The King's Ire by Cirdan

The King's Ire

Read The King's Ire

At Thingol’s request, Cirdan came to Menegroth to speak of
the Noldor, newly returned from the Blessed Realms.
“I met Angrod, son of Finarfin, son of Finwe,” Thingol said.
He swirled the wine in his glass. “He looks nothing like Finwe. He
feels more like a stray flower of Glorfindel’s kin.”
“It is said that Fingolfin resembles most strongly his father,”
Cirdan said.
Thingol sipped at his wine and looked from over his glass.
“Is it true?”
“Only in part. Fingolfin has his father’s hair, and that is the
chief reason for the comparisons between the two. As I
understand it, Feanor had raven black hair, and Finarfin the golden
hair of the Vanyar,” said Cirdan.
“So all of Finwe is lost.” Thingol sighed heavily. “Eager of
face and thoughtful-eyed... His voice and mastery of words...”
“That is not so. His heart, his spirit, resides still in the third
Finwe, for so he is named Nelyafinwe,” Cirdan said. “Maedhros is
fair and noble, and though he has the copper hair of his mother’s
kin, he is like Finwe in all other ways: in face, mind, and body.
When first I heard him speak, I could only think of Finwe.”
“Is he the one who surrendered the kingship in order to heal
the breach in the Noldor?”
“That is he,” said Cirdan. “He is the eldest son of Finwe’s
eldest son, and rightly the kingship should be his, but
acknowledged his uncle’s leadership rather than divide his people.
He and his brother have removed themselves to East Beleriand,
and I believe Maedhros has done this in order to lessen the chance
of strife between his brothers and his cousins.”
“An odd resolution, but he does justice to his grandfather’s
memory by doing his utmost for his people.” Thingol finished his
wine. “I should like to meet him. Perhaps I will allow him to pass
the Girdle of Melian and pay tribute to me.”
“Surely you are not thinking of wedding him to Luthien!”
Cirdan cried.
“If he is as great as you say, then I would not mind putting
my daughter’s hand in his,” said Thingol, who never before had
ever considered giving Luthien to any in marriage. “I rather like the
idea of my lineage and Finwe’s being united, and it will strengthen
the alliance between the Noldor and the Sindar.”
“But my King, I have of late been hearing dark rumors,”
Cirdan said, “rumors that the Noldor may have slain our kin, the
Teleri.”
---
After learning the truth of the matter from Angrod and having
driven out the sons of Earwen (for a time, for he would not shut his
doors forever against them, his kindred), Thingol brooded long
alone in his room. After he had calmed, Melian came to him.
“So it is even as Cirdan said, the Noldor have slain the
Teleri,” Thingol said. His visage was dark, but now sorrow rather
than rage filled his voice. “They are the descendants of Finwe. It
is hard to believe how that blood has thinned.”
“Nevertheless, as you said before, they are great foes of
your foe,” said Melian.
“I find that I care less about that than the matter of the
Kinslaying at Alqualonde,” said Thingol. He sighed heavily. “The
sons of Finarfin are my kin, and the people of Fingolfin have bitterly
atoned for such ill as they did in the crossing of the Grinding Ice.
But the people of Feanor, I am minded to drive them out of
Beleriand, force them east over Ered Luin.”
“The eldest son of Feanor was tormented by Morgoth upon
Thangorodrim for years. Surely that is punishment enough for the
wrongs of his father and of his people?” Melian massaged the
many tight places of Thingol’s back and neck.
“Maedhros again.” Thingol closed his eyes. “I have allowed
only those princes descended from my brother’s lineage to enter
Doriath. Perhaps it is time that I met the eldest son of Feanor.
What think you of that, my dear?”
“It is something that I have long known must come to pass,”
said Melian. “I am not adverse to it.”
---
Maedhros came to Menegroth with neither troop nor brother.
He had heard about Thingol’s rage upon learning of the evil deeds
of the Noldor, and Maedhros was not surprised that the King of
Beleriand did not allow him an entourage. After all, he had tried to
take Morgoth unaware in such a manner, though Morgoth’s force
had been the larger. The Girdle of Melian had been an invisible
force, and upon entering, Maedhros had straightaway perceived
that he was being watched. As long as he dwelt in its borders, the
Lady of Doriath knew his every thought, his every move. Mablung
the Heavy-hand had appeared soon after to escort him to Thingol.
The King of the Sindar had chosen to receive him in his chambers
rather than the Great Hall, for Maedhros’s visit was not a public
matter. In fact, Maedhros had not even told Maglor of it.
---
Maedhros bowed low to the King of Beleriand and then knelt
before him. “King Elu Thingol.”
Thingol nodded. “Son of Feanor. Rise and be seated.”
Maedhros did as he was bidden to do. “You are no fool. You know
why I have called you hither.”
“I do, my Lord,” Maedhros said. “You have heard in full the
wrongs that my people have done.”
“Indeed. What say you to that?”
“I would make amends, my King,” said Maedhros. “I have
heard rumors that you would drive us out of Beleriand, but here is
where Morgoth dwells, and it is for war with him that we came forth
from Aman. I do not desire to remove my people from these lands,
and so I would make amends in any way I can. Already I have
surrendered the Kingship of the Noldor and many supplies besides
to my uncle Fingolfin. I have little left, but I would offer anything
within my powers to assuage your wrath.”
