
“My lord…”
“Is that untrue?” Thranduil’s gaze was piercing. Bard knew there was no escaping this trap. Finally, he lowered his head and spoke.
“No. I do,” he said not daring to look up. “But it is more than just a desire of the flesh. I… I admire you with all my being. And I would never dare to speak of my feelings to you.”
“And yet you do, every time you look at me.”
Bard’s mouth fell open and he scrambled for words.
“I am truly sorry, my Lord. I did not mean to burden you. Trust me, I come as a friend.”
“I have no friends. Allies perhaps but not friends,” was Thranduil’s cold reply.
“What a lonely existence that must be,” Bard said despite himself, instantly regretting it. The king turned to him angrily. Bard saw the lights on the walls flicker, though there was no wind.
“Do not speak to me of loneliness! You mortals know nothing of it.”
Even in anger, Thranduil moved with ethereal grace. His exterior appeared cold but within there seemed to be a hurricane waiting to break free as he moved around the chamber floor. Finally, he managed to regain his composure, as he stopped, his left side to Bard.
“Do you know what it’s like living through millennia? Of course you don’t. You men like to say time heals but I remember everything.” Thranduil closed his eyes.
“I have seen people born and die, cities built and destroyed, forests turn to desolate wastelands. Every loved one I lost. Every city burned down, every battle, every disaster that befell my people… I remember it all.”
“I am… deeply sorry to hear that. But surely there must be so much good to remember as well.”
Slowly, Thranduil turned to look at Bard.
“It is the good that hurts the most,” he said walking to the window once more.
“The Noldor call it “The Gift of Men”. In 30, 40 years’ time you will pass your last breath and your fëa will return to Illuvatar. But I… I will still be here.”
Thranduil fell silent again before turning his face to Bard.
“So if you are here to ensure an alliance, worry not. I will provide whatever help your people need. But if you seek something else entirely, you should not come here anymore.”
Leaving the forest, Bard cursed himself for his foolish feelings. Right now his people needed him more than ever and strong alliances were their only hope of survival. The dwarves of Erebor had much rebuilding of their own so it was only the elves that he could rely on. Good will, he knew well, could run out at any time. He needed to focus on rebuilding the town and preparing his son to take on his role. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see the elven king again.
As it happened, barely a fortnight passed when they met again.
II
Bard looked out the window of his cabinet. It was full Spring now, grass green and trees blooming. The townfolk were smiling. Having lost so much, the sun on their skin and the singing of birds alone could make them happy. Slowly, Dale was coming back to life, thanks to the hard work of its new dwellers and the elven craftsmen who helped greatly in scheming and building. They also planted young fruit trees in the square, which filled the town with colour and lovely scent.
Bard was trying to deal with the mounting paperwork but the Spring sunlight and the birds’ singing proved to be a distraction. Who knew being a king was such a boring business?
“You want me to forget you and yet, every time I look outside, I see the trees and the arches and façades made by your people,” he thought to himself.
Suddenly, a skinny servant boy came running in.
“Your highness! The elves!”.
“Calm yourself down boy! And stop calling me that.”
“Sir”, the boy said trying to catch his breath “the elven king is here”.
Bard got up and rushed outside but stopped just outside the door. His heart was pounding and he took a deep breath to steady himself before slowly stepping into the square.
Indeed, there were elves in town, mounted on their white horses. And at the head of them there was the elven king. They rode slowly, looking around the town.
“Greetings! To what do I owe the honour, my Lord?” Bard asked as he approached them.
Thranduil halted and his guards followed suit.
“Please, pay no mind to me. I am merely visiting to check on my subjects,” Thranduil said as he jumped off his horse.
“Ah, yes. We are much obliged to you and your people. They have been very helpful in rebuilding Dale. We have houses to live in and boats to sail. There are smiles on people’s lips and hope in their eyes,” Bard bowed slightly forgetting he was a king. “Allow me to accompany you.”
Thranduil nodded. The king walked slowly with hands behind his back, inspecting the town. He looked pleased. Stopping before the newly planted fruit trees, now in full bloom, he took a single delicate branch in his hand and looked at it with tenderness. Bard watched him, unable to subdue the feelings that filled his chest.
“Such a pity they wither so soon,” he said without thinking but Thranduil looked at him with an unreadable expression. Then, he suddenly turned around.
“Leave us!” The king commanded and the guards accompanying him stepped away. His countenance grew softer as he looked at Bard for some time before speaking.
