Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.

Feedback: Please!

Warnings: BDSM. Be warned--this is a very naughty fic. I am a bad person and I promise I'll be spanked later (and hopefully often).

A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc (and yes, I know, it is getting entirely out of hand.) Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused and to miss inside jokes.

Glorfindel had long suspected some ulterior motive behind Thranduil's visit to Lorien. That had not been a difficult to surmise, as anything else would have been out of character. He had been prepared, however, to accept the king's story, especially with the dwarf's evidence, at face value, as even the ruler of Mirkwood could not fail to be moved by such a tale. Thranduil's odd reluctance to come to the point in recent discussions had also been explained, as he was waiting to see if his spies could locate the dwarf again, having lost her after hearing only part of her story. Glorfindel agreed that Thranduil's reputation would have almost insured disbelief had he not produced some type of proof; it was difficult enough to accept as it was.

His suspicions had all been raised again, however, by the king's apparently casual advice that Elrond be brought from Imladris to assist with the medical side of things, should anyone actually be recovered. Celeborn had looked impassive, but then, he usually did. The length of time he took to answer, however, made it clear that he, too, had his doubts. Thranduil and Elrond were no longer actually enemies, as the last five hundred years had seen a gradual lessening of tensions between the two kingdoms following his long ago diplomatic assignment. But no one could call them exactly friendly. Elladan had visited Thranduil's court on his coming of age and had apparently made a good impression, but for Thranduil to actually request Elrond's help in anything . . . well, it was odd. Celeborn at length agreed, however, having no good reason to refuse, and the meal came to an end shortly thereafter. Glorfindel lingered as the others filed out, intent on finding out what nefarious plans Thranduil might have in mind for Elrond.

The king looked well, he thought, attired unusually for him in blue, all velvet and sapphires and delicately wrought mithril adornments. Glorfindel had marveled at the richness of Thranduil's attire since he arrived, as the king had dressed much more plainly in his own land, but he seemed to be making extreme efforts to look enticing in Lorien. Of course, Glorfindel reflected, he sometimes forgot how intimidating the Golden Wood could be to those not intimately familiar with it. Not that he seriously thought Thranduil was unsettled by much of anything, but perhaps the adornments were a way of evening the score a bit; in effect, he was saying that Mirkwood may not be as attractive as Lorien, but it, too, has points of beauty. One of which was currently regarding Glorfindel with a little smile on his face.

Thranduil tipped the bottle in his hand slightly in Glorfindel's direction, but he declined. It was always best to be clear headed when dealing with the king. It was also necessary to employ a little deviousness. "I congratulate your people on locating the dwarf. Her evidence will be most useful in finding this mine."

"They should never have lost her in the first place," Thranduil replied, leaning against the mantel and regarding Glorfindel through half closed eyes. They had eaten in Celeborn's library. It was thought best to discuss these events in private, as their nature was sure to inflame the passions of the entire elvish community should they become generally known. Besides, nothing was as yet proven. Thranduil had explained that the humans had captured a dwarf who was raiding their supplies and those of his people who lived near the borders of Mirkwood. They had turned her over to his agents at his request, and recounted the tale she had told her gaolers of a mine run by goblins and orcs where captured peoples of all races, including some elves, laboured unceasingly. His spies had thereafter lost the little creature, but at length caught her again after drugging a wineskin that they left unattended near a house she had recently raided. They had swiftly brought her to Lorien so that the king's story might be substantiated.

Glorfindel had been pleased with the setting for their discussion, as the library was one of his favourite places in all of Lorien, containing written treasures from ages past as well as some of the most intricate wood carvings he had ever seen. It was impossible to tell where, exactly, the walls of the talan began and the trunk of the huge mallyrn ended, as all were engraved with vines, flowers and scenes from Lorien's history. The huge fireplace was virtually the only thing in the room that was not made of some type of wood. The library was cavernous, as Celeborn had amassed quite a collection, but it seemed suddenly much smaller than before, despite the fact that only he and Thranduil remained. The king looked casual, leaning against the stones as he drank his wine, the firelight glimmering off the jewels at his neck and those embroidered into the fabric of his robe and turning his hair to purest silver.

