Comfort to Displace my Loneliness by chrissystriped

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Comfort to Displace my Loneliness

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“My king, we found someone.”

Thranduil looked up from the list of casualties he’d received earlier. The attack on Dol Guldur had been necessary to stamp out the last evil in Mirkwood. The White Council had sent the Necromancer fleeing, but some of the orcs who’d escaped from the Battle of Five Armies had set up camp here. Thranduil regretted every dead elf these fights had claimed.

“What is it?” Thranduil asked, his captain looked worried. “Whom have you found?”

Was yet another catastrophe waiting for them?

“An elf, shackled in a chamber of the tower. There are scars all over his body and… signs of mistreatment. He’s also… please, my king, come and see for yourself. We do not know what to do with him.”

Thranduil got up, battle-weary muscles protesting, and followed his captain. he wondered why they were so uncertain. His healers were veterans of many battles, some of them had treated prisoners of Angband, freed after the War of Wrath, surely they knew how to treat a tortured prisoner.

He ducked into the healers’ tent and looked down at the elf. They’d already been at work on him. His skin was clean, what wounds he had were covered by bandages. He was very pale and thin, his dark brown hair was sawed short unevenly. Thranduil’s eyes caught on the Eye that was burned into the elf’s skin above his heart — an old scar — and below it, partly destroyed by the brand but still recognisable for what it was, a many-rayed star. That explained his captain’s worry. The elf was a Fëanorian follower, devoted enought to have their sign inked under his skin.

Thranduil pushed the memories of the Kinslaying of Doriath firmly down. He felt an urge to send a message across the river. Make this his cousin’s wife’s problem, who was after all a Noldo and responsible for the attack on Dol Guldur.

“Can he be moved?” Thranduil asked hopefully. “Not right now, my king. He has been unconscious since we found him and some of his wounds are evil.”

His problem, for now. He could hardly dump an unconscious, injured person at the border of Lothlórien, no matter how little he liked his allegiances. Thranduil took a deep breath.

“Tend to him. Tell me at once when he wakes.”

He turned around and left before he could do something indecent and order them to put the Kinslayer back where they’d found him. He reminded himself of how hurt Elrond would feel, if he found out Thranduil had let an elf he would think of his responsibility come to harm. He did not want to disappoint his friend. But it was hard to feel compassion, he fully intended to put the elf into another dungeon, once he’d recovered.

 

He woke with a start and needed a moment to realise that the screams were not only in his dream. Thranduil rose quickly and looked out of his tent. He’d slept in his clothes, having fallen asleep over a bottle of wine. The sounds were coming from the healers’ tent and Thranduil hurried over, muttering a curse.

The elf was fighting against two healers who tried to hold him in bed, showing a strength Thranduil wouldn’t have guessed he still possessed. His eyes fell on Thranduil, wide and unseeing, yet clearly seeing something because he stilled and croaked an intelligible word with parched throat..

“What?” Thranduil asked.

The elf spoke again and this time he understood him. “Finrod!” he whispered. “Felagund, you are alive.”

Thranduil sought the eyes of one of the healers, unsure how to proceed. The healer nodded, he should play along, not to distress the elf further by denying his claim.

“Yes," Thranduil said and touched the elf’s hand gently. “I’m here.”

“Don’t leave me,” the elf pleaded, tears stood in his eyes. “Please don’t leave me. Not this time.”

“I won’t.” He sat down on a chair the healers provided and held the elf’s hand as he fell asleep again.

His thoughts were whirling. Finrod. Not a commoner then?

What if…

No.

But what if…

No!

Maglor.

The name stole itself into his thoughts against his will. The only surviving son of Fëanor. Thranduil looked at the hand curled in his. The fingers were bent, the skin scarred badly. One of the Kinslayers, one of the people who were the cause of all the hurt Thranduil had lived through in his youth. A hot anger fought with pity in his heart. This elf had taken so much from him. His mother, his home, his king and many a night’s rest afterwards.