“I am sorry for how I behaved last time we spoke,” Thranduil said, his voice dry and formal. “I have been cruel to you through no fault of yours.”
Bard did not know what to say and before he could speak, the elven king continued.
“We are kings and as such, we belong not to ourselves, but to our people. Passions… are dangerous. Especially forbidden passions. They can lead to ruin of whole peoples.”
“It’s hard to imagine you would have had any,” Bard said, surprised by his own boldness.
“You are wrong, though I cannot blame you for thinking that.”
Bard did not expect the king to elaborate but to his surprise, he did.
“When I was but a youth in Doriath, I got infatuated with a young elven hunter, of the king’s guard. He was the mightiest hunter, most noble and fair. In the day, I was no prince and I ran wild and free in the land where we were protected and knew no evil. I would often follow him into the forest, stealthy as a shadow, or so I thought. We spoke, we sang and we laughed. We were foolishly happy. And yet… even then, deep inside I knew nothing could grow from it. It was meaningless passion that had no place in this world.”
“What came of him?”
“He was killed”, Thrabduil said. “And though my grief seemed boundless, it soon was overshadowed by the loss of my king and our people. The first of many.”
“Men call us immortal,” he said with a sad smile, “but we bleed and die much like you do. Just that our grief lasts longer.”
“Forgive me, my Lord. I cannot begin to imagine all that you went through. All I know is: though my time of joy with the one I loved was short, I would not trade it for anything.”
“Such is the sweet folly of men, whose time is fleeting.”
Thranduil’s words stung like a blade.
“Worry not, King Thranduil. Go back to your kingdom. Your elves have already helped us beyond measure. Take them home. I am sure they must miss their families. We can manage from here. As for me, I shall bother you no more. My time is fleeting. I may not be here the next time you visit.” And with a final bow, Bard walked away.
Thranduil stood there for a long time looking into the distance.
III
It was an ambush, the scouts told him. A band of orcs lying in wait to kill the newly crowned king. Bard and his people fought bravely but they were simply too numerous.
Perhaps if he hadn’t ordered his men to return, Thranduil thought, if there were elven guards accompanying the band, they would notice the rustling leaves, the foul smell, the shadows…But it was no use now.
Thranduil burst through the door where the king of Dale lay surrounded by his anguished subjects. Everyone stepped aside letting him pass. For a moment, Thranduil froze. Bard was lying on the bed, half undressed, unconscious, terrible wound piercing his midriff. There were bloody rags everywhere.
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” one man broke the silence. Thranduil guessed he was the healer. “There’s nothing that can be done. The wounds are too deep.”
“Leave!” Thranduil shouted and everyone in the room froze. “Now!” Nobody dared to argue with the king, hurrying out the door.
As the doors closed, the elf king kneeled in front of the bed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the air around him began to shimmer and twirl.
Bard felt himself slipping away, sinking deeper and deeper into darkness. And then there was a voice. Deep and melodic, pulling him back. He tried to concentrate on it, reach out to it but he had no strength. The voice was soft and calming and he gave in, falling into a deep slumber.
Bard opened his eyes trying to focus. As he began to come to his senses, he felt pain shot through his body. Groaning, he raised his head to look at himself. His whole midriff was neatly bandaged. Yet, apart from the soreness and the headache, he seemed well, considering what happened. His memory has blurry.
“Sir, you’re awake!” Bard turned to see a two servant boys looking at him in wonder.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days, sir.”
Bard blinked looking around the room.
“Where is he?” he asked. The servants shared a worried look, hesitant.
“Well?” he insisted. Finally, one of them spoke.
“He left, sir. We offered him to stay and rest but he just got on his horse and rode back into the woods.”
“What about the orcs? We need to defend the city.”
Once again the servants exchanged looks.
“Sir… We received a message, just last night. The elvish scouts, sir. They tracked them down. They were all killed.”
Bard sat up groaning, looking around for clothes.
“Sir, the doctor said you should not be standing up.”
He ignored all their pleas. He was the king after all. As much as he was uncomfortable with the title, right now he was willing to use the authority.
“I am fine. Prepare me a horse.”
The sky was unwelcoming as Bard rode out of the city. A foolish enterprise, most would say, but at that moment, there was not a trace of doubt in his mind.
The guards stepped aside without a word, letting Bard in. Galion the butler seemed surprised to see him but said nothing. With merely a nod, he led him into the inner premises. The king was not on the throne. He was led deeper through the galleries and to the ornate door he recognized. With another nod, Galion left.
