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Untitled
by SkyFire
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Rating: R (o_O I actually wrote something that deserves an 'R' rating??!)
Pairings: Elrond/Thranduil/Gil-galad
Summary: What if Oropher's death wasn't the reason Thranduil disliked Elrond so much? What if it was something else? ;)

Feedback: Pretty please? I actually wrote something rated 'R'! Should I have quit while I was ahead??

Notes: 1)This takes place sometime during the last years of the gathering of the armies of the Last Alliance in Rivendell, before they set out to kick some Sauron butt. Having failed dismally to find the book(s)/resources that describe the Last Alliance and the long war (I know I have the book- I've read it before!! I just can't find it when I need it, ie. Now!), some of that part of the story might be wrong; I can only remember the generalities. Therefore I've tried to keep it vague. *shrugs* If you notice any major gaffes, let me know. Otherwise, ignore them... or let me know. ;)
2)While looking for my daily Elf-fic fix, I came to notice a complete lack of any Thranduil-slashfic. Then my rabid plotbunnies started screaming: 'We'll fix that!' And they did. Here it is. ;p
3)Title-ideas are *more* than welcome!! ;)

Warnings: o_O The pairing should be warning enough!! ;oP


Part 1

Thranduil made his way through the hallways of the House of Elrond in Rivendell, heading for what had once been the half-Elf's study, what was now the strategy-room of High King Gil-galad. Familiar by now with the twists and turns of the often confusing maze of hallways, he made his way through them with both skill and haste.

The setting sun cast its firey light through the many windows along the outside wall, painting the opposite wall in hues of red and orange and vibrant golden yellow.

The son of the Wood-Elf King was more than a little curious as to why *he* had been summoned to meet with the two, Gil-galad and Elrond, instead of his father. Oropher was the one that was in charge of the army of the Elves of Greenwood, and only seldom spoke with his son of the war and his part in it. Thranduil was glad of it; heavy matters of rulership had never appealed to him. He was at the muster both because his father had commanded his presence and also because he wanted the opportunity to kill some orcs. Preferably a lot of orcs.

At last, as the last of the day's light had faded as twilight spread across the valley, he arrived at the strategy-room door. He took a deep, steadying breath, let it out, then reached out and knocked.

"Enter," called a voice from within. Gil-galad.

Reaching down, he grasped the handle in his hand and turned it firmly. The door swung open silently upon oiled hinges. He went in, closed the door quietly behind him, then walked perhaps halfway across the room to end up near to where the large scroll-littered desk stood. Not seeing the High King at the desk, he looked curiously around the room.

Standing on the balcony just outside the study itself were both the High King and the Lord of Imladris, looking out over the valley, the last fading light of the Sun shining in their dark hair.

Elrond looked over, saw Thranduil there. He turned and spoke softly to Gil-galad, who nodded and turned to greet the Prince of Greenwood with a welcoming smile.

Thranduil smiled back. He had never truly understood why his father seemed to loathe these two so much. The past was the past, after all, and should be left there. It wasn't even these two that had done anything, but others to whom they were merely kin. Thranduil didn't see why they should be held responsible for the actions of their kin; he himself had one cousin who was quite disreputable and greedy, and would hate for someone else to label him the same merely because of an unfortunate quirk of bloodline.

"You summoned me, lords?" he asked politely, moving closer to where they stood. Try as he might, he never could keep his eyes from straying over them; their exotic coloring intriguing him. Was it perhaps also a sign of somewhat... exotic tastes... in other things as well? The thought alone made him lick his lips in want, momentarily forgetting that he was not alone in the room.

Gil-galad saw the furtive once-overs, the effect their mere appearance apparently had on Oropher's son. He smiled inwardly in anticipation. He'd just lost one small bet to Elrond; it seems that the Wood-Elf just might be interrested in Elrond's little diversion, after all. Elrond's raised eyebrow and small nod in Thranduil's direction prompted him to speak.

"Yes," the High King said, startling the Wood-Elf out of his waking dreams. "We were wondering..." he began. Then another thought crossed his mind and he stopped. "But first, a question. Have you reached your majority yet, son of Oropher?"