But he’d been Sauron’s prisoner. For how long Thranduil couldn’t begin to guess. Elrond had searched for him, he knew that, and had not found him. He looked again at the elf’s thin body, covered in bandages. Pity for a tortured, hurt elf — whoever he was — won for now but Thranduil knew he needed a solution in case his suspicion was true. He might do something vile otherwise. He did not trust himself to be just with Maglor Feanorion.

 

Sauron’s fingers slid slowly through Maglor’s combed and oiled hair and he suppressed a shudder. Everything that could be construed as pulling away from his master’s touch would earn him a punishment. “I have to leave for a while, dear.” Sauron’s lips caressed his neck below the golden collar. “But I’ll fetch you soon, be sure of that.”

Maglor felt warm skin around his hand when he woke and forced his breath to remain slow and steady.  He’d been left alone after Sauron left, so long that he’d almost starved. Then orcs had come, feeding him and after some arguments over the sigil on his skin having their fun with him. He had been too weak — and mostly beyond caring anyway — to fight them much. But they had never touched him gently, Sauron had, if it fitted his purposes. Was he back? He would already know that he was awake — he always knew — but feigning sleep might still buy him a few precious moments to compose himself.

Maglor cautiously risked a glimpse through his lashes and was struck by the brightness of his surroundings, he hadn’t seen the sun in more years than he was willing to count. There was someone sitting in a chair beside his bed, but it was not Sauron. For a moment he thought it was his dearest Felagund. Maglor had a memory that he’d come to him. But no, Felagund had been killed long ago by the very monster who had him in his possession now. It must have been a dream or another illusion of Sauron who liked to play with him like a cat plays with a mouse.

Maglor blinked slowly, daring to hope that there was not more pain waiting for him the moment he showed he was conscious. The elf had fallen asleep on his seat, his head sunken on his chest. His golden hair hung around his face. The elf was a stranger to him. Maglor, not entirely sure that this wasn’t another illusion of Sauron’s, wondered why he’d show him someone he’d never met before. He’d only made him believe to see lost family and friends before. Maybe to make his ‘escape’ more believable? Because he was clearly meant to have escaped the tower. He had been relieved of his bonds, his wounds had been dressed.

Maglor slowly pulled his hand from the limp grasp of the stranger. He tensed when the elf moved and opened his eyes.

“You’re awake,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face and straightening. Maglor looked into bright blue, stern eyes. “Maglor Fëanorion.”

Oh no. No! He knew who he was and by the look on his face he didn’t like him at all.

“I am Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. We freed you from the orcs who were defiling our forest. You will be brought back to my palace until I decide what to do with you.”

Maglor almost wished this were an illusion made up by Sauron. He rolled out of bed before Thranduil could stop him and managed to stay on his knees although the wounds on his body were screaming and the world slowly revolved around him.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. I wish I could make it all undone. I’ll accept any punishment you deem fit.”

The world lurched, Maglor’s vision went black for a moment, when he came to himself again, he found he’d toppled face first into the king’s lap. He gasped when Thranduil gripped him firmly under the arms and hauled him back into bed.

“You are wounded and malnourished," he said gruffly. “As much as I wish I could just leave you where my soldiers found you, that is clearly not what a decent person would do. Punishment can wait. I’ll fetch you a healer.”

The king left without another look at him and Maglor closed his eyes and breathed through the pain of his wounds. Whether this was real or not, he would suffer, he knew it. And it would be just, for all the pain he had caused the people of Doriath.

 

~*~*~

 

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief when the heavy doors of his halls closed behind them. They’d had to spend a few days longer at Dol Guldur until his healers had thought the Kinslayer ready for the journey — quicker, in fact, than they’d first thought, he healed faster than usual even after all this time in Middle-Earth.

Legolas bowed to him before pulling him into a firm embrace. He’d left his son behind to govern the realm. “It’s good to see you alive, adar,” he said. “I hear we have a guest.”