Bard stepped inside. As before, Thranduil was standing at the window, his back to him, but it was clear he was aware of his presence. His grey robes were more plain than usual and his head was bare.
“How foolish. You should not even get out of bed in that state,” he said without turning. “I should have put you to sleep for longer.”
“I guess foolish is just how I am,” Bard replied, his voice hoarse. “I know what you did. I needed to see you.”
“You see me now”, Thranduil said slowly turning to face him. Bard gasped. The right side of the king’s face was scorched, muscle and tendons bare, and his eye white, unseeing.
“I told you time never really heals, didn’t I?” Thranduil said with a sad smile.
“How did this…”
“Do not worry. This one is millennia old.”
Bard was relieved seeing that Thranduil did not seem to be in pain. He looked calm and unguarded.
“Is this… is this because of what you did for me?” he asked.
“You have a funny way of showing your gratitude, king Bard. I am fine. It shall pass.” The king answered but Bard didn’t fail to notice he was making effort to stand upright.
Bard took a few steps forward closing the distance between them. His hand reached out towards Thranduil’s face. He was expecting the king to flinch but he did not move. Ever-so-gently, his fingers went up to the elf’s temple where the wound started and traced his jawline. Thranduil let him. Suddenly feeling bold, Bard leaned in and gently pressed his lips again the king’s.
The kiss was slow and delicate, lips barely touching. But Bard felt like the secrets of the universe itself were revealed to him through these soft lips. He closed his eyes, feeling the moment. As he reluctantly ended the kiss, he stayed close, their foreheads pressing.
Bard breathed in deeply. Thranduil smelled like Spring flowers and forest wood after the rain. For what felt like minutes, they just stood there breathing. Then Bard took the king’s hand pressing it to his lips.
“Thank you.”
Thranduil was the one who kissed him this time, a little more firm. The kiss was still chaste enough but Bard felt his body starting to respond. Thranduil must have felt it as he leaned back slightly looking at him curiously.
“Not now”, he said in a soft quiet voice. Bard nodded but didn’t move. His body was aching and exhaustion was starting to take over but he couldn’t make himself leave. Finally, it was Thranduil who slowly stepped away.
“Now go back to your people. They must we worried sick. You need to rest and recover lest what I did will be in vain.”
Bard nodded, already missing the warmth.
“You will be given a room to rest in. You can head out in the morning. I shall order my guards to accompany you,” the king said in a tone that foresaw no arguing.
“When will I see you again?” Bard asked, his eyes pleading.
Thranduil’s long delicate fingers traced his cheek.
“Soon. You have my word.”
With that, Bard finally took his leave.
IV
It has been two weeks since Bard returned to Dale. His wounds have healed faster than anyone could expect. The people of Dale rejoiced at having their king alive and well and life seemed to be coming back to normal. Bard felt grateful for all the well wishes. Yet, there was still a deep yearning within him that could not be quenched.
Bard tried to be patient. After all, elves must have a different perception of time and to them ‘soon’ might have a different meaning. There were no messages from the elven king that day. However, something unusual happened.
Bard was told several elves arrived in Dale and wished to see him. He asked them in, as all kinds of thoughts were running through his mind.
Two elves entered his cabinet. They were not bargemen nor merchants that often visited Dale. They had armour and weapons and looked like guards. They bowed before him before speaking.
“The king asked if you would like to visit him.”
“Has something happened?” Bard asked, a little nervous.
“All is well. He just wished to see you.”
Bard’s heart beat faster. The elves continued.
“Of course, he understands that you may need to finish your affairs and prepare. We shall wait as long as needed to accompany you.” The elves bowed and took their leave.
Bard paced around his room trying to decide the best course of action. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but also did not wish to keep the king waiting.
He took a bath, put on his best clothes and tried to reign in his unruly hair. He stood in front of a large mirror. Bard still could not get used to wearing anything remotely regal. He spent all of his life doing hard work and wearing rough linen and soft fabrics felt strange on his skin. But he reminded himself he was a king meeting a king – an elven king at that – and it was only proper to look the part.
V
It was dark when they reached the king’s halls. Once inside, Bard was greeted by other elves who bowed and motioned for him to follow. It felt strange how different a treatment he got this time. Bard soon noticed they were heading a different way than before. Instead of the pathway that led deep into the mountain, Bard was descending to the lower levels. He could hear music and many voices, the sound getting closer.