“You speak on behalf of your people, and you think always
of them,” Thingol said as he nodded with approval. “My kinsman
Cirdan was not wrong in saying that you are most like your
grandfather, the late King of the Noldor. But tell me, why did you
do such great evils? For you do not seem to me to be evil at heart
even after your torment at the hands of Morgoth.”
“My father was grief-stricken for the death of Finwe.”
Maedhros sat poised and did not bend under the interrogation.
“Thereafter, my father lost the ability to reason, and moved by his
great grief, many of the Noldor, including myself and my brothers,
followed Feanor into folly. I regret what has been done, but I still
keep to my Oath, for without the Silmarils, Finwe will never again
return from Mandos.”
“I understand that Elves cannot die within Arda. Finwe’s
spirit is with little guilt and thus will quickly be released from the
Halls of Mandos. Is that not so?” said Thingol, for he had learned
much of this from Melian.
“It is not so, King,” Maedhros said. “It is certainly the case
for many of the Noldor and Teleri, who were wrongly slain at
Alqualonde for they were wrongfully misled to commit such
attrocities; they will be re-embodied. But Finwe was slain by
Morgoth, and Finwe’s body is marred beyond what can be seen by
the eye. Only with the Silmarils can we hope to restore his marred
spirit to life. But once on the road, we discovered that the majority
of the Noldor were reluctant to leave Tirion, the city of the Noldor in
Aman, even for the pursuit of the Light of the Silmarils, and so we
set fire to the ships of the Teleri so that the Noldor who followed
Fingolfin had no choice but to return to where their heart in truth
remained. Never did we expect that they would follow us to Middle-
earth by crossing the Grinding Ice.” Thingol couldn’t help but to
note and admire Maedhros’s smooth transition from one difficult
topic to the next. It saved Thingol from having to ask of the matter,
and this willingness to volunteer information stood in great contrast
to the secretive ways of Galadriel and Finrod.
“I see.” Thingol’s expression softened. “I am not pleased
about the slaying of Olwe’s people, but I do understand to some
measure the grief that drove you to such madness and the
treachery that followed. What you did, you did for Finwe’s sake
and for the sake of your people. Finwe was my close friend, and I
am also sorely grieved by his passing.”
“Then, King of Beleriand, please allow me to alleviate your
sorrow.” Maedhros left his seat and knelt before Thingol once
more. The son of Feanor rent his shirt.
A burn scar covering the majority of his back was the first to
catch Thingol’s attention, but then he noticed other marks, the
remnants of other burns and dreadful cuts. Still, in spite of the
marring of his body, his broad shoulders were a marvel to behold,
and the muscles of his upper torso were lean and strong. His skin
was smooth and fair, and because of that, the scars did not seem
so repulsive. Thingol’s gaze followed the beautiful form downward
until he could see no more. His blood stirred.
“Torment me as you will, Lord, in return for the wrongs that
we have done to your people,” said Maedhros, “but do not punish
my misguided people and force them to leave Beleriand.”
Thingol stopped himself from reaching out and fingering the
thin white mark at the base of Maedhros’s neck that undoubtedly
stretched out over his fine collarbone. “What are you implying, son
of Feanor?” Thingol said hotly.
“It is not merely implication. Do with me as you will.”
Maedhros lowered his head still farther, and his shoulders bent in
submission.
“Has Morgoth turned you into one of his foul agents?”
Thingol spat. “Do you think that I would fall for such cheap tricks?”
“This is no trickery.”
“Silence!” Thingol struck Maedhros so hard that he fell over,
but he did not rise from where he lay. He looked helpless, willing,
but Thingol was not to be taken in by such evil. I am wed to
another, and I will not be tempted by a servant of Morgoth into
adultery. He kicked the son of Feanor, who only grunted and bore
his assault. Thingol crouched down and grasped Maedhros by his
copper locks. They were surprisingly soft to the touch despite their
fiery appearance, and the hair caressed like water and was more
supple and yielding than even the finest silk. Thingol ignored this
and forced Maedhros to face him.
“I was at first impressed by your manner, Nelyafinwe, but
now I feel nothing but contempt and loathing for one who would let
himself fall so low as to do the bidding of his enemy.” He slammed
Maedhros’s head to the ground, rose, and kicked him again.
Maedhros lifted his head barely but did not try to get up.
“You misunderstand, King Thingol,” he said. “I do not do
this for the Dark Lord but for my people. Beat me, kick me, cut me
with knife if you will. I will endure your rage so that others need
not."
Too late, Thingol realized that he had revealed too much in
his rage. His cheeks burned red. How dare he make a fool of me?
Thingol straddled Maedhros and struck him again and again.
Blood pounded in his ears and blinded his vision. Maedhros bore
his assault without resistance, without objection or cry of
indignation.
Calm returned at last to Thingol and he looked at the red
welts on Maedhros's face and the blood that trickled from his
mouth. What have I done? Thingol took a napkin from the table
and dabbed at the blood.