Thranduil sighed. He’d sent the bulk of the army ahead and it seemed like the news had already circulated. “Yes. If you want to call him that. I wish I knew what to do with him.” Legolas lifted an eyebrow and Thranduil smiled wryly. “I know what I want to do with him, but I’m not sure I should if I want to keep Elrond’s friendship.” (Elrond had been there with the other members of the White Council, why hadn’t he found him, damn him!)

Thranduil dismissed his soldiers before he went to his study and let Legolas, over a glass of wine, tell him of everything that had happened while he’d been gone. They were still struggling with the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies and the shifts in government in Dale and the Lonely Mountain but Bard was a sensible man and even though Thranduil hadn’t grown any fonder of dwarves, he had to admit that Dáin Ironfoot was not the worst choice for the King under the Mountain. Things were very slowly moving towards an agreeable balance.

“What are you going to do with the Kinslayer?” Legolas asked after they’d talked about the battle at Dol Guldur.

Thranduil sighed and refilled both their glasses. He wanted to lock him up in his deepest cell and throw away the key. He wanted to parade him before the survivors of Doriath and Sirion. He wanted to personally whip him until his strength ran out.

“Write Elrond,” he growled. “And tell him to take him off my back or live with the consequences.” He took a large gulp of wine. “How I wish your mother were here.”

Legolas squeezed his arm. “I miss her too. So much.” He took the glass from Thranduil’s hand and put it down on the table. “Don’t drink too much, will you?”

“Sometimes you sound like her.” Thranduil kissed his son’s cheek. “Alright, I won’t call for a second bottle. I need my wits about me anyway when I write that letter.” ‘Dear Elrond,’ he thought. ‘I have found something of yours, come and get him.’

 

Maglor felt weak. The days being carried on a stretcher through the forest hadn’t helped his wounds. But the healers had told him he would be up soon. Even the deep gash in his lower leg that he’d been worried about would be mended without him retaining a limp.

He was still not completely sure that this wasn’t an illusion. Sauron had played with him often, making him think for weeks and months that he’d found a way out, that he was back with his brothers, with his cousins, with everyone he loved. But this time it felt different. It wasn’t anything that could have been taken from his memories, for one. He sat up when Thranduil entered the room he’d been given.

“I’ve written to Elrond,” the king said without preamble. “I’ll soon be rid of you and you can be among people who will view you more favourably. I think that will be the best for everyone.”

Maglor felt like the floor had been pulled out from under him. “Elrond,” he croaked with trembling voice. “No! Please! I can’t bother him like this.”

“You’d rather face my ire than be with your foster son?” Thranduil asked giving him an incredulous look.

“He’s not,” Maglor whispered, swallowing a sob with difficulty. “He’s not my son, and we both know it. I tore him from his parents and he only thought to love me because he was a child and needed the love of someone.”

Thranduil huffed. “Good luck convincing him of that.” Something complicated happened behind those steel blue eyes, Maglor thought suddenly they looked almost gentle. “He loves you. He has tried to find you for two ages. And now I have found you and you will have to deal with the fact that he sees himself as your son.” He sounded almost cheerful at the notion and Maglor grimaced.

“You are sure you don’t want to punish me properly instead?” he asked. His heart was still racing. He could not face Elrond! He’d hidden from him out of shame at first and then because he was sure that the love between them had all been an illusion… and then Sauron had found him instead. He could not face him!

Maglor wondered what truly stupid think he could do to ignite the king’s anger and make him recall the letter. He opened his mouth to say something unforgivable about the Kinslaying of Doriath — a lie, but one that would hopefully have the desired effect — but a healer interfered by saying sternly from the door.

“My king, you are upsetting the patient. I respectfully ask you to leave.”

“The letter is sent,” Thranduil said to Maglor. “And you will meet Elrond, whether you want it or not.”

Maglor trembled for a while after Thranduil had left. Somehow the king had found the one thing he dreaded -- and hoped for -- most in the world. Lying here and waiting for the moment that was inevitable now when he had to face Elrond’s hatred or love — and he wasn’t sure which would be worse — was the harshest punishment Thranduil could have thought of.