In a minute, Bard found himself in a spacious hall where elves were feasting. The hall was filled with soft warm light. It looked so different from the grand throne room that felt cold and imposing. There were several long tables filled with all sorts of foods and drinks. Dozens of elves were sitting behind them, talking and laughing. There were musicians in the corner of the hall, playing a merry tune. Tiny orbs of light of every colour were floating through the air in a lazy dance. Bard wasn’t sure what he expected but the sight took him by surprise.
Finally snapping out of his daze, Bard realized the elves he came with were still beside him waiting. He followed them across the hall, approaching the grand throne at the head of the biggest table. There, dressed in magnificent sparkling robes, sat Thranduil. He looked splendid and the scar no longer marred his face.
“King Bard of Dale,” one of the elves announced and suddenly the merry crowd got quieter.
“I welcome you in my realm, King Bard,” said Thranduil, his voice deep and warm. “I am glad to see you well. Please join us.”
“It is my pleasure.”
Bard bowed and took his place beside the king. The servant poured him wine. He took a sip and looked around the hall from his new position. Dozens of eyes were studying him, some suspicious but most curious. Bard imagined humans were rare guests here and some elves might have never seen them at all. He felt a little uncomfortable but he reminded himself that banquets such as this were a part of his duties.
Still, Bard was not yet used to it. He hasn’t seen such a feast in his life. There was meat and fish and fruit and all kinds of foods. Everyone seemed joyful, it was a merry sight. Bard knew he was supposed to feel delighted. And yet, his mind was not at ease.
“Is the wine not to your liking?”
Bard was startled by the king’s voice beside him. It was true he barely touched the food and drinks, too overwhelmed by his surroundings.
“It is the best wine I ever had, my lord. But it is potent and I wish to remain sober yet. Forgive me.”
Thranduil smiled at him saying nothing.
After some time, Bard found himself starting to relax. The music lifted his spirit and the feasting elves were a delightful sight. But every now and then, Bard stole a glance to the side. Thranduil was drinking his wine from a beautiful chalice looking at his people. He was smiling. Bard had never seen him like this. The king was known for being cold and stern but here, among his people, he was at ease.
Some time has passed but just as Bard let go of his worries, his head swaying to the music, Thranduil got up from the throne.
“I shall retreat for the day. Please continue without me,” he said to his brethren. He then turned to Bard.
“I hope you enjoyed the feast, king Bard.”
“Certainly. I thank you for the privilege,” Bard said earnestly.
“I am pleased to hear that. Still, you must be tired from the long journey. If you wish, you will be shown to your room.”
With that, Thranduil left the hall.
For all the good time he had, Bard remembered his purpose. After waiting a few minutes, he stood up as well and was immediately approached by Galion.
Bard was once again walking through the dark halls. This time the way seemed familiar. Finally, he was led into a room, rather small but beautifully decorated. There was a bed and a basin of water to wash oneself. Bard thanked Galion as the elf bowed but just as he was about to leave, he stopped and turned to him.
“Lord Thranduil said that you may visit him if you wish,” he said and then closed the door behind him.
Bard took off his jacket and shirt and washed himself with the cloth. Then he put his shirt back on and sat down on the bed closing his eyes. After a few minutes, he got up, took his leather bag, left the room and went down the hall.
Here was the ornate door. Gathering his courage, Bard took a breath before knocking softly.
“Come in,” came the soft voice.
Thranduil was looking out the big window, his arms on his chest. Bathed in the moonlight, he looked so tranquil, almost like a different person to the one Bard saw in the feast hall.
“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful…” Bard replied facing him.
Thranduil turned to him, his expression soft. Now, in the bright light, Bard could see faint traces of the scar.
“Are you well?” the king asked.
“Yes, my lord. My wounds have almost healed.”
“I am pleased to hear it”. They were alone now and there was none of the formality that he previously displayed, just genuine concern. “Come, have a seat,” Thranduil said.
Yet, Bard hesitated at the door, looking down.
“There is something I wish to give you.”
Thranduil looked up, intrigued. Bard reached into his bag and took out an ornate box. He unlocked it, stepped closer and turned it towards Thranduil. As he opened the box, a green light burst out dancing across the room, some flickering on the king’s face. Inside, was a necklace with hundreds of emeralds. For some time Thranduil was silent, mesmerized. Then he looked up at Bard.