"I'm sorry, Nelyafinwe. I do not know what came over me,"
Thingol said. He helped Maedhros sit up. I am a king, not an
animal. What was I thinking?
"I think I understand to some measure," Maedhros said. He
rubbed his sore jaw and slipped back into his guest seat. "You
acted out of rage for the unjust slaying of your kinsmen and out of
grief for the loss of Finwe. The news is still fresh for you, and your
feelings are in turmoil."
"Still, that was no reason to attack you."
“It is reason aplenty,” Maedhros said. “Even I have mixed
feelings about the Kinslaying at Alqualonde. Sometimes I’ll
rationalize its occurrence, and other times I can’t forgive myself.
One of Olwe’s sons may have been slain. Your anger is nothing
that I haven’t experienced towards myself, my father, my
brothers...”
Maedhros sat tall and nobly despite the wounds that Thingol
had given him. He spoke courteously despite all that had
happened. Indeed, he was a far cry from Feanor, whose was
reputed too be quick-tempered. No, Maedhros was definitely more
like Finwe, calm and strong even in the face of adversity.
Maedhros even resembled a young Finwe in face: thin and fair with
high cheekbones and white brow. His lean and strong body also
seemed to be as Finwe’s once was, as Thingol remembered him
from their ancient days of friendship.
“There were things that I’d wanted to say to Finwe, but I will
never now have the chance to say them while I live still,” Thingol
said suddenly. He turned his head from Maedhros. “How I longed
to see him again.”
“There is much that he had to say to you as well, and some
of these things he said aloud to me,” Maedhros said, his voice soft
and musical.
“Pray tell.” Thingol felt mesmerized by this grandson of
Finwe who somehow spoke as if he were Finwe’s herald. What a
bond must have existed between grandfather and grandson!
“Finwe grieved when the Teleri came not, and yet more
when he learned that you were forsaken,” recalled Maedhros. “He
knew that he would not see you again, unless it be in the Halls of
Mandos.”
“And his foresight proved true.” Thingol did not try to
conceal the sorrow in his voice.
“Surely you have heard that he had two wives: Miriel and
Indis. Feanor was born by the first, and Miriel--he said once to me
that Miriel resembled a man he loved once long ago who did not
come forth from the Hither Lands.” Maedhros laughed lightly.
“When I first met the Shipwright and saw his silver hair, I thought
he was the one of whom Finwe had spoken, but now I know that he
spoke of you.”
“I find it hard to believe that he would say such things to his
own grandson,” Thingol said.
“He knew that I understood, or at least that I would listen
and not judge,” Maedhros said. “My father was very opinionated in
all matters, but I was less so. Besides, at such times when he
missed you sharply, I think he had to speak of his feelings to
someone.”
“Surely he did not miss me so sorely, for he had a wife and it
would be wrong to love another so,” Thingol said, feeling quite
guilty, in truth, for making Finwe feel lonely in an otherwise perfect
land.
“The love between men and the love between man and
woman are as different as the silver moon and the golden sun,”
Maedhros said, and Thingol did not doubt that he was adopting the
quote from one told to him by Finwe (though the original probably
spoke of the silver and gold trees). “’It is unlawful to have two
wives, but one may love two women, each differently, and without
diminishing one love by another.’ So Finwe said about the matter
of Miriel and Indis. But to me alone he added, ‘One may also love
a man and a woman, each differently, and so long as my love for a
man does not diminish my love for my wife, it cannot be wrong, for
love is not wrong.’ Perhaps he sought to console himself for he
desired still what he could not have even after he married another.”
“So he did not think it adulterous,” Thingol said. Ah, but for
all his wisdom, Finwe was wrong. Love itself could not be evil, but
loving another man in the body while wedded, surely that was a
crime.
Maedhros shrugged. “It does not matter. You were not
there, and Finwe dedicated himself only to his wives, each in turn.”
But now hearing all this, Thingol felt his old feelings for
Finwe rouse. Perhaps they needed to have said their piece before
continuing with their lives, but the opportunity had long passed.
Finwe was dead. Thingol covered his eyes and shook his head. It
was too late.
“If you are not unwilling,” Maedhros said hesitantly as he
leaned forward, “perhaps I can help you put this matter behind
you.” Maedhros took Thingol’s hand and kissed it lightly with lips
lingering over his skin, and this time, there was no mistaking that
Maedhros was, indeed, offering himself.
Thingol pulled away and slapped Maedhros. “You should
not suggest such a thing. Finwe and I felt strongly for each other in
the days before we met our wives. But I am wedded to Melian the
Maia now, and Finwe is dead; you are no substitute for him.”
“The idea was not mine,” Maedhros said with a hint of
indignation. Otherwise, he bore Thingol’s insult with surprising
poise. “When I first entered Doriath, I heard the Lady Maia in my
mind, and though I did not understand her words at the time, I have
come to see more clearly.”
Then Thingol remembered Melian’s words to him ere he had
allowed Maedhros entry into Doriath: “It is something that I have
long known must come to pass.” Must come to pass. So his wife
knew about Finwe. Thingol wasn’t surprised.
“Do you think that truly it is something that must come to
pass?” Thingol wondered aloud.