 

~*~*~

 

Thranduil stopped short when he saw Maglor standing before the tall oak that marked his wife’s grave.

“What are you doing here?”, he snapped at the Kinslayer who turned around startled.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he bowed awkwardly, still hampered by his injuries. “The healers thought I was well enough and could use a little exercise. I did not mean to interfere in anything private.”

“Well, you have,” Thranduil said crossly. Everyone knew he liked to be alone when he visited Luiloth’s resting place. Clearly no one had thought to inform the Noldo of that. He needed to have a stern word with the healers to not let him wander around unsupervised — he was still a prisoner, if he was better, he might put him in prison after all.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Maglor said softly.

Thranduil nodded curtly. “You’ve lost someone too, haven’t you?” he found himself saying despite his best intention to stare the Kinslayer down until he slunk away. “Finrod?”

A light went out in Maglor’s eyes. “Yes,” he answered. “How…”

“You took me for him the first time you woke — maybe you don’t remember, you weren’t quite yourself, I think — I just had a hunch that he might have been more than a cousin.” Thranduil heard his own voice grow more gentle.

“We were partners. It was complicated, but yes, we loved each other.”

“Complicated… Yes, I can imagine.” Thranduil touched the grave-marker gently. “Does it…” He coughed. “Does it ever get easier. The longing. The pain.”

“With time?” Maglor shook his head. “Never. The hole in my heart is as big as on the day I had news of his death.”

They stood silent for a time and Thranduil felt a strange community with the Noldo. They’d both lost the companion of their heart. So long he’d thought of the Fëanorions as faceless monsters without feelings. But Maglor felt.

“If I may ask… How did she die?” Maglor said so quietly that Thranduil could have convincingly acted as if he hadn’t heard.

“In childbed. Something went wrong, she wouldn’t stop bleeding.” Thranduil couldn’t stop the tears from running down his cheeks. “I couldn’t protect her, I couldn’t save her. I was powerless while she died in my arms.”

“I’m truly, honestly sorry,” Maglor said and laid his hand on his shoulder.

Thranduil tensed but didn’t pull away from the touch. Maglor’s hand was warm and comforting. Thranduil wiped his cheeks and looked up at Maglor.

“How can someone who seems like such an empathetic person, do a vile crime like the Kinslayings?”

Maglor let his hand fall from his shoulder and stepped back. “We had sworn an Oath and there came a time when we had nothing left but the importance of fulfilling that Oath.”

Thranduil found that he missed the warmth of Maglor’s hand on his shoulder and berated himself. This was the elf who was responsible for his mother’s death!

“I don’t understand it.” But for the first time he found himself wanting to understand. “All this for a jewel?” The thought struck him that he had recently gone to war over a treasure too. But not against elves, never that!

Maglor shook his head with a hard laugh. “I couldn’t have cared less about the Silmarils. For my father, whose dying wish it was to hear us swear the Oath again. For my little brother who died in the flames at Losgar. And later for my other brothers. We’d condemned ourselves to the Void, if we didn’t fulfil our Oath. If reclaiming only one of them could save my dead family from that fate… how could I turn away from that?” Maglor’s eyes burned with a light that was long lost from this earth as he held Thranduil’s. “But the Void, it is not the Outer Darkness, not for me. With my deeds, I brought the Void to me. Emptiness and loneliness. Everyone I once loved is dead or gone across the sea where I can never follow.”

Thranduil felt his heart ache and melt for this lonely elf. “But Elrond is still alive…”

“And happiest far away from me! I bring darkness with me wherever I go. And I deserve to never see him again.”

Something clicked into place in the puzzle that was this elf. “You punish yourself by staying away!” Thranduil realised.

“I had not much choice in the matter recently," Maglor snapped.

“But before that. You think you don’t deserve him.”

“And do I? Wouldn’t you be the first to agree that I don’t deserve any happiness, Thranduil of Doriath?”

Thranduil slapped his face, hard. Maglor gasped and blinked startled at him.