Thranduil frowned slightly in confusion. Why would they want to know that? he wondered. How is that relevant to the war? "I have been in my majority for nearly eleven-and-a-half centuries now."

Reassured, Ereinion Gil-galad continued. "You are aware that Elrond and I are... involved?" he asked.

Involved? What does he- Oh. Thranduil blushed to the roots of his hair. They called me here because they noticed the looks I've given them. This is their way of telling me gently that there will be nothing between us, isn't it?

"I didn't know that," he said softly, his head hanging in mingled shame and embarrassment, his partly-braided hair swinging forward to hide his face.

He never heard the footsteps that brought the other over to him, and as his eyes were closed tightly, he didn't see the other approach either. The first indication he had that someone was close was the hand that cupped his chin, raising his face into the dim light coming in from the balcony. Startled, his eyes flew open and he found himself staring into Elrond's sympathetic grey eyes as Gil-galad looked on from barely three feet away.

"We did not tell you this to hurt you, Prince of Greenwood," Elrond said softly. "To the contrary. We have noticed your long glances and dreamy eyes for some time now. We have talked it over between us and come to a conclusion that I think might please you."

"Decision?" Thranduil managed to croaked through a throat gone suddenly dry. His eyes flicked from one dark-haired lord to the other, hope and confusion running through him.

"We find you fair to look upon, Thranduil," Gil-galad said softly, approaching on silent feet to reach out and run a callused finger down the Wood-Elf's cheek. He smiled at the other's unconscious shiver, then continued, one arm wrapping gently about Elrond's waist. "We would have you join us, if you wish."

Thranduil blinked. "J-join?" he asked. He looked from one to the other, frowning in confusion even as inside he was screaming wildly with joy unhoped-for. "Which?"

Elrond chuckled softly. He looked briefly to his lover of many years, then back to the green- and brown-clad Elf in front of them. "Both," he said. Then, echoing Gil-galad, he added, "if you wish."

A smile spreading slowly across his face, Thranduil nodded. "I wish," he said. "But how? I know not even how to act with only one, let alone two-"

Gil-galad chuckled, reaching out his free arm to pull Thranduil to him, holding him even as he did Elrond. "We will be more than happy to show you."

Thranduil nodded silently as he leaned into the High King's broad chest, feeling Elrond's shoulder brush up against his own, feeling acceptance radiating from both older Elves, feeling also something else, something he couldn't identify, but thought he might come to like.

At last, though, Elrond struggled free of the High King's embrace, straightened his robes. "It is nearly time for the evening meal," he said by way of explanation.

"But-" Thranduil said intelligently as Gil-galad released him.

"First, we eat," Ereinion said firmly. Then he winked. "We shall all need our strength before the night is through!"

Thranduil blushed again. This is unbelievable, he thought to himself. I haven't blushed so much since I was a small Elfling!

"I-" Thranduil said.

"He is right," Elrond said with a wicked grin, eyes flashing. "After the meal, all go their separate ways. Ereinion and I usually meet in my bedroom perhaps an hour after the meal is done. I don't think I have to warn you to use discretion?"

Thranduil shook his head. One hour after the meal, he though to himself, the thought becoming a mantra that repeated endlessly in the back of his mind.

Gil-galad smiled as he herded the two other Elves to the door. Just as they were leaving the room, he took the opportunity to whisper conspiratorily in Thranduil's ear. "Be sure you eat well. Elrond can be very... creative in these things. You will need your strength."

Thranduil swallowed dryly, then followed along behind the two as they walked down the hallway toward the dining hall.

Creative... a small voice in his mind whimpered in anticipation.

His leggings suddenly felt far too tight.


Part 2

Thranduil walked quickly down the hallway, his booted feet making no sound on the floor as he passed. He was careful not to be seen as he made his way through the House to where he knew Elrond's rooms were.