Though his words had been directed more to Melian than
Maedhros, Maedhros answered, “I came to Beleriand to fulfill my
father’s desire, and I came to you to fulfill my grandfather’s.” He
took Thingol’s hand again and this time only kissed his fingertips.
Perhaps he expected Thingol to slap him again at any moment.
When Thingol didn’t, Maedhros licked his fingertips and kissed
them again. Thingol relished the feeling of Maedhros’s tongue
moving across his flesh but eventually pulled his hand away.
"Even though you are of Finwe's lineage, you should not
touch a king without permission," Thingol said.
Maedhros paused then bowed his head. "I'm sorry, King of
Beleriand. I did not know that such were your customs. For my
people, it would be unseemly for royalty to 'do the work' so to
speak. The one of lesser stature should be the one tending to his
superior."
Thingol circled the table and took Maedhros's chin in his
hand. "Well, grandson of Finwe, you are in my lands now, and you
must follow the laws of my lands." He stroked the coppery locks.
They were as soft as the new rays of sunshine that had been born
from the remnant of the Golden Tree.
"And what is thy command, my Lord?" Maedhros asked. His
eyes were bright and eager.
Thingol gestured for Maedhros to rise. "Come with me. We
will retire to a more suitable place." Maedhros stood, and Thingol
could not help but to notice that they were equal in stature. It was
a rare thing for him, for Thingol was accounted tallest of his people.
Maedhros was lovely beyond words to behold amidst the
shimmering silver sheets. Maitimo he was named in Quenya by his
mother. Well-formed one. That was certainly true. His shoulders
were broad but not disproportional to his wide chest and sloping
torso. His muscles were lean and showed just enough to be
appealing but not enough to mark him as a mere worker. It
seemed wrong to appreciate the look of that smooth, fair skin.
Maedhros shifted under his gaze. He was uncertain and untried.
He was a virgin, clean in thought and nervous about what was to
come, but his noble bearing made it clear that he was ready and
willing. The shutters were closed, and the curtains were drawn. As
soon as Thingol snuffed the candles out, the room became dark.
"My King?" Maedhros said hesitantly.
Though his eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness,
Thingol had no problems finding the bed. His hand contacted with
Maedhros's breast first. He caressed Maedhros there and
experimentally circled the nipple with his fingertip. Then he brought
his arm around Maedhros and drew him near. Maedhros hung
back for a moment, then yielded and pressed himself to Thingol.
Thingol's lips moved along Maedhros's shoulder and up his
neck until he found his marvelous, shapely ear. "Not like so,"
Thingol whispered and kissed the base of the ear. "Remember:
you are not permitted to push yourself upon the king's person in
any way unless I command you otherwise."
"Then should I just hold myself still?" Maedhros asked as he
fought to suppress a shudder. Thingol was very good with ears.
"You may move; you may react; you may even withdraw,"
Thingol said softly between kisses. "The only thing you may not do
is move toward me," he said even as Maedhros had begun to lean
his ear further into Thingol's talented lips.
Maedhros stopped. "I understand now. I will not do that
again, my King."
Thingol laughed lightly, tickling Maedhros's ear horribly. "But
when the time comes, you are free to ask me to do more to you or
to beg for permission to feel my body or to kiss me as I kiss you.
And henceforth, do not address me as king but by my ancient
name, Elwe."
Maedhros probably would have voiced his agreement if he
hadn't been panting from the exquisite new sensations. Thingol's
lips moved over his earlobe like the low tides washing over the
sands of the beach. He engulfed the tip of Maedhros’s succulent
ear and sucked at it gently. Maedhros gasped lightly and moaned
as Thingol's every move brought goosebumps to his fair skin.
Thingol was no less rewarded; Maedhros's taste was like the
refreshment of water after days in a hot desert.
Thingol ran his hand along Maedhros’s bare chest. It was
not the softness of Melian’s, but it was appealing in its firmness.
He moved to massage Maedhros’s other breast. If he hadn’t been
so busy licking the groove of Maedhros’s earlobe, he would’ve
tasted the tender nipple that hardened to his touch. Thingol
massaged Maedhros’s chest, and his hand slowly found its way
downward to Maedhros’s unbelievable stomach. He could’ve been
a study of Elven anatomy. Thingol deftly undid Maedhros’s belt
and slipped his hand underneath the top of his pants to discover
that Maedhros sported a total of eight fine abdominal muscles.
Rarely were the last two so defined. They were a delight to
explore. Maedhros’s breath came heavier and faster, and Thingol
turned his attention to the other fine ear, sucking on it as he
became increasingly provoked by what he found of Maedhros’s
well-formed body. Thingol placed his other hand over Maedhros’s
clenched hand and squeezed.
Thingol at last moved down the side of Maedhros’s neck and
licked across the left collar that was so perfect in its slight arch. As
he kissed Maedhros’s breast with open mouth, he felt Maedhros’s
tip come to touch the bottom of his hand, which had been stroking
up and down along Maedhros’s chiseled stomach. Maedhros’s
entire body jerked in surprise as he felt the contact as well. Thingol
smiled in the darkness. He moved his arm further into Maedhros
pants and took firm hold of the remarkable length that had found its
way so far upward.