“Don’t make this about me!” Thranduil hissed furiously. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt Elrond by vanishing? You might not deserve him, but he loves you and he deserves to find you.” He realised belatedly that his deep, old rage had drained away — for now — when he heard Maglor speak of his doomed family. He was angry for Elrond’s sake now, not his own hurts.

 

Maglor touched his stinging cheek, his body tingling with shock. He’d been hurt in so many ways during his captivity, but somehow this simple slap hurt in a much deeper way. He crumpled to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and sobbing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to cause him pain. I can’t do anything right, can I? Of course not, I’m doomed. I wanted him to live his own life, without having to worry about me, and maybe forget the unreal love that was. And I’m a coward. I’m so afraid to see him.” He stopped his rambling when Thranduil pulled him to his feet.

“You’re a fool. And you need something to drink. Me and you both. Come on.” Maglor let Thranduil drag him back inside.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you at your wife’s grave,” he whispered with shaking voice.

“Oh, shut up!” Thranduil pushed him through a door into a room that turned out to be his living room. “She wouldn’t want me to leave you alone in the state you are in,” he mumbled, then: “Sit.”

Thranduil pointed at a plush looking chair and opened a bottle of wine that stood ready on the table. The strong wine warmed Maglor from the inside and calmed him down. He wiped the tears off his face.

“Elrond is really coming?” he finally said.

“At least I wrote to him and if I know him at all then yes, he will come.” Thranduil met his eyes. “Why?”

“I just wonder… You hate me. I just thought… you aren’t telling me he’s coming to get my hopes up only to watch my heart break when he doesn’t show up?”

“You’ve been Sauron’s prisoner for much too long,” Thranduil mumbled. “It’s for him, not for you. And also for myself.” Thranduil emptied his first cup and refilled it instantly. “There’s temptation in having you here in my power and knowing what things I could do to you without anyone trying to stop me.” Thranduil’s lips narrowed. “But I won’t. I wish you weren’t here and I particularly wish I hadn’t caught that glimpse into your soul you just showed me. I wish I could go on hating and not knowing you, because I find myself not hating you quite as much as before. The Void! You Noldor are really an overdramatic lot!” Thranduil huffed but Maglor could see the sincerity.

Maglor smiled wryly. “I am a poet, overdramatic is a prerequisite for that, you might say,” he dared to joke.

Thranduil’s lips twitched. “Maybe, yes.” He leaned his head back and sighed. “If Finrod had lived… would you still have done it, you think?”

Maglor closed his eyes tightly and swallowed more wine against the pain in his heart. “I don’t know. He was… my light in the darkness. After he was gone, nothing mattered to me anymore. I don’t say I wasn’t in my right mind, when we attacked, but… I also had nothing to hold me back. The Oath had become that all important thing.” He shook his head an felt the effect of the alcohol. “I really can’t say for certain. He might have managed to hold me back… or he might have not. I’m not a good person.”

“I know someone who would disagree with you. I hate that I feel inclined to at least allow the possibility that Elrond might be right about you.” Thranduil shot him an angry look. "I hate that I can understand some part of you."

Maglor very slowly reached out and took Thranduil’s hand. “Don’t leave me alone tonight, please,” he begged, when Thranduil didn’t pull away immediately. “I know I have no right to ask, but… I can’t… I… please.” He did not want to go back to his lonely bed.

Thranduil put his cup down and rubbed his face. “I’m too drunk for this.” He eyed Maglor appraisingly. “Are you asking for what I think you are asking for?”

Maglor felt his cheeks heat and it was not the heat of the wine. “Yes,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb across Thranduil’s knuckles. “I’ve been so lonely for so long. And you… What was her name?”

“Luiloth,” Thranduil said with a gentleness that broke Maglor’s heart. “She was… everything and more than I ever deserved. If Legolas had been a little older at the time, I don’t think I’d have had the strength to go on without her. But for my children and my people I had to. She wouldn’t have wanted me leaving them.” Thranduil wiped his eyes. “Ah! I must have you understand, that this is comfort for a night. There has never been anyone like her and I doubt there ever will be, even if we are not as… exclusive about marriage as you Noldor.”