“These are emeralds of Girion, said Bard. “They have belonged to my ancestor and I got them as a part of my share. Now I wish to give them to you.”
“I am grateful but I cannot take them. It is a family heirloom. You should pass it to your son. If you think you owe me something, you are wrong.”
“I know that and yet, I want you to have them. It is not a payment or a bribe, but a gift from the heart. You and your people have done so much for us and there is no price for my gratitude. This is but a small token. After all, they are just stones.”
“People killed and died for stones,” Thranduil said but accepted the box. “But if that is truly your wish, I thank you”, he said bowing his head slightly. He looked at the jewels, green specks lighting up his face.
“I shall treasure them always.” He said before setting the box on the table, but Bard saw his face changed and some of its usual coldness returned. For a moment, Bard felt doubt whether the gift was the right thing to do. If by giving it, he put a price on what should not be priced.
“But it is not the reason why I’m here tonight.”
Thrandul looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
Suddenly, Bard felt unsure and embarrassed. He spent hours thinking of the words he would say to the king and yet, now they all felt shallow and lacking.
“I am…,” he tried but words still did not come. “What I feel for you…”
Thranduil seemed to take pity on him, stepping closer.
“If you cannot speak it, show it.”
Bard did, closing the distance between them and capturing the king’s lips in a kiss. All of his longing, admiration, gratitude and hope, he poured into the kiss.
Thranduil responded, yielding and offering so much more. Bard’s hands went into the silky hair he so longed to touch. His chest felt so full like it was about to burst. When they broke apart, faces close and breaths mingling, the king’s eyes have unthawed completely and Bard felt like he was about to drown in those deep glowing pools.
“I have long since ceased to think of myself as someone who deserves affection. But if I earned your affection, I am…” Bard failed to find the words for how he felt. Yet, it seemed like Thranduil understood him all the same.
“You have to understand this cannot be undone,” he whispered.
“My king, there is nothing I want more. My body and soul is yours till I draw my last breath.”
“If that is so, then so shall be it,” Thranduil said stepping back.
“My lord…”
“I am not your lord and especially not tonight.” Thranduil removed his crown placing it on the ornate table, before turning back to Bard. They kissed again, passion seeping through their dancing mouths. Thranduil pushed forward until they reached the bed and he pressed Bard’s shoulder to make him sit down.
He then turned his back to Bard undoing his royal garments with his usual grace, until finally there was just a thin silk undergown. With a fluid movement, it fell to the floor and there was nothing but the king’s long white hair to hide his body.
Bard spent so many nights wondering what the king looked like behind his robes, how soft his skin felt and what his face looked like in pleasure. Yet, even in his dreams he could not fathom the kind of vision that he saw.
Bard had never desired a man but Thranduil’s beauty transcended male or female. Long, lean limbs, almost adolescent-like, yet firm with muscle. His pale skin looked ethereal in the dim lightning. His long white hair flowing like silk. Yet, his posture had a gravity that only comes with age. Even without his royal clothing, Thranduil looked regal.
There were several faint scars running down the back and legs. Bard knew wood elves were gifted in healing magic so the wounds must have been very deep. Yet, they did not ruin the beauty of the elven king. On the contrary, they added to it. Bard wished to taste every one of them. Then Thranduil turned, the warm light lighting him from behind and making him appear to glow. Bard gasped.
“Don’t,” Thranduil interrupted his thoughts.
“What?”
“Don’t look at me as if you saw a Vala. I am made of flesh, just like you.”
“Surely it cannot be the same kind of flesh.”
Thranduil smiled and Bard felt his heart flutter.
“I did not take you for a flatterer.”
“And you were right.” Bard replied.
Thranduil raised an eyebrow.
“Still, seems unfair that you are the only one looking.”
Realizing his mistake, Bard made quick work of his own clothing, throwing it on the floor, with none of the king’s grace. Now he too was bare, apart from the bandages covering his midriff.
Looking up at the elven king, Bard was suddenly overcome by a long-forgotten fear. It’s been too long since he’s been intimate with anyone. What’s more, he wasn’t experienced with male bodies, let alone elven male bodies.
“Let go of your worries”, said Thranduil.
For a second, Bard thought that he could read minds as he heard some elves did. But then he reckoned it was his own face that betrayed him.
“Forgive me. You are so beautiful and I…”
“…as well,” said the king and Bard saw his eyes grew darker as they slid down his body.
Thranduil stepped closer, planting his knees on either side of Bard’s body, hands in his hair.