Glorfindel did not like the way Thranduil's eyes roved over him, and wondered if anyone had explained about he and Elrohir. He supposed he should have mentioned it, but it had been Celeborn who introduced his grandson to the king, and as he made no mention of the relationship, it would have been awkward for Glorfindel to do so. It also seemed difficult to bring it up now, as it was more than a bit of a non-sequiteur, and Thranduil had yet to make any type of advance. Still, Glorfindel felt the weight of that gaze on him, and shifted slightly. Only Thranduil could manage to make him feel young and somewhat uncertain. He noticed that the king's smile had grown somewhat bigger, and wondered what the price for the information he wanted on Thranduil's plans was likely to be.

       

Elrohir had just finished a very unsatisfactory meal, practically alone as, although people had surrounded him on all sides in his grandfather's banqueting hall, he had known practically none of them. Celeborn, Erestor, Thranduil and Glorfindel were all dining together, apparently on "state business" which did not require his input. Even Gildor and that annoying Haldir had gone missing, although Orophin, as usual, had been at his side the whole meal. Elrohir had almost given up trying to get rid of him, as nothing seemed to work. He had settled for simply ignoring him.

Elrohir finished eating early as, although the food was excellent, his appetite was poor, and he escaped from the hall as soon as he could. He was intent on finding Glorfindel even if it meant interrupting an important diplomatic discussion. He had hardly seen his lover in days, which had certainly not been his intent on bringing him along. Besides, he thought in high irritation, he had been trained in diplomacy, too, and by Elrond of Imladris at that. So why shouldn't he be there? He wasn't some elfling who could not be trusted to keep quiet about a sensitive matter. The more he thought about it, the more incensed he became that he had been so casually excluded. He was as much his father's representative at Lorien as Glorfindel, even if he was actually less familiar with it. But how was he supposed to become knowledgeable if no one ever allowed him to observe?

By the time he made his way to his grandfather's library, he was quite distressed and his colour was up. Just outside the door was a sight calculated to send his blood pressure even higher. Orophin, propped against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, smiled gently at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Do what?" Elrohir couldn't imagine how the annoying Galadrim had reached the library before him, as he was certain he had left him behind, still eating, in the hall.

"Go into the library. Of course, it is your decision, but don't say I didn't warn you." Elrohir glowered at him, not the least because Orophin's eyes had started to wander over his body as they were prone to do.

"Get out of my way."

Orophin shrugged and moved aside, clumsily knocking into the door as he did so. How this one had ever made it onto the border patrol was a mystery; he had probably slept his way into the position, Elrohir thought in disgust. He slowly cracked open the door to avoid interrupting any discussion that might be going on, as his grandfather's displeasure was not something to be risked unnecessarily. He almost immediately had to put a hand to the wall to keep himself from falling over. Time seemed to stop--he couldn't even feel his heart beating anymore--and he started to grey out. Strong arms pulled him back and quietly shut the door. He was helped along the hall and out into the cool night air, which did absolutely nothing to revive him. He barely registered its presence. "Breath," a voice commanded him, as his head was pushed between his legs. He was going to be sick, he knew it, yet nothing happened as he sat on what felt like an overturned log, and tried not to faint.

After a few minutes, the world began to coalesce around him again and he sat up. He and Orophin--of course, he thought resignedly, who else?--were in a small glade. The great talan could be seen only a little way away, but the surrounding trees gave this area a feeling of privacy. Elrohir vaguely realised that Orophin was talking. " . . . inevitable, really. I mean, everyone knows about their affair--how else do you think the fences were mended between your realms? But I didn't know how to tell you. I wasn't certain that you would even mind. After all, many would be pleased with whatever crumbs someone like Glorfindel was willing to allow them."

"What?" Elrohir still felt disoriented, and could not quite believe what he had just seen. But the image was seared onto his eyes, and even when he shut them, there it was. Thranduil, his beautiful body nude and glowing in the firelight, and Glorfindel, holding him in a tight embrace . . . he WAS going to be ill.

"Relax," Orophin's voice soothed him, as a gentle hand caressed his hair. "I am sorry you had to find out this way, but you would have discovered the truth sooner or later. Isn't it really better to know?"

