Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Elrond/Thranduil/Gil-galad
Summary: What happened after Oropher took Thranduil away from Elrond and Gil-galad.
Feedback: Pretty please?
Warnings: Abuse/violence.
Oropher thrust Thranduil into the suite they had been given, stalked in after him and slammed the door heavily behind them, not caring if itwoke every other Elf in Rivendell.
Thranduil stumbled away at his father's harsh shove, regained his footing, then turned to face his father."Father-" he began.
Oropher silenced him with a firm backhand blow across the face, sending Thranduil crashing to the floor. "Don't 'Father' me!" he raged. He stalked over to where his son was slowly picking himself up off the floor, one hand to his stinging cheek, and delivered a well-placed kick to his side.
Thranduil fell to the floor once more at the harsh blow. His eyes were wide with shock and the unexpected pain. "Father, please-"
"Please?! Please?! Why should I show you any mercy at all? You consort with my enemies! You lay with my enemies! How long?" When Thranduil remained silent, he gifted him with another hard kick in the side. He watched Thranduil curl up on himself on the floor for a moment before reaching down and pulling him to his knees by a handful of golden hair. He saw the reddened cheek, the tear- and pain-bright eyes. "How. Long?" he asked again, punctuating each word with a harsh shake of the fist in his son's hair.
"Two years," Thranduil whimpered at last, his hands rising to hold the same clump of hair his father held so tightly. Why was his father doing this to him? Why couldn't he see? "Father, I love them!"
With a harsh curse and another solid backhand to the face, Oropher sent Thranduil reeling back into a wall. "Love?! You can't love them! Idiot child! And to go behind my back, to them, for two! Years!" he growled angrily, eyes flashing with anger. Then he took one deep breath, let it out slowly. Again. "Perhaps I have been too lenient with you in the past," he said quietly, almost to himself. He looked to Thranduil, saw him cowering back against the wall, away from the Elf who had, as far as he could see, suddenly gone mad. The sight of the other's fear pleased him. "I have allowed you too much freedom, too many opinions. That ends now."
"F-father," Thranduil whimpered, flinching back as the other turned too quickly. "Please, no-"
"You will give up your weapons to me. You will give up your travels, your patrols. You will stay at my side at all times from now on and learn what I want to teach you. You are my heir. It is time you learned what that means. Above all, you are never to speak of or with those two ever again."
"But I love them!" came the weak protest.
It was answered with a quick blow with a balled fist, then another and another until Thranduil lay moaning with pain on the floor, unable to do aught else. "Every time you speak of them, every time you look at them, every time you even think of them, this is what you shall get. It is for your own good. And every time this happens I want you to tell me who is responsible for your pain. Do you know who? Tell me!"
"Elron' an' Gil-g'lad," came the mumbled reply.
"Good," Oropher praised. He sat on the floor, gathered his trembling son to him, rocked him gently until the shudders stopped. He raised his son's face to his own, stared into eyes so very similar to his own. "That's right. Elrond and Gil-galad are responsible."
And so Thranduil, wings newly clipped, stayed always near to his father, who kept watch over him like some sort of predator. Every time he lost his focus, every time his eyes so much as twitched in Elrond or Gil-galad's direction, it was punished by hard blows. Every time he cursed Elrond or Gil-galad, he was rewarded. He soon grew cold toward the Elves of Noldorin descent, slowly became bitter toward them, even as he discovered in himself a new fondness for wine, precious metals and jewels. His songs were at first sad, then angry, then gone altogether as his demeanor grew more serious by the day.
By the end of the month, Oropher returned to the tent they shared to find his son tending a small wound, cursing long and hard at his former lovers as if it was they who were directly responsible for his pain. Smiling to himself, he resolved to give Thranduil some of his old freedoms back. Not many, but some. He was surprised that, when offered them, Thranduil refused the freedoms with a bitter sneer. Never again would he do anything for the sheer pleasure of it, for in his mind pleasure had come to equal pain and betrayal.
By the time Oropher was killed on the battlefield, Thranduil could not remember the love he had found in the arms of Elrond and Gil-galad, saw it instead as his father had trained him to see it; they had used him. Only that.
He had come to hate them with all that he was, and nothing and no one could convince him to do otherwise.
The End
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