Title and Chapter Number: Sire 1/1 (Shameless Excuse for Smut)
Fandom: Middle Earth
Disclaimer: Middle Earth and the characters that live therein are not mine. Original characters (Mornfinnelle, Lianduril, Lindarion, Merliniel, Aranberald, Arandriel, Firuthelon) ARE mine. Not making any money, just doing this to amuse myself, and hopefully others.
Special Warning: Graphic Het Sex (!), Semi-Noncon
Cast: Thranduil/OFC Elf, slight Legolas/OFC Elf
Timeline: Third Age, before LotR
Spoiler: Not really, since this never happened
Summary: Thranduil demands his due.
Notes: 1. My Thrandy-Muse looks striking like Jason Isaacs as Lucius Malfoy in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. He just does superior *so* well!
2. I know Elves don't use contractions, but this is how Thrandy-Muse speaks to me, and I have to obey the King.
3. Also influenced greatly by Elisa's Sire series and Theban Band's Mirkwood.
4. I shamelessly took some names for less important characters form the Barrow Downs name generator and modified them a little. The important ones I made up myself, my heroine and her cousins, but their names were inspired by an OC of Zee's.
5. This started out as 2 separate and distinctly different dreams. I've combined them and also tried to gently introduce you to a couple of OC's that have been living in my head for a while now, Lianduril [lee an' dur il] and Lindarion [lin dar' ee on]. I hope to have stories staring them out soon.
6. Who's your Daddy?
The King of Mirkwood leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, the warm glow of the small fire in the hearth reflecting off of his velvet robe of forest green and gold, his flaxen hair hung unbound by braid or crown. He wore no adornment of station but a ring of gold fashioned in the likeness of a lion's head, and his nobility.
The elleth* lay in a deep, restorative state of reverie, as close to true sleep as elves knew. Her injuries had been severe, but her wounds healed well.
The healer trembled as he collected the last of his things from the nightstand. His voice betrayed his trepidation, "She rests, My Liege," he squeaked as he stooped to retrieve the vial he had dropped on the floor. It eluded his quaking fingers and skittered beneath the bed. It was a valuable potion and he was torn as to whether to retrieve it now, under the condescending gaze of the king, or to leave it until his next unobserved visit to his patient.
"You don't say?" the king said, one perfect eyebrow arched mockingly.
The healer stood, his vial abandoned, and bowed low to his king, "By your leave, My Lord?"
Thranduil dismissed him with a wave as he crossed the threshold and sauntered into the room. The healer made good his escape with all speed, closing the door behind him, already forgotten by the king.
Thranduil crossed to the hearth and stared into the fire for a few moments. He was deeply skeptical of the circumstances surrounding her wounding and doubted the completeness of the account he'd been given. He swirled the wine in his jewel encrusted golden goblet and gazed at it in contemplation, wondering just how it was that Legolas had been caught off guard, weaponless and separated from the rest of the party returning from Imladris.
He snorted quietly at the thought, incredulous that one of his offspring could be so foolish. He had a theory about just what that distraction had been. Regardless, she had taken two poisoned Orc arrows intended for his son.
Mornfinnelle had never before been beyond the bounds of Rivendell.
Her mother, Merliniel, had gone into the west shortly after her father, Aranberald, had been killed by Orcs while defending Rivendell's borders. Her aunt Arandriel, her father's sister, had taken the opportunity to travel across the sea with her sister-by-heart. Her twin cousins, Lianduril and Lindarion, who were a few hundred years older than her, were old enough to miss, but not be harmed by their mother's absence. Her uncle, Firuthelon, Arandriel's husband, had assured Merliniel that he would look after Mornfinnelle.
So Mornfinnelle grew up in the care of her uncle. As she matured, she avoided most typical feminine occupations, preferring to spend her time in the forest with her cousins. The ladies of the court snickered behind their hands at her, 'strange girl' they said, preferring horses and dirt to more "lady like" activities.
She adored her twin cousins with a fervor approaching hero worship. She tagged along everywhere they went, riding, archery practice, swimming, hunting. They never seemed to mind her presence, as she tended not to complain, she was afraid they'd leave her behind. For their part they doted on her, indulging her every whim. Often she was the instigator of their misadventures, even though they took the blame for her.
Possibly her favorite sport was horseback riding. She had been gifted with a swift horse by her uncle, and being lighter than her cousins and most of their friends, she could more often than not beat them when they raced. As for the archery, perhaps her aim wasn't the best, but she could put two arrows near the center of a target in the time it took most to notch one, and her accuracy from horseback was much to be admired.
Mornfinnelle had worked hard to be assigned to the guard, her cousins were very proud of her. When the delegation from Mirkwood had come to talk trade, they were part of the company sent to greet them, her first assignment.