It was nearly two hours after the end of the evening meal; his father had insisted on speaking with him after the meal, about nothing of importance. Thranduil could honestly say that he couldn't remember a single word that his father had said, or what he had said in those brief moments when he was required to speak. All he heard in his head was the neverending mantra, 'One hour after the meal. One hour after the meal. Onehouronehouronehour.'

Hearing someone approaching from down the hallway, he didn't bother to knock as he silently opened the door, blessing the Valar that the half-Elf kept his bedroom door as oiled as the door to his study, then closed it again behind him. Briefly, he lay his head against the cool, carved wood of the door, his heart still racing at the near-discovery.

A low, drawn-out moan came from further in the room, followed quickly by soft gasps for breath and unfamiliar wet sounds, as well as the sound of bodies shifting on sheets.

Blushing darkly, Thranduil took the time to carefully lock the door before turning to see what he had walked in on.

He had known, in the back of his mind, that chances are they wouldn't wait for him. He knew as well as they that the passing of even so short a time could have brought to him a change of heart and mind, leading to him not going to them at all.

He walked toward the bed, silent as the Wood-Elf he was, and stood beside it, looking down at the two who were still oblivious to his presence. Wide green eyes took in the sight of both Elf-lords, the moonlight that poured in the now-closed glass balcony-doors shining gently on the bare skin of both nude bodies.

Gil-galad lay full-length on his back in the middle of the bed, his head thrown back, star-bright eyes rolled up in pleasure, mouth opened, his strong chest heaving with the harsh gasps for air, his back arched. Both hands were buried in the half-Elf's dark tresses, fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically.

Elrond knelt between Gil-galad's spread thighs, his strong hands rubbing up and down the other's strong thighs and legs, as his mouth....

Thranduil's eyes widened. So that's where the wet sounds are coming from, he thought as he silently watched the half-Elf's head bobbing up and down, apparently much to the delight of the High King. Then apparently the half-Elf did something else, causing one of those delicious moans to issue from Gil-galad's throat.

Elrond, busy pleasuring his lover, was still aware enough to hear a faint whimper and mark it as coming from neither himself nor Gil-galad. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye showed him Thranduil standing there beside the bed, eyes wide, unconsciously licking his lips, swallowing convulsively, watching avidly. Amused grey eyes also noted that the front of the Prince's tunic wasn't quite long enough to hide the fact that the Wood-Elf was very affected by the scene before him.

Gently, he let Ereinion's shaft slide from his mouth, looked up the bed to the flushed face of his long-time lover, smiling internally at the other's disappointed whine. "We have company, love," he said, nodding his head toward the blushing Thranduil.

Face still flushed and sweaty from yet-unreleased pleasure, Gil-galad turned his head to look to the side of the bed, for the first time noticing that he and Elrond weren't alone. His quick eyes scanned the younger Elf, coming to the same conclusions as Elrond. He smiled in welcome. "Thranduil," he said. He saw a shiver run its way through the other's slender body. "We feared you would not come tonight."

"F-father wanted to t-talk," the Wood-Elf stuttered. "About... something."

"Was it important?"

Thranduil looked sheepishly to the two nude Elves on the bed. "I don't know. I didn't hear a word he said. All I could hear was a voice in my head telling me when I was supposed to come here."

Elrond chuckled. "And here you are."

Thranduil nodded. "Here I am," he agreed. He paused. "Now what?" He gestured helplessly. "I don't know about... I don't see how... What he was doing... What was he doing...? I..." He trailed off, face even redder than before at his inability to express clearly what he meant to say.

Gil-galad smiled gently, lifted a hand from where it had fallen to the bed when Elrond moved. He held it out to Thranduil. "Come over here," he said softly, sitting up on the bed, pulling his legs beneath him.

Thranduil took the strong hand in his own, allowed himself to be pulled gently onto the bed. He sat there between Elrond and Gil-galad, feeling awkward and out-of-place. What would these two great and mighty Elf-lords want with someone like him?