Elrohir wanted to scream that no, it most certainly wasn't. But hadn't he already known? Hadn't he suspected as much from the first time he saw them together? The sun and the moon, he had thought then, and what was he? Nothing, nothing at all in comparison. He tried to tear away from Orophin's grasp, as he couldn't let someone, especially this arrogant Galadrim, see him lose control completely. But strong arms held him tightly and calming noises were made, and Elrohir suddenly didn't want to leave this warm embrace. Where was he to go, anyway? Back to his cold rooms, or to Glorfindel's, which would be equally empty? He didn't think he could bear that, not when it felt like his heart was being literally torn from his chest.

Orophin was running a light touch down his back, but, for once, it did not feel sensual. Instead, his hands were soothing and sympathetic, and Elrohir found himself leaning into them gratefully. Slowly, the touch became a caress, and the arms around him tightened as Orophin drew him into a kiss. It was soft and gentle at first, and Elrohir was surprised to find himself warming to it, especially when Orophin slipped between his lips and began exploring his mouth. Here was someone who wanted him, who had wanted him since they first met. Elrohir hadn't wanted to admit it, but there was something alluring about Orophin's feline sexuality, and the grace and controlled power of his movements.

Why not, he thought suddenly. Why should he be the only one in a cold, empty bed this night--it was obvious that Glorfindel would not be. So Elrohir did not protest when Orophin began to slowly slide his robes from his shoulders, pausing to explore with his lips the areas revealed. He said nothing when Orophin suddenly stood and divested himself of his own robes, just noticing in a detached kind of way that the moonlight on his skin was attractive, and was so bright that, where it fell through a gap in the treetops, it lit him almost as well as day. His arousal was obvious, as was his languid smile. "Lle naa vanima, Elrohir," he murmured, slowly removing the rest of Elrohir's clothes. "I have waited a long time for this."

       

Glorfindel broke away from Thranduil, his heart racing. As usual in the king's presence, he was feeling slightly off kilter. He had not been expecting his companion to suddenly put down his wine and, as if some type of invitation had been offered and accepted, simply let his robes fall to the floor. He should have known never to underestimate Thranduil, but the quickness of the king's actions left him momentarily stunned, and the feel of that satin skin on his brought back some very attractive memories. Thranduil lost no time in capturing his lips, and Glorfindel briefly returned the kiss, his arms going automatically around him to pull him closer. Thranduil tasted of the wine, dark and sweet and burning, and he was good; Glorfindel had forgotten just how good . . . A second later, however, he broke away, remembering that his actions were no longer solely his to decide.

Besides, he didn't want this, he told himself, as he retreated to the far side of the room, trying to put some much needed space between himself and the beautiful creature who pursued him. Thranduil waited until the bank of windows behind him stopped Glorfindel's retreat, then followed. His approach was slow enough that Glorfindel had ample time to admire his perfect body, now clad only in his shimmering jewels, as he came closer. "Why do you run from me, melethron?," Thranduil asked, reaching out to run a hand down Glorfindel's brocaded robe. "Your body disagrees with you, I think," he commented, as his hand located the evidence of that fact.

Glorfindel drew away and turned to look out the window, trying to get himself under control before anything excessively foolish happened. It was in that moment of confusion that he saw them, lit up as if on a stage by Ithil's light, clearly visible from this far above the parting in the trees. He stood, rooted to the spot, hardly breathing as he watched Elrohir, who he had designated as mela en' coiamin, leaning against a fallen log, his head thrown back in seeming rapture as one of the Galadrim took him into his mouth.

Glorfindel felt Thranduil's hand on his back, as the king came to stand behind him. "You see," he murmured, "some elves know what the night is for. Come," he coaxed, his arms going about Glorfindel to pull him close, "let us see if we old ones remember, too, hmm?"

Glorfindel could barely hear him through the rushing in his ears, which sounded as if a violent windstorm had suddenly blown up. His vision seemed to narrow, to the point where all he could see was the two figures in the glade, the one on its hands and knees golden fair next to the dark beauty of his lover. HIS lover, Glorfindel thought savagely. All of his high sounding conversations with Erestor about letting his young companion stretch his wings a bit and gain some experience went out the window as a violent shudder shook him. He shrugged out of Thranduil's hold and left the room, not bothering with the stairs but instead sliding down a support cable to the ground below.

       

"The Valar preserve us!" Haldir had taken advantage of Gildor's insistence on checking up on the dwarf to slip back to the library, intent on retrieving the bottle of truly excellent wine he had seen there for his planned evening's entertainment. Almost at the door, he managed to step nimbly out of the way as it crashed open and Glorfindel came barreling out, a look on his face unlike any Haldir had ever seen. It told him as certainly as if someone had screamed it that his brother had about two minutes left to live.