“Comfort sounds very good to me.” Maglor lifted Thranduil’s hand to his lips and kissed his palm. “It is more than I expected to find here.”

“It is more than I thought I’d ever offer to you.” Thranduil caressed Maglor’s lips with his thumb. “But it feels right tonight.” He stood up and led Maglor into his bedroom.

 

Thranduil would have liked to blame it on the wine, but he knew that wasn’t it, he hadn’t even drunk that much. He was pleasantly tipsy but by no means drunk to the point where he shouldn’t make decisions as momentous as taking a Kinslayer to his bed.

Maglor was only wearing a simple robe the healers had given him and quickly undressed. He watched Thranduil with hungry eyes from where he sat on the edge of the bed while he shed his layers of state dress — he’d come from the audience for the relatives of the dead soldiers when he’d met Maglor at Luiloth’s grave.

“You are up to it?” Thranduil asked, seeing the healing wounds on Maglor’s body and remembering that he’d been unable to rise even a few days ago.

“I am.” Maglor leaned into his hand when he laid it on his cheek. “It’s nothing but a little discomfort now. Make me forget it? All of it?”

Thranduil bowed down and kissed him gently. All of it... He did not ask. “I’ll make it so you can’t think. Lie down,” he growled.

“Orders, Your Majesty?” Maglor asked with a twinkle in his eyes, but slid back and stretched himself out on Thranduil’s bed.

Thranduil would have hesitated to go there without encouragement, but as Maglor had initiated it, he saw no reason to deny him. He felt no malice towards Maglor now, this was just a little fun.

“I am king here,” he said with a wink and crawled over Maglor, caging him with his limbs. “And you are still my prisoner.” He kissed the soft skin under Maglor’s chin from throat to ear. Maglor drew a shuddering breath. “You can beg and plead as much as you want, but you are in my power. I decide what is going to happen.”

Thranduil met Maglor’s eyes to make sure this was still what the other elf wanted. Maglor’s cheeks were flushed, he nodded slightly. His voice was slightly breathless as he said: “I’m yours to do with as you please, Your Majesty.”

“You are supposed to be a great singer,” Thranduil said, slowly kissing Maglor’s scars and wounds. “I’m keen to hear how you sound when I have you at the edge — and hold you there.”

He licked Maglor’s nipple and smiled at the gasp that drew from him. Pleasant arousal tingled through his body while he kissed and licked and stroked Maglor’s skin, carefully staying away from his swelling cock. Maglor moved into his touch, eager for it, so plainly longing for more. Thranduil reached for the oil he kept in a stoppered bottle on his bedside table. Very slowly he pushed one finger into Maglor’s ass, watched him arch his back. Moaning, gasping. Thranduil smiled and bowed forward to press further kisses along Maglor’s jawline.

“Beautiful,” he breathed into his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. "You sound beautiful. Let me hear more of it."

“Please,” Maglor whimpered. “Touch me, please!”

Thranduil chuckled. He moved his finger in and out in a lazy pace and sucked on a hard, rosy nipple.

“Am I not touching you?” he teased.

“More.” Maglor writhed under him, futilely trying to bring his cock into contact with Thranduil’s skin. “Please. Please, more.” Maglor’s muscles trembled around Thranduil’s finger.

“You mean this?” Thranduil wrapped his free hand around Maglor’s neglected arousal and felt him jerk into the long awaited touch. He slid his fingers slowly over the heated skin, traced a prominent vein. His own cock throbbed at the sounds he drew from Maglor with his tender touches. “Turn around,” he ordered.

 

Maglor scrambled to obey, and rocked into the sheets that offered a little blissful friction on his throbbing cock. He was hot, his skin tingled from Thranduil’s kisses and tender caresses. He let him draw him up to his knees and spread his legs eagerly, he ached for Thranduil to fill him.