He tensed up at the first touch of Elrond moving along his back, the half-Elf's hands coming around him to slowly trail over his chest, slowly undoing the row of small buttons that fastened his tunic up the front. Gil-galad claimed one of his feet, unlaced the leather boot and drew it off, then moved on and did the same to the other. His boots were pulled off at the same time as Elrond slipped the Wood-Elf's tunic from him, dropping it carelessly to the floor beside the bed.

Thranduil moaned in pleasure as Gil-galad's strong hands set about massaging his feet, even as Elrond sucked one of the Prince's earlobes into his mouth, hands making quick work of Thranduil's shirt. One slender hand slowly slid down the Prince's flat stomach to cup the swelling at his groin even as the mouth moved on to the sensitive point of his ear and the hands at his feet spread their massage up his calves.

Elrond heard the sounds Thranduil was making, smiled to himself as he trailed a line of light, licking kisses from the Elf's ear down his neck and along his bare shoulder, even as one of his hands gently rubbed the hardness between the other's legs, his other hand gently plucking at the laces. Once those were loosened, he sensed Gil-galad slowly pull the leggings off, drawing a shudder from the Prince, as well as another pleased moan as his aching hardness was freed of its constraints.

New pleasure assaulting him from everywhere at once, Thranduil suddenly realized that while he had been floating in the new sensations, his clothing had magically vanished. He tensed briefly, but was unable to remain so against the determined caresses of his two new lovers.

Lovers, he thought silently to himself, his excitement and anticipation finally overruling his fear. I have lovers. They will teach me.

He saw Gil-galad knee-walk closer to him, saw him raise a hand to him. The hand ran slowly down his face, over his hair, then gently cupped the back of his neck. The thumb moved in soothing strokes as the High King leaned forward and ever so slowly slowly brought his lips to meet Thranduil's.

The first kiss was naught but a brush of lips against lips, as was the next, snd the next. When Thranduil no longer showed signs of being spooked by the kisses, the other added a small swipe of his tongue to the other's lower lip.

Thranduil stiffened at first, but Elrond's hands soothed him as they ran over his body, the half-Elf's body a warm presence at his back, kisses gently pressed over his neck, across his shoulders.

Within the hour, Thranduil was liplocked to Gil-galad, both trying their utmost to put their tongues down each other's throat.

Elrond watched his lovers kiss, then decided it was time he had some fun. Slowly, he moved from his position behind Thranduil, letting Ereinion gently lay the Prince down on the bed on his back, even as Elrond slithered down the Wood-Elf's body to kneel between the other's slightly spread thighs.

Thranduil's gasp of surprise was swallowed by Gil-galad's hungry kiss. He could feel the High King's callused hands running over his torso, sending shocks of pleasurable sensations through him. But it was Elrond who caused him to gasp. So this is why Gil-galad was so distra-aaaAAA-cted when I came iiiiIIIIn.

Needing to gasp for air even more than he wanted to kiss, Thranduil pulled back from Gil-galad's kiss and focused what little thought he had left on what the Half-Elf was doing to him. One of his hands strayed down to twine in Elrond's dark silky locks of hair, even as his hips unconsciously strained upwards, trying to bury himself deeper into the pleasurable heat that was the Half-Elf's throat. He was vaguely aware of Gil-galad leaving his side, moving to kneel behind Elrond. Sounds of pleasure came from Elrond, the vibrations awakening pleasures in Thranduil that he had never experienced in even his most creative moments alone with his hand.

Barely able to focus, Thranduil looked down the body of the half-Elf in time to see Gil-galad pull his fingers from- Did he just have his hand up Elrond's...? And Elrond liked it? The thought confused him, but he couldn't focus enough for it to take hold. He could only watch, dazed with pleasure, as Gil-galad carefully moved up behind Elrond and- Did he just...?? He winced. That must hurt!

But the sounds coming from Elrond were anything but unhappy. In fact, he sounded quite pleased with the situation, even more so when Gil-galad began to move his hips...

In no time at all, Thranduil was treated to such enthusiastic suckling from Elrond that he could no longer hold back his release. With a shout of joy and pleasure, he thrust up violently into the Half-Elf's mouth and came hard.