“Ah!” Maedhros said with a sharp intake of breath. His fire
throbbed and grew in Thingol’s hand; then it became suddenly
doused with timidity and was like the embers of a dying fire.
Thingol chuckled softly and nuzzled his nose and mouth to
Maedhros’s cheek. It would’ve been priceless to see the look on
his face at that moment. Thingol’s eyes had adjusted to the
darkness, but he could not see more than the faintest shadowy
outline of his partner. However, he could feel the warmth that
radiated from Maedhros’s cheeks, and Maedhros’s mouth was
opened in surprised embarrassment.
Thingol turned to sucking at Maedhros’s neck and let his
hand kindle the timid fire. Once Maedhros relaxed to Thingol’s
caresses, the fire hardened and grew anew. His flesh was moist,
making movement initially slow. When he was firm, Thingol could
massage the skin along the fiery brand much easier. He kissed the
base of Maedhros neck and then moved to the right breast. His
tongue circled the small but hard nipple. He sucked at it to see if it
might also grow, and when it did not, he kissed it and licked his
breast.
“Ah, by the Light...” Maedhros muttered. His thighs
tightened and then fell open and then tightened again.
Thingol guided Maedhros onto his back with his free hand
and then allowed that free hand to run along the side of
Maedhros’s body. Once he was certain that Maedhros was fully
reclined, Thingol straddled him and brought both hands to
Maedhros’s hip. Thingol remained upright as he pressed his
scepter to Maedhros’s crotch. Maedhros arched to meet him.
“Don’t,” Thingol said firmly.
Maedhros fell back and moaned briefly before he
remembered his place, subordinate to the king, and barely
managed, “Sorry.” Perhaps he sought to add a “my king” to that,
but his words were lost as Thingol moved his hands over
Maedhros’s muscular stomach and along his hips. He drew away
and slid his hands down along Maedhros’s thighs. He brought his
hands back up and then slid underneath Maedhros’s pants to feel
his slender hip once more. And this time, when he moved to feel
Maedhros’s thighs, his thumbs slid inward suggestively, and his
arms deftly shifted the pants down. His hands moved to rest on
Maedhros’s chest while his crotch moved against Maedhros’s now
exposed flame. Maedhros panted and squirmed as he fought the
temptation to press himself to Thingol’s greatness, and
occasionally, a soft “oh” found voice. Thingol rubbed himself to
Maedhros and delighted in every movement and every moan.
After a time, Thingol slid his hands down along Maedhros’s
body and pulled off the bunched pants about his ankles. As his
hands moved back upward, they shifted to Maedhros’s inner thigh
and parted his legs. Maedhros inhaled in surprise, and his legs
started to scissor shut, but he quickly caught himself and allowed
the king to do as he would to him. Thingol shifted Maedhros’s legs
to his shoulders, freeing his hands to caress the bottom of his
thighs and slip up to Maedhros’s firm buttocks. Maedhros
tightened nervously. Thingol grabbed hold of the fine rear and
squeezed. Then he started massaging the two halves. He brought
his tongue to Maedhros’s belly button and licked it. As he did so,
his shoulders forced Maedhros’s legs to his body, and his rear
moved off the bed. Maedhros’s fire began to shrink as he became
increasingly nervous. Thingol drew himself upward again. He
placed one hand over the fading fire and stroked it until it slowly
became aroused once more. His other hand massaged
Maedhros’s rear until Maedhros was good and hot again.
While distracting him with firm strokes to the hard flame,
Thingol’s free hand explored at the base of the fire. Maedhros’s
sac was soft and supple. He opened and closed his hand over it.
Then he moved his fingers between Maedhros’s legs from sac to
anus such that his fingertips stirred Maedhros to cry out.
“Ah, Elwe!” Maedhros’s body arched. Thingol rewarded him
by squeezing firmly and pumping the flaming torch faster. He didn’t
ignite Maedhros though. In all honesty, Thingol himself wasn’t
certain how to do this. As he pleasured the crackling fire, he licked
his middle fingertip and reached around Maedhros’s rear to slide
his finger along that sensitive spot just behind the sac once more.
“Oh... oh...” Maedhros moaned in near-bliss.
Thingol was not so new to the pleasures of the bed, and so
he kept his mind on the task at hand and gingerly explored the
Door to the Night. The Door was shut, but Thingol pressed his
finger gently into the entrance. The Door did not yield readily and
only the very tip of his finger slipped in. Thingol kept the flame hot,
and though it leaked, he did not allow it to spill its liquid fire.
Perhaps he needed a secret magic word to open the Gate of
Morning.
When he could think of none, Thingol whispered in husky
voice, “Relax, Nelyafinwe, relax. Let me enter the Encircling Sea.”
Maedhros did not answer, but Thingol felt the Door to the Night
open slightly more. Thingol squeezed his finger into the darkness
beyond and felt Maedhros tighten again around him. Maedhros
gasped and his panting came in short, quick breaths. Thingol
withdrew.
“Calm yourself,” he advised as he stroked Maedhros’s rump.
His finger moved up to the little nub at the end of Maedhros’s spine
and he rubbed his fingertip against it in light scratches. He paused
in his stroking of the fiery shaft but kept his hand closed around it.