Abandoning caution and good sense, Haldir took off after Glorfindel, managing to arrive in the little glade just in time to see the enraged Elda grab Orophin by the back of the neck and lift him entirely off the ground. His brother, not inconsiderable in height or weight, dangled from Glorfindel's grasp helplessly, a ridiculously dumbfounded expression on his face. Orophin's lack of clothing and obvious arousal told the tale without any need for words, which was just as well as neither he nor Elrohir looked capable of speech at the moment.

"Glorfindel, no!" Two voices rang out, almost simultaneously, and Haldir's head whipped about to see Thranduil and Lord Celeborn stride into the glade behind him. Noting that their command had not even registered on Glorfindel, Haldir moved forward to be ready in case more active interference was needed. Elbereth, but he hoped it wouldn't be, as he saw with dismay the fury that had turned Glorfindel's usually bright blue eyes virtually black.

"Put him down, seneschal, and explain yourself!" Celeborn's tone of voice was close enough to a shout to break through Glorfindel's rage. Orophin was dumped unceremoniously on the ground, where he sat, still apparently in a state of shock, his eyes fixed on the wicked looking knife in his assailant's hand. Haldir hadn't even noticed it, but now his blood ran cold. He gingerly reached out to take it, but almost as if by magic, it was suddenly gone. A second later he noticed the edge of the carved hilt sticking out of the top of one of Glorfindel's boots. Haldir didn't wait for permission, but dragged his dumbstruck brother out of harm's way.

"Perhaps we should discuss this indoors," Thranduil offered mildly, and Celeborn nodded once, tersely.

"All of you, in the library, now!," he stated, before turning and stalking back to the talan. Haldir saw a look pass between his brother and Thranduil then, almost one of warning on the king's part, but had no idea what it meant. Gathering up Orophin's scattered garments, he thrust them into his brother's arms. "Get dressed," he ordered, keeping an eye on Glorfindel.

The fiery light was fading from Glorfindel's eyes, and he looked like someone just awakening from a trance. "Lle wethrine amin," he said softly, but he was not addressing Elrohir as Haldir would have expected. Instead, the words were spoken to Thranduil, who merely sighed.

"For your own good," the king commented, equally strangely from Haldir's perspective. He had the definite feeling that he had missed something, but frankly did not want to know what it was. At the look that passed between the Eldar, however, he shivered. He was profoundly grateful not to be King Thranduil.

The scene that followed in the library wasn't pretty. After a considerable dressing down by Celeborn, Orophin reluctantly admitted that he had been drawn into a plan by the king of Mirkwood to separate the two lovers. Haldir closed his eyes in embarrassed disbelief at Orophin's complete lack of judgment. Sometimes it was difficult to believe that they had the same parents. He was vastly relieved when Celeborn decided to blame the whole affair on Thranduil, but his lord addressed the king in terms that made Haldir sincerely wish to be somewhere else. The least of them was "irresponsible troublemaker," and it went on from there. Thranduil sat quietly throughout the tirade, neither attempting to comment nor visibly reacting. Even his skin tone stayed the same, except for a slight flush that could be blamed on the wine he had poured himself. It was, Haldir noted regretfully, the bottle he had planned to nab for his and Gildor's enjoyment. When Celeborn finally wound down, Thranduil still seemed unconcerned.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?," Celeborn thundered.

"Only that you will regret this, Celeborn," Thranduil replied, looking undisturbed. There was a thread in his tone that sent a chill down Haldir's back, however, and the king's peculiar half-smile didn't help. Haldir thought suddenly that he was also very grateful not to be Lord Celeborn. He reflected on the honest, loving, beautiful creature who waited for him in their rooms, and a bolt of love and desire flashed through him. Ah, Gildor, he thought fondly, how I will please you tonight!

A moment later and the object of his affection burst into the room, ending what had become a very uncomfortable silence. "She's gone!," Gildor announced, highly agitated. "Elwyyda's disappeared!"

A/N: The translations for the elvish phrases follow.

Lle naa vanima--You are beautiful.
Mela en' coiamin--The love of my life.
Lle wethrine amin--You deceived me.

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