As the formal greetings were exchanged, one of Mornfinnelle's cousins leaned close to her and told her the names of all the important dignitaries in the Woodland delegation. Mornfinnelle listened carefully and tried to remember the names, until she saw the sunlight bright visage of the elf Lindarion told her was Prince Legolas, King Thranduil's son. Then the regiment split in half to allow the delegates to pass, and closed ranks behind them for the return to Rivendell.
Mornfinnelle rode back to the Last Homely House trying every moment, around every bend in the road, to catch a glimpse of the Prince.
Every female elf - and quite a few of the male elves - in Rivendell admired Lord Elrond's twins, possibly the most exquisite examples of elvendom Mornfinnelle had ever laid eyes upon, until she'd seen Legolas. Perhaps it was his shining, golden radiance in contrast to the Twins dark, smoldering beauty that entranced her.
Mornfinnelle's duties kept her busy and away from Rivendell for most of the week that the negotiations lasted. Orc incursions had increased and she had been sent out with her cousins' detachment. She had begged, bought, but not quite stolen, to be assigned to the party escorting the emissaries back to Mirkwood.
Once they were beyond the borders of Rivendell, it had taken her all of one day to interest the Prince. Between her tight riding breeches and half unlaced shirts, his wasn't the only attention she caught, but Legolas was the only one she had eyes for.
Mornfinnelle had mercilessly teased him; bending at the waist instead of crouching, flashing him a brief glimpse of breast, licking her lips slowly while looking him dead in the eye across the fire, and once bumping into him while breaking camp and giving him a feather light grope. Legolas had had to walk his horse for some time after that, the saddle would have been excruciating.
Since then, they had stolen moments and brief kisses on the road, but in the wild they could not lower their guard long enough for any real transgression.
Now, even on the outskirts of Mirkwood, his home, Legolas was completely at ease. It was nearing dusk as they entered the wood, and Legolas and Mornfinnelle snuck deeper into the forest. The rest of the party set up camp unaware of the Prince's escape. They would camp for the night then reach the keep by midmorning.
Legolas found a secluded glade and pinned Mornfinnelle against a tree with a kiss. She brushed his silken blonde hair from his ear and gently nuzzled it. His skin tingled in anticipation, all the teasing she'd done to him making him overeager.
Legolas unlaced her shirt to her waistband. He bent, then drew his tongue along her skin from her navel to her throat, leaving a moist trail all along her breastbone. He blew gently on it, giving her goose bumps and hardening her nipples.
Mornfinnelle had Legolas' breeches very nearly open. She slid her hand into them, gently cupping his burgeoning erection.
Legolas caught his breath as her warm, soft fingers grasped him. He paused kissing her throat looked up into her face. She looked at him with wide dark eyes, biting her lip. She couldn't repress her grin. Legolas suddenly covered her lips with his own and wrapped his arms around her, dropping to the soft moss covered ground with her on top of him.
Their concentration was completely focused on each other, when they suddenly heard yelling and a great clashing of arms.
They sprang to their feet just as an Orc crashed into their hiding place. Legolas pushed Mornfinnelle behind him and reached for his blades, which he had foolishly left with his horse and baggage. They stared down the Orc who had burst upon them - it was nearly as surprised as they were - for seconds before it regained its senses, such as they were, and raised its bow to fire. In that instant, Mornfinnelle instinctively tackled Legolas to the ground and was struck in the right shoulder with a sickening thud. She did not cry out, only collapsed on top of the Prince.
He struggled to free himself and reach his boot knife without injuring her further, as the Orc notched another arrow. Legolas steeled himself for the blow, but instead the Orc's head hit the ground near his feet, its loosed arrow grazing Mornfinnelle's left calf. Seeing the Prince for the most part unharmed, the guard nodded curtly to him and leapt into the forest in pursuit of more Orcs.
Legolas extricated himself from Mornfinnelle's limp embrace and gently rolled her over, careful of the shaft still protruding from her shoulder. She'd already turned a sickly shade as Legolas lifted her gingerly and carried her back to camp.
Orc bodies littered the road. Legolas called for aid, the rest of the party having pursued the Orcs into the forest or gone after their horses. One elf returned immediately and helped Legolas remove the arrow and clean Mornfinnelle's wounds. As was to be expected, the arrows had been poisoned. As soon as his horse had been returned, Legolas mounted, held Mornfinnelle in the saddle in front of him and rode hard for home, the rest of the party trailing after as they could.
As soon as all of the escort had been accounted for, Legolas and a contingent of archers, as well as the guard from Rivendell, had been dispatched to hunt down any stray Orcs still lurking in the woods.
Now Thranduil expected to get a full account from the girl, and he felt that he had waited long enough. He upended the goblet and set it on the table only recently vacated by the healer.