“You may move along my hand; I give you permission,” Thingol
said. Maedhros remained still and without comprehension. A
slight whimper escaped from his throat. Thingol demonstrated by
moving his hand up and down the rod of fire. After a moment,
Maedhros began to move in rhythm with him, pressing his length
through the encircling hand and drawing back. Thingol held his
hand still and allowed Maedhros to find his own sweet rhythm.
Thingol’s free hand moved down to the Door to the Night once
more. He slipped his finger along to Maedhros’s sac a few times
and then tried to win entry through the Wall of the Night once more.
Maedhros gasped but allowed himself to open to Thingol’s
probing. His fire pushed up into Thingol’s hand, away from the
fingertip that had entered his darkness, but when he drew out of
the encircling hand, he found himself sliding down Thingol’s finger.
He paused when Thingol was but halfway into the Encircling Sea
and pulled away. His dilemma quickly became evident to him. In
order to enjoy the pleasures of the fire, he’d have to allow Thingol
to penetrate into his darkness.
“Elwe,” Maedhros pleaded, for he could find no relief for his
pleasure but had no consolation for his pain.
“Shh. Very well,” Thingol said softly. He gripped
Maedhros’s fiery shaft hard and moved up and down its mighty
length. With such encouragement, Maedhros found it impossible
to not move to Thingol’s guidance. Now and again, Thingol
pressed his finger into the Gate, and Maedhros would gasp and
hold his breath, but Thingol quickly removed his finger so that the
pain did not last long. In the building ecstasy, Maedhros seemed to
lose track of when he was penetrated and when he was not.
Maedhros’s thighs tightened. He slid harder and faster in
and out of Thingol’s hand. Thingol’s finger slid entirely into
Maedhros without drawing a cry of anguish. The heat of the
moment had entirely taken Maedhros. Thingol tightened his hold
and brought Maedhros to peak, and as he did so, he slipped a
second finger in at the same time as the first. The Gate was too
tight, and doubtless Maedhros would’ve voiced some kind of
objection if he hadn’t been arching violently and bursting like a
volcano. The fiery shaft throbbed and pumped forth molten lava
that spilt generously over Thingol’s hand. Thingol drew his fingers
from the Door ere Maedhros had finished. Maedhros fell back onto
the bed with a great sigh.
Thingol rose from the bed and lit one of the candles on the
nightstand. This was not going to work without help. He glanced at
Maedhros and felt his heart skip and then beat erratically.
Maedhros lay spent and beautiful, sprawled on the bed amidst the
disheveled silver sheets. His face was flushed, and he gazed at
Thingol with an intent look that bordered between adoration and
longing. He propped himself up on his elbows. Thingol could only
stare in unabashed adulation at the beautiful form stretched out on
his bed. After a moment, Maedhros began to blush. He looked
about and took a handkerchief from the nightstand to wipe himself
clean. Thingol laughed, causing Maedhros to blush more furiously.
“Don’t worry about it, Nelyafinwe,” Thingol said with a spark
in his eyes. “We’re not through yet.” He absently washed his
hands in a basin of clean water and looked about for a vial of the
sunning oil of the Falathrim.
With the new rising of the sun, playing upon the beaches
and in the sunlit waters had actually become problematic for some
of the Elves with tender, fair skin. One of the Falathrim had thus
devised a pleasant floral-smelling oil that protected the skin from
searing after extended periods of time in the sun and water. Cirdan
regularly sent beautiful glass vials of this sun-protection oil to
Thingol because of Luthien’s exceedingly fair and pale skin. She
mostly used it when she spent time by the lake rather than under
the shade of the great trees of Doriath. Thingol didn’t use it often
either, but he usually had a bottle or two around.
After a time, he found massage oil (another creation of the
hedonistic Elves of the Falas). It would do. Maedhros wouldn’t
need sun protection with his oil. Thingol snickered to himself. He
turned his attention back to Maedhros, who had since covered
himself with one of the sheets. Thingol came to the bedside and
was about to snuff out the candle, but then he changed his mind.
Maedhros was beautiful. Why shouldn’t he enjoy such beauty?
Melian had granted him permission to do this deed that “must come
to pass.” He was doing no wrong. He had nothing to hide in the
darkness. Thingol placed the bottle of oil on the nightstand and
pulled the sheet from Maedhros’s body. Maedhros instinctively
grabbed for the sheet, but Thingol pushed his hand aside.
Maedhros blushed as Thingol knelt above him. He lowered himself
onto his back and stared up at Thingol.
“You said that when the time came, I could ask you for
things,” Maedhros said.
“You may.”
“May I kiss you?” Maedhros asked timidly.
Thingol wasn’t about to let him kiss his mouth, for that was a
privilege that belonged only to Melian, but he did hold out his hand
to Maedhros, who kissed it repeatedly. Thingol had not spent his
kingship as Maedhros had. Now, he pressed his still-hard scepter
to Maedhros’s softened crotch and began to rub slowly. He
watched and relished the changing expressions on Maedhros’s
face as he became aroused anew. Thingol pressed his finger into
Maedhros’s mouth. Maedhros hesitated for a moment,
remembering with some embarrassment what the fingers of his
other hand had been doing before. But after a moment, Maedhros
kissed the finger, took it in his mouth, and sucked on it gently. His
fire, encouraged by Thingol’s greatness, slowly lengthened.
