The King of Ossiriand

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~After a long, tiresome journey Thranduil is reunited with his father.~

oOo

"Oropher" (Tom Canton, the Witcher)

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"Oropher" (Tom Canton, the Witcher)



The King of Ossiriand

The journey continued. They saw no trace of Fëanor's sons, no orcs, no dangerous animals in the forest. The injured elves slowly got better until most could walk themselves and that made the others' burden lighter.

During the days, Thranduil walked alone and in silence, trying to repress his growing anxiety over the upcoming reunion with his father. Aerneth went in Galadriel's company, seemingly in a good mood, chatty and otherwise normal, but during the nights when she lay in Thranduil's arms she often cried silently. He held her, hoping just being there was enough. He did not know what else to do. He knew from experience there was no way to ever get over the trauma of killing someone. Not completely.

One night, she crawled unusually close, slipping a hand under his tunic to rest it on his chest. "I need you," she breathed against his neck. "I want to think of something else."

He understood what she asked for and glanced around uncomfortably. The camp was small and there were people everywhere. "We cannot; not here. But as soon as we–"

"I want you now." She slowly moved her hand lower.

He swallowed thickly, lust blossoming within him almost painfully. It had been a long time since they slept together and he was just an ellon, after all. He was not hard to persuade.

It became the strangest, most gentle lovemaking they ever shared, and completely silent. They were fully clothed; she only nudged his pants down an inch and pulled her dress up, wrapping a leg around his hips to take him in. He slid his finger over her outer parts as they rocked back and forth at an excruciatingly slow pace, freezing at the smallest sound from the vicinity, kissing with their tongues intertwining in half-open mouths to minimise sounds.

Normally, going that slow would have made it take ages until either of them reached completion. Thranduil enjoyed doing it hard and fast, pushing deep, making Aerneth writhe and gasp and seeing her become unravelled before him, and he knew she preferred it that way as well. But that night it was perfect. Sweet and tender, intimate in a way they both needed.

After abstaining for so long, Thranduil's climax became both powerful and prolonged, flowing through him in languid waves.

The next morning Galadriel gave them rather strange looks, and with a mingle of embarrassment and amusement, Thranduil realised others must have either heard or guessed what they did despite their precautions. Either way, Aerneth and he did not repeat the act again that journey.

oOo

When they were about halfway to Ossiriand, the lack of food became a growing problem. In the attack of the colony the stores had burned down, and when the approaching orcs made Círdan and Gil-galad unable to return the refugees had also lost the promised supplies from the island. As a consequence they had only been able to bring very little to eat.

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