His cry was echoed by both Elrond and Gil-galad as the sound of Thranduil's pleasure-cries sparked their own and they came as well, Gil-galad pouring his essence into the willing body of his lover, Elrond's bursting forth onto the sheets.

They lay there together for a long moment, sucking in huge gulps of air, Elrond's head pillowed on Thranduil's belly, Gil-galad covering Elrond's back, their sweat mingling and drying on them.

At last, though, they had to move. More than half the night had passed as they lay together, and Thranduil had to return to his room before the dawn broke.

Elrond and Gil-galad watched silently as Thranduil pulled on his clothes, laced and buttoned everything the way it had been before, though he could do nothing about the wrinkles they had acquired during their stay on the floor.

"I'll come back tomorrow," Thranduil said softly as he laced up his last boot. He looked over at his lovers, brief uncertainty shining in his eyes. "If you want me...?"

Elrond smiled. "Of course we want you. You know the time we meet."

"One hour after the evening meal, here," Thranduil said. He grinned. "Tomorrow, I want you to show me how to do... what you did to me... with your mouth. I want to know about that."

Elrond blinked, then grinned back, nodding. "I will."

Thranduil looked to Gil-galad. "And I want you to tell me what you did to him tonight."

Gil-galad nodded even as slight blushes appeared on both the older Elves' faces, much to Thranduil's amusement.

Then Thranduil gave each Elf-lord a hurried but passionate kiss before he hurried from the room, slipping unseen back to his chambers to rest.

Inside Elrond's bedroom, the two curled up together under the soiled sheets of Elrond's bed, and went to sleep.


Part 3

Thranduil did show up in Elrond's bedroom promptly at an hour after the evening meal on the next day, and the day after that, and the next, and the next, for the next couple of years.

During that time, he discovered that what Gil-galad had said that first evening was frighteningly accurate; Elrond did have a creative streak. Surely he himself would never have thought of the thing with the silk rope, the chandelier, the sliced apple and stolen featherduster. Or the thing with the silver manacles and the....

During the day, Elrond and Gil-galad were focused entirely on the war and the muster. Now, everyone was assembled, the plans hammered out mostly to everyone's satisfaction, and they were due to leave for Mordor in two days.

During the night, the two were equally focused, but this time the object of their attention was not the war but each other and their Wood-Elf lover of two years.

Thranduil was happy. During the day, he joined with the patrols that rode around the valley, occasionally skirmishing with bands of orcs, defending the borders of Imladris against intruders. During the night, he lay with his lovers in Elrond's bed, sharing the pleasures he had been taught or thought up himself, sharing with his lovers the simple joy that seemed to be lacking more and more during the day as the date of the march out grew nearer.

It was on that night, a mere two days before the combined armies of Elves and Men were to set out from Rivendell, that things came to an abrupt and unexpected end.

Oropher had awakened during the night, perhaps four hours before dawn, and found himself unable to get back to sleep. Getting up out of bed, he pulled a robe on over his sleeping clothes and tied the sash firmly at his waist. He pulled on a pair of low boots after deciding that perhaps a walk in the gardens might be what he needed to relax him enough so that he could once again seek his rest.

Leaving the rooms he had been granted, Oropher walked through the hallways, wandering aimlessly, keeping an eye out for a door that led out into the gardens.

It was sheer bad luck that found him wandering down the hallway outside of Elrond's rooms at that most inopportune time.

Passing down the hallway, he was startled to hear obvious sounds of pleasure coming from behind the Half-Elf's closed door. He frowned at it in displeasure. Didn't that Half-Elf know there was a war about to happen? Surely, even a mere half-bred runt like him would know that such things were inappropriate at a time like this? Why, even his son Thranduil knew better! Having felt the paternal urge to check up on his son before leaving him alone, Oropher had peeked into Thranduil's room and seen him lying, like always of late, with the blankets drawn up over his head, curled up facing away from the door.

As if the thought of his son had caused him to appear, Oropher suddenly heard his son's voice. It was almost as if he was standing right beside him, speaking to him. But why would he be saying-

"...Harder! Ai! Harder! More! Ai, Elbereth!!!" The voice rose then into an unmistakable shriek of pleasure.