Thingol placed another finger into Maedhros’s mouth, and he
suckled on both happily. After a time, Thingol drew the fingers out
and ran their wet fingertips over Maedhros’s nipple. Maedhros
inhaled quickly and shuddered from the wondrous sensation.
Thingol smiled. He moved his greatness away from Maedhros’s
fire for a moment to behold its quivering, growing hardness. Ah, it
was as beautiful as the rest of Maedhros.
When he looked back, Maedhros was blushing from
Thingol’s open ogling of his family jewels. Thingol laughed. Oh,
the Jewels of Feanor were not the Silmarils that had captured the
Light; they were here, in the ardor and passion of Feanor’s eldest
son. And now, they belonged to him. Thingol played with the soft
sack and ran his finger along the shrinking flame. Thingol shook
his head. Maedhros was still new to this and was overly sensitive.
In truth, Maedhros had nothing to be ashamed of, not with a fire
that, even as a dying ember, was of such great length. Thingol
encouraged the flame some more and then pressed his crotch to
Maedhros’s again. Maedhros felt good. There was no other way to
describe it. His hands moved along Maedhros’s stomach (which
was even more fascinating in the candlelight) and chest.
When Maedhros was suitably aroused, Thingol lowered
himself and crawled up along Maedhros’s body, kissing and licking
as he did. Then he rose up above Maedhros and pulled his
breeches down just enough to expose the King's Ire. Maedhros’s
mouth opened in surprise. Though he’d had brothers and had
undoubtedly seen their jewels, he had obviously never seen a
scepter so thick and manly. Maedhros was longer and thinner, but
Thingol was strong, hard, and unspent from their previous frolic.
Maedhros began to blush furiously again. He was really quite cute
when he did that. Thingol smiled and lowered himself to
Maedhros. Maedhros’s eyebrows furrowed. But Thingol didn’t give
him enough time to turn his head or object and thrust the King's Ire
into Maedhros’s mouth.
Maedhros’s eyes widened as he tasted the full might of the
King of Beleriand. But after a moment, he recovered and needed
no instruction. His eyelids lowered and he looked in fascination at
the scepter as he sucked it further into his mouth. Thingol could
hear Maedhros’s lower body squirm as he sought for some way to
match the pleasure that had graced his mouth. Thingol drew
himself out slowly. Maedhros hesitated. He was not supposed to
approach the king, and it seemed to be a lesson that he’d slowly
come to learn. As the last of Thingol’s greatness left his mouth, he
realized that the King was not giving him more.
“May I...?” Maedhros fell silent, too embarrassed to ask for
what he desired.
“Call me by name, and then you may do as you wish,”
Thingol said.
“Elwe,” he said quickly. He stretched his head up toward
Thingol, but Thingol drew away.
“Not like that.”
Maedhros made a face then swallowed and said more
sensually, “Elwe.”
Thingol nodded. “Come to me, Finwe,” he said as he put
himself within reach.
Maedhros’s lips slipped over his tip and then around his
greatness. He moaned as Thingol entered him, as he sucked
Thingol in to enter further. His tongue tasted Thingol’s kingship
and moved along his scepter as more of Thingol slid into his
mouth. This time when Thingol withdrew, he paused before he’d
left Maedhros’s lips and let Maedhros suck him back in. Maedhros
moaned and sucked eagerly. His hand came up to hold Thingol’s
thigh, but then he remembered his place, dropped his hand, and
clenched the sheets instead. He moved surprisingly adroitly along
the King’s Ire, and any lapse was quickly compensated with his
passionate sucking.
At one such point, Thingol pushed himself still deeper into
Maedhros’s mouth. Maedhros’s eyes widened as he gagged,
forcing the King's Ire out from his throat. Thingol began to
withdraw, and Maedhros seemed to think that he would remove
himself completely for this failure. Maedhros recovered quickly
from the earlier invasion and pushed himself up along Thingol’s
retreating greatness. He sucked on Thingol mightily, and even
Thingol could not resist such a passionate request. He thrust
himself into Maedhros again, and this time, Maedhros continued to
suck on him hard until Thingol found his tip sliding down
Maedhros’s throat. Oh, it was too great. Thingol pulled himself out
and pushed back in. Maedhros took him gladly, and his tongue did
such marvelous things that Thingol couldn’t even identify exactly
what was going on anymore. It was said that Feanor’s tongue had
great power over hearts when he would use it. Thingol was certain
that Maedhros’s tongue was the better. When Thingol withdrew,
Maedhros gave himself a moment’s rest, and when Thingol thrust,
Maedhros was ready. Though they were not in the Blessed Realm,
there could be no bliss greater than this.
Thingol did not waste his kingship on this though. Before he
lost control, he drew out of Maedhros’s mouth. He moved down
Maedhros's body and rubbed their crotches together. This was
really the best vantage point. He delighted in grinding his King's Ire
to the Jewel of Feanor and watching every contortion of his face,
every twist of his body, every ripple of his sleek muscles. Thingol
took the glass bottle from the nightstand and poured the massage
oil generously over Maedhros's fire. Ah, Thingol should've known
that oil only fueled fire. Maedhros squirmed as the oil ran along his
skin and laughed.