Mornfinnelle started awake. An ellon* of grand stature hovered above her. Even back lit by the small fire he was glorious.
"I do not know whether I should reward you for saving my son's life, or punish you for putting him in harms way."
The only recently regained color drained from her cheeks. "But - I - "
Thranduil held up a regal hand for silence, fire sparkling from the ruby eyes of his ring. He glared at her sternly, "Mirkwood is no place for dalliance amongst the trees."
His elegant features and honeyed voice softened, "However, you have been injured in the service of my House." He sat lightly on the edge of the velvet draped bed and brushed a lock of dark hair from her forehead. "Let me see your wounds."
Mornfinnelle hesitated to obey, but Thranduil's reputation preceded him, for she had no doubt that it was none other than the King himself who questioned her. She now knew where Legolas' beauty came from, and he paled in comparison to his father. Where Legolas was blonde, Thranduil was gold; the Prince, strong, the King, powerful; the son, heat, the father, fire.
The King of Mirkwood raised an impatient eyebrow.
Mornfinnelle lowered her gaze. Unwilling to challenge him, she rolled away, onto her left side.
Thranduil raised the soft blanket from her and - to her great surprise - tenderly lifted her hair from her back. He pulled the loose neckline of her dressing gown down to survey the remnants of the arrow wound in her right shoulder blade and brushed his fingers lightly across it, raising goose bumps on her skin. "Hummmm..." he considered. "Healing nicely I see, I shall have to compliment the healer. The leg."
Mornfinnelle rolled to her right side and crossed her left leg over to extend it out from under the blanket.
Thranduil took her ankle in one hand and slid the blanket up her calf with the other, his fingers just barely brushing her skin.
She trembled at his touch.
"Painful, is it?" he asked.
"No - "
Thranduil suddenly pulled her ankle, effectively flipping her from her side to her stomach. "You will address me as 'Sire'," he said in a low, dangerous voice.
He ran his hand up her leg and under the blanket, stopping to brush a light touch across the back of her knee.
"No!" Mornfinnelle gasped.
"Ah yessss, and you *will* address me as 'Sire'." With his free hand Thranduil flipped the blanket away, her dressing gown had ridden up bearing her thighs. He continued his stroke, pushing her gown up to her waist. His hand came down upon her creamy rump with a soft 'crack'. "Do you understand?"
Mornfinnelle froze, shocked at being treated so.
"I said, do you understand?" Thranduil leaned close over her back to whisper into her ear. "You will address me as 'Sire', and you will tell me what you and my son were doing in the woods alone."
"Nothing - "
He leaned back and again laid his open hand across her backside, with slightly more force than he had used previously. "Does the Lord of Imladris brook such ill manners in his subjects?" Thranduil curled his legs beneath him and knelt between her knees. He gathered her wrists at the small of her back in one hand. "Were you doing something like this?" he asked as he slid his free hand under her to find her wetness.
Another sharp crack to her buttocks. "Yes, I think you were."
Mornfinnelle went rigid and bit her lips to keep from speaking, fearful of uttering words unpleasing to the King.
Thranduil loosened his robe with the swatting hand, opening it to reveal that he wore nothing beneath. He dipped his fingers again to the soft pleat of flesh between her thighs. "Tell me, were his caresses pleasing?"
The king didn't insist on an answer. His erection throbbed, reaching proudly towards her as she lay helpless before him. His fingers slid into her velvet depths, despite her protests her body was responding.
She moaned through her tightly clenched teeth.
"You see? This needn't be unpleasant," he said. He inched closer, until the tip of his arousal nearly touched her. For want of the use of both hands, he released her wrists.
She immediately tried to turn over, to twist away from the King's grasp. "Please, no," she begged, but her writhing raised her buttocks towards him.
Thranduil spanked her once again before securing her hips and pulling her back towards him. "Thank you, Yes." He leaned forward over her, pinning her with his weight, plunging his shaft into her. When she ceased to struggle, he raised himself slightly and thrust into her again.
"Mmmmmmmmmm, by Elbereth, you are sweet," he said, his breath caressing the back of her neck.
She whimpered loudly, the King's thick member bringing her to great heights of pleasure.
As the speed and ferocity of his thrusts increased, Thranduil leaned back on his haunches and pulled Mornfinnelle's hips back to him. He shrugged out of his velvet robe, his arms and back flexing, his skin gleaming in the firelight.
The sound of his thighs smacking against hers was barely audible over her cries of ecstasy.
Thranduil roared his release so loudly the entirety of Mirkwood was likely to have heard him.
"Sire?" Mornfinnelle called to Thranduil as he crossed to the door.
He paused and turned.
"Was that the punishment, or the reward?"
Thranduil's bellowing laughter could be heard all throughout the Keep.
*Elleth: female elf - Sindarin
*Ellon: male elf - Sindarin