Title & Chapter Number: Solace 5/5
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: LOTR
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of J.R.R.R. Tolkien's characters. Only Garand is mine. I needed a beautiful male elf - don't we all? :o)
Warnings: None
Betas:
Cast: Thranduil/OC, Legolas
Timeline: AU/Pre-Fellowship
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: King Thranduil and his son Legolas are still struggling with the grief of losing their beloved wife and mother, when a young visitor to the palace teaches the king that comfort can come from unexpected places.
Notes: This is for my dear friend Elisa, with whom I agree that Thranduil couldn't possibly be the cruel, sadistic father he's depicted as in some fics-if that were true, Legolas would never have turned out to be so noble and good. If this story brings her a fraction of the joy her artwork has given me, I'll consider it a huge success. And with many thanks to my beloved friends, Nyssa and Laurelin. Their talent, fearlessness, and friendship have always been my inspiration.
Note 2: Inspired by Elisa's Photo Mainp "Sire", as seen at Lassegalen's Laire
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 ear.
"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 questing 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 lovingly. "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 a tingling 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 form until 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 his hungry 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 pushed him 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.
~*~*~*~
Meltha: love
Miiir: precious
Naneth: mother~*~*~*~
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