"Oh, that tickles!" he protested. His laughter was like silver
bells on a crisp autumn night, and his bright eyes and smile were
more intoxicating than even the cocktails of the Falathrim.
Thingol stopped the oil dripping down the sides of
Maedhros's body and scooped it back to the fire. The fragrance of
the Sea filled the air. Thingol firmly stroked the hard length, and
the slick oil made the experience even more pleasant for both of
them than the first time. Thingol's other hand did the more
important work though. His finger traced down between
Maedhros's legs, where oil had also dripped. Thingol again sought
entrance through the Door of the Night with his slippery finger and
found admittance much easier this time. Maedhros moaned but
did not withdraw. Thingol rewarded him with good, strong strokes
to the fiery brand. Then Thingol slipped another wet finger into the
Wall of the Night. And then a third. It was tight, but the oil made it
doable.
Maedhros was ready.
Thingol pulled away and repositioned himself. He pushed
Maedhros's legs up and was surprised when Maedhros held them
in place with his arms. Well, there was no reason Maedhros
couldn't help so long as he didn't touch the King. Their eyes met.
"I'm ready, Elwe," Maedhros said, and it was exactly as how
Thingol would've imagined Finwe to say it.
Thingol smiled crookedly. "You most certainly are."
This was going to get messy. Thingol took off his pants and
poured the rest of the massage oil onto himself and slicked his
sword. His thumbs pulled open the Door of the Night. Maedhros
panted in anticipation. Thingol touched the tip of his sword to the
opening and felt Maedhros force himself to relax. Then Thingol
pressed himself into Maedhros. Or so he tried. There was too
much oil present, and Thingol's thrust missed, and his sword slid
up between Maedhros's legs. So this was going to prove trickier
than initially anticipated. Thingol used one hand to hold the Door
open and his other hand to guide his sword in.
Maedhros gasped and held his breath as the sword's tip
penetrated his Wall. Once a third of the King's Ire was thrust into
the Encircling Sea, Thingol stopped holding the Door open and
instead moved to take Maedhros's fire in his hand. One hand
kindled Maedhros to madness, while the other guided Thingol's
greatness deeper into the darkness. It seemed Maedhros was
well-formed inside and out. Thingol restrained himself and
withdrew when he'd penetrated Maedhros with little more than half
of his sword. Maedhros sighed, but he could find no real rest so
long as Thingol's hand controlled his fire.
"Elwe..." he half-pleaded, half-moaned.
Thingol was more than happy to oblige him. He thrust the
King's Ire into Maedhros once more, and this time when he
withdrew, he did not draw himself out but thrust himself back in.
Maedhros could barely stay still from the attack. He twisted and
squirmed, and his eyes were squeezed shut and face contorted in
pain. But he did not ask Thingol to stop.
Instead, Maedhros moaned such that Thingol was the one
kindled to fiery passion. "Ah... ou... ah." When Thingol finally
drew out, Maedhros begged, "Don't stop, Elwe."
Thingol hadn't been planning to. He shifted himself into a
better attack position and then entered the sweet, tight darkness
once more. Oh, Maedhros was nothing short of superb. Thingol
gripped Maedhros's fire hard and practically used it as a handle to
pull Maedhros closer to him. Maedhros twisted slightly to
accommodate him, and the King's Ire was lost in the night.
Suddenly, Thingol felt his kingship pooling. He pressed himself
ever into Maedhros and held there. Sure enough, his kingship
spilled out into Maedhros in violent throbs. Maedhros's eyes were
closed but his mouth was open wide in something between a silent
scream of pain and ecstasy. His fire also burst out as he reacted to
Thingol's exultation. When they were both spent, Thingol withdrew
his kingly sword and lay resting beside Maedhros.
"You came here for a reason," Thingol said after he'd rested
for some time.
"Did I?" Maedhros said sleepily.
"Indeed you did. You came to beg for forgiveness on behalf
of your people and to ask leave to continue to dwell in East
Beleriand," Thingol reminded him. "The Kinslaying will not be
forgotten, but it will be forgiven. You and your people may dwell in
East Beleriand and continue to fight against our common foe."
"Oh, that's nice," Maedhros mumbled with absolutely no
interest. He dozed off again. After a moment, he awakened again,
rolled onto his side, and embraced Thingol. Apparently he'd
forgotten the laws of the land in his exhaustion, but Thingol decided
to ignore this transgression this once. "I remember. I did come
here for a reason."
"Oh?"
"I came to fulfill my grandfather's destiny," Maedhros said.
Thingol smiled and patted Maedhros's bare rump. "And so
you have."
"Yes, I have." Maedhros snuggled closer. "Now I must fulfill
my father's destiny by recovering the Silmarils."
So he would fulfill the destinies of two dead men. "And
then?" Thingol asked
"Then, at last, I fulfill my own destiny." Thingol felt uneasy at
Maedhros's words, but before Thingol could say anything more,
Maedhros had fallen asleep in his arms again.