“If you wish so, tonight I am yours.”
Finding his boldness again, Bard leaned forward stealing another kiss, his arms bringing them closer, their bodies finally touching. He almost expected this marble skin to feel cold but it was warm, quivering under his touch. Bard wasted no time letting his hands touch and his lips taste. He couldn’t get enough, like a man who found a spring after walking through the woods for days.
He kissed the king’s neck and shoulder, earning a soft sigh. He traced the length of his ear, finding it very sensitive. Somehow, it seemed Thranduil was just as fascinated with his body. To Bard, his own battered body seemed rough and uncomely. Yet, the king seemed to think differently, as his hands too were keen to explore, mapping his chest and shoulders.
They moved and shifted, Thranduil on his back now, his hair floating on the sheets like a sea of silk, his breathing heavy and for a moment, Bard was stunned. He could not believe that tonight this magnificent creature was his. He wanted to worship this body like a temple. Bard’s rough calloused hands touched the pale skin reverently, wanting to explore every plane and every crevice, as their lips led a sensual dance.
He could see the king’s desire clearly now. A drop of liquid glistening on the tip like morning dew. He showered his chest with kisses descending slowly, taking pleasure in the king’s erratic breathing. He moved on to caress the flat plane of his stomach, hands tracing the sharp hipbones but just then, his body betrayed him. Though his wounds have almost healed, it was still straining for him. He tried to hide the wince, but there was nothing to be hid from the elven king. His hand cupped Bard’s face gently, erasing his apologetic look.
“Worry not,” Thranduil whispered.
He pressed Bard’s shoulder lightly and rolled them over until Bard was on his back and Thranduil straddled his body, pushing his long hair to one side.
“Tonight there is only pleasure.”
Thranduil leaned down and their mouths met again. His hand slipped down Bard’s chest and he forgot how to breathe as Thranduil wrapped his hand around his manhood. It has been so long… so long since anyone touched him like this. Thranduil’s hand was slick, caressing him and driving him mad. Then, suddenly it stopped, holding him in place. Before Bard could question it, the elven king slowly sank onto his length, enveloping Bard in a velvet grip. Bard ran his hands up and down strong pale thighs trying not to come undone too soon but the sight before him made it even harder.
The king’s eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, as his chest rose and fell. Bard had to wonder if he was dreaming. Then Thranduil began to move. Slowly, like they had all the time in the world. A primal rhythm, like ebb and flow, making them one.
Thranduil leaned forward, his hair falling like a curtain shielding them from the world and a for a moment, Bard thought he saw Valinor.
He struggled to keep his eyes open as he rode wave after wave, each bringing him closer to home. He wanted, needed to see his lover. Bard’s senses were overwhelmed with the magnificent sight, the sounds of his lover’s pleasure and the heavenly feel of his body. All he could do was lay there at the elven king’s mercy. Bard never wanted it to end, but he could feel them reaching their peak. Thranduil’s voice sounded like music as he leaned back, his movements growing heavier. Just then, Bard held his hips and started to meet the thrusts.
Time seemed to stop as Thranduil arched his back, his face alit with pleasure. Suddenly, the lights grew ever bright, and then dimmed. In just a moment, Bard followed, the king’s name on his lips.
As they lay on their sides facing each other, Bard gently combed the silvery hair with his fingers. He was afraid to speak, for no words could add to this moment, only take away from it. Instead, he leaned in and placed another kiss upon the king’s lips.
Just as they parted, a thought struck him.
“My L… Thranduil. Should I go back to my room?”
“Is that what you wish?”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I just thought-”
“Then what do you wish?” Thranduil asked, his face growing a little amused.
Bard paused before giving his answer.
“I… I wish to fall asleep holding you in my arms.”
Bard knew that elves were not the most affectionate of races and he expected his wish to be rejected. Yet, to his surprise, Thranduil shifted, half-draping himself over Bard’s body, hand on his chest and chin on his shoulder.
“Like this?”
Not trusting his voice Bard nodded, wrapping his arms around his lover.
Thranduil closed his eyes, his breathing growing steady. With Thranduil’s body close to his, his face serene, Bard’s chest was so full he could hardly breathe. It felt like a fragment that was missing from him for many years was now returned to him. For some time, Bard tried to fight sleep, not wanting to let go of the moment, but eventually it claimed him.
Just as he drifted off to sleep, the first ray of morning sun crept into the room, as if to bless the newly forged union of souls.