Thranduil’s hands came to rest on his thighs, spreading them a little wider. Maglor, expecting Thranduil to enter him, squeaked surprised — the sound quickly turning into a helpless moan — when Thranduil licked his balls. His tongue moved up his cleft and speared his hole and Maglor arched his back.

“Please, more,” he begged again. His hand travelled down to wrap around his aching arousal. He needed a touch, the pleasure was almost too much. Thranduil swatted his hand aside. Maglor felt him bow over him, his breath tickled his ear when he said: “Your pleasure is for me to give. Be good or I’ll have to tie you up.”

A cold shiver ran down Maglor’s spine, his muscles tensed. This was not Sauron, he was as certain of that as he could be, but still... Thranduil moved off him a little, stroking his thigh with his palm but not touching him otherwise.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. Are you alright?”

Maglor nodded shakily, not entirely sure it was true.

“I won’t bind you. It’s a game. If it stops being fun for you, it’s not fun for me either. Do you want to stop?”

“No.” Maglor turned his head so he could look at Thranduil’s face. “I’m alright. You startled me, but I’m alright. Do that again?”

Thranduil grinned and bowed forward. “You mean this?”

“Yes,” Maglor moaned when his tongue slid into him again, wet and flexible and so so good.

Thranduil’s fingers slid over his balls, caressing, tugging. Maglor screwed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead into the pillow. A string of incoherent pleas left his mouth, all his thoughts narrowed on his throbbing, aching cock — and when he thought he couldn’t take it any longer, Thranduil repositioned himself and entered him with one smooth, agonizingly slow thrust. The tip of his cock ground into Maglor’s prostate. Maglor’s sharp intake of breath was like a scream. He came, limbs trembling, muscles tensing around Thranduil’s cock.

Thranduil lowered them down on their sides. He stroked Maglor’s sweat damp hair out of his face and caressed his side while Maglor breathed in deep, shuddering breaths.

“What about you?” Maglor whispered when he had words again. Thranduil had not come, he was still inside him, filling his quivering, oversensitive passage in a not unpleasant way.

Maglor shivered when Thranduil laid his arm around his chest and pulled him closer, the motion sending a shock of pleasure up his spine.

“Let’s wait a little for you to calm down. As you’ve been naughty and came before I was done, the least you can do is warm my cock until you’re ready for another round.” The words could have held a sting, but Thranduil’s voice was gentle and light, a little teasing maybe.

“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” Maglor answered with a grin.

It was a strange feeling, being filled without being aroused, every move of Thranduil echoing through his body. He wondered how Thranduil could stand it, he didn’t think he could have restrained himself.

He dozed off under Thranduil’s gently caressing hand and woke again, he knew not how much longer, to sparks of pleasure. Thranduil seemed to have decided he’d had enough rest and was peppering his nape with kisses while tugging on his nipples. Maglor moaned and arched into the insistent fingers.

“Your Majesty,” he whispered breathlessly. The thrill of saying those words shot right to his awakening arousal. He’d played his game before, with Finrod. Finrod dressed in only his jewellery. Jewellery cold on Maglor’s heated skin. He let the memory slide away when Thranduil started to rock into him.

“Tell me I’m yours,” he croaked.

Thranduil bit his earlobe. “Mine,” he growled, punctuating the word with a sharper thrust. “All mine.”

His hand roamed over Maglor’s body. Maglor gasped when he pulled out and turned him around. He felt empty without Thranduil inside him. "Please," he whispered.

Thranduil smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not done with you."

Maglor let Thranduil bend his knees up to his chest and cried out when he entered him again.

“And you’ll remember tomorrow that you were mine. You’ll feel me there tomorrow.”

Maglor let Thranduil’s powerful thrusts wash away all thought. Thranduil came soon, shuddering and moaning, while he buried his face in Maglor’s hair and a few well timed strokes took Maglor over the edge with him. They lay linked together, hearts hammering and sweat drying between their bodies. Maglor was already half asleep when Thranduil disentangled himself and fetched a bowl of water. He did not move as he was washed gently and snuggled into Thranduil when he laid an arm around him again.