Oropher's eyes widened. For a long moment, he froze, unable to do anything but listen as his son's voice floated out to him from inside the half-bred runt's bedchamber.

"Ai! Gil-galad! Please! Elrond! More!!"

Gil-galad? Elrond?

Oropher's eyes narrowed, even as a red haze fell over his vision, placed there by the sudden rage that surged through him.

Gil-galad?! Elrond?!

No.

Inside the room, the three on the bed looked up in shock as the door was kicked in, suddenly and without warning.

Oropher's rage only intensified upon seeing the scene set before him. His son, that he had thought safely asleep in his room, was kneeling on the bed between the two older Elves, and obviously used to being there. Gil-galad knelt behind him, hands at the Wood-Elf's slim hips, obviously buried deep inside him. Elrond knelt before him, mouth still stretched wide about the hard flesh in it. Thranduil held what looked to be a feather in one hand, his other hand still buried in Elrond's hair.

Thranduil paled upon seeing his father there, paling even further upon seeing the rage that coursed through him.

Oropher leveled a glare at his son that could have melted mountains. Instantly. "Get. Out. Of. There. Now."

"But, Father-"

"Now!!"

Faced with parental wrath, Thranduil moved to obey, the other Elves aiding him. Elrond released the wilting flesh in his mouth, even as Gil-galad pulled himself free with a slight sucking sound. Thranduil slid silently from the bed, then pulled on his discarded clothing, moving to stand beside his father.

Oropher glared at the two Elf-Lords on the bed. "Stay away from my son," he growled, eyes snapping with angry fire. Then he reached out, grabbed Thranduil harshly by one arm and hauled him ungently from the room.

***

The next time the two saw Thranduil was the day of the march, and then they only saw him from a distance. He did not carry his customary weapons, nor did he ride with the warriors as he had told them he planned on doing. Instead, he stayed within six feet of his father at all times, in his father's retinue. He kept his face downturned most of the time, something that was unheard-of with him, and he only rarely spoke, never sang.

The reason for the downturned face was seen by Elrond when Thranduil apparently forgot himself for a moment as they entered a small wood. He cast his head back, the first smile in days coming to rest on a face that was both bruised and battered. A sharp word from Oropher was enough to take away what little joy Thranduil had managed to find, and his face was swiftly lowered again, the brief smile gone without a trace.

Elrond and Gil-galad saw no more of their lover for the rest of the march, and once the armies had arrived at their chosen battlefield, the forces from the Greenwood kept to their own camp, apart from the main forces.

They didn't see him again for the rest of the war. Even after the unfortunate death of King Oropher of the Greenwood, they did not see him; he sent a representative to their war-councils and summonses, instead remaining in his own encampment, shunning all others.

It was only after the final battle had been fought, and Sauron's body destroyed, that Elrond, wracked with new, deep grief at the loss of his long-time lover Gil-galad, met once again with Thranduil, the new King of the Greenwood.

Elrond looked up from the ashes that littered the ground, the only remains of Ereinion Gil-galad, to see Thranduil standing across the ashes from him.

"Thranduil," he croaked in greeting, voice choked with tears.

Thranduil didn't answer him, merely stared, eyes flicking between the ashes and Elrond. Then his lip curled in a sneer, and he spit onto the ashes.

"He got what he deserved," he spat. "Too bad you live still, half-breed."

With that, Thranduil turned on his heel and left, gathering to him the remnants of the decimated forces of the Greenwood, and left the battlefield for home.

Elrond just sat there in shock and grief until a little voice in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like Gil-galad's, spoke to him.

'You must see the One Ring destroyed,' it told him. 'Or his death will have been for nothing, and the loss of Thranduil as well. All the deaths here will have been for nothing if the One Ring survives this.'

Slowly, for the first time truly feeling the weight of every one of his many years, as well as the new weight of his responsibility as keeper of Vilya of the Three, Elrond pushed himself to his feet and staggered away in search of Isildur, he who had the Ring.

The End

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