He knew he was a little drunk, drunk enough to have had the courage to suggest this — and expecting Thranduil to take more advantage of him — but not too trunk to realise how strange it was that he was allowed to lie here in the arms of this elf. He’d heard a lot about Thranduil, how unforgiving and stern he was towards the Noldor. Maglor would never have dared to enter his realm and he’d fully expected to be thrown in a cell once he was healed enough. Thranduil had been so kind to him tonight. No one had mentioned how big his heart was.

 

Thranduil woke with his nose buried in soft hair and another’s body snuggled against him. That was not too uncommon for him, he often took a lover to bed, if the longing for Luiloth grew too hard to bear, but when he opened his eyes the memory of last night came back. Maglor at his wife’s grave. Despair. Tears. A conversation and lots of wine. And an offer.

Thranduil groaned. How had past-him thought it was a good idea to fuck someone he wasn’t entirely sure he had forgiven for his crimes?

‘Luiloth, what am I supposed to do now?’ he thought and sighed. He knew what his wife would have told him.

Maglor blinked up at him and must have seen some of his doubt in his face because he said: “Do you want me to leave? I know we were drunk and…”

“No, it’s alright.” Thranduil settled back and laid his arm around Maglor. “I’m a vindictive person and part of me is not quite sure if I can really let that particular grievance go just like that. I’ve hated your family for a very long time. But I can’t hate you. Not after everything you said yesterday. So… I guess I won’t throw you into my dungeon after all.”

Maglor took his hand and kissed it, the formality of the gesture a little lost because they were both naked and in bed, but Thranduil knew how he meant it. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I would not presume that this night has changed anything and bow to your judgement.” There was nothing of the playfulness from yesterday in Maglor’s voice now and Thranduil found that he mourned that.

He shook his head. “No. We were both a little less lonely tonight because we shared something. I have seen your pain and I have been close to you and I forgive you.” Thranduil kissed his cheek. “It is just new and unfamiliar to think of you not as an enemy.”

“Thank you for your mercy.” Maglor smiled shyly. “And thank you for tonight. I hope you enjoyed it as much as me.”

Thranduil grinned, relieved that the tenseness was gone. “Oh, you can be sure I did. I know I startled you for a moment, and I can guess why. I’m not asking you to tell me, but if you need to talk to someone, there are some among my people who know. Or you can talk to Elrond, he is a famed healer.”

Maglor shuddered. “I’m not sure I’ll ever want to talk about it. And certainly not with my s… Elrond, I mean. Our relationship is complicated enough.”

“I understand.” Thranduil had noticed the slip but didn’t mention it. “Ready for breakfast? And I should probably send a message to the healers, they’ll wonder where you vanished to.”

Maglor winked at him when they stood up. “You were right, Your Majesty, I still feel you.”

“I told you so.” Thranduil slapped his buttock with a grin.

 

~*~*~

 

Elrond arrived a few days later. Thranduil guessed he’d jumped on a horse the moment he’d received his letter. He found to his surprised that he wished he’d taken a bit longer. Maglor and he had talked once or twice after their night together. Carefully, sometimes a little awkwardly. Feeling each other out. He’d teased Maglor into singing for him for real.

Thranduil could not fathom what this was between them. He’d miss him. He felt sorry for having to let him go already, but the look of pure joy on Elrond’s face when he hugged Maglor tight made up for it. Maglor would go where he truly belonged.

Thranduil saw them off when they left again for Imladris. He took Maglor’s hands in his and said: “You are not exiled from my kingdom. If you ever wish to visit, you will be received as a guest.”

“Thank you, Thranduil.” Maglor smiled at him. “Thank you for everything. I will come to visit. It would be nice to… deepen our acquaintance.” He winked at him and Thranduil grinned.

“Indeed. It would be my pleasure.”

---

Chapter End Notes

Written for Siana for My Slashy Valentine 2023