hobbit/hp 04 - In Places Deep (Thranduil/Harry)
PREVIOUS HERE
No one seemed to have noticed that I purposely left out one Dwarf at the end of the last chapter. Book-readers, don’t spoil it for anyone else :P
This should have been done sooner, but I am trying to get ahead for Loki month. I’m 3 prompts down, out of 7, so I’m not doing too bad. Enjoy this one anyway!
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Words: 3,357
Chapter 04
Admittedly, fucking against a tree wasn't the most comfortable of places to do 'it', but Harry wasn't about to put a stop to things. Instead, he dug his teeth into the meat of Thranduil's shoulder; biting hard enough to taste blood when the Elf gave a particularly accurate thrust that shoved him hard enough against the trunk of the tree that Harry knew he was bleeding. The rest of the time, he'd throw his head back, losing himself in the feeling of fullness and the burn that accompanied the first few moments of being stretched and then later the ache in his lower back, as he crept closer to an end, even as his belly and groin demanded more.
Harry put thoughts of how much it would hurt to lie flat tomorrow out of his mind, focusing instead on the here and now, on how Thranduil's hands squeezed around his upper thighs, the Elf's strength holding him up easily as Harry clung on with one arm around his neck and the other thrown up above his head to claw at the bark of the tree. Sometimes, he'd bite into his own arm, using the pain to push back his orgasm, not wanting it to end yet; it was too soon, it was still today and until it was tomorrow Harry didn't want to think of anything other than 'faster, harder, more'. The trunk of the tree was rough, bark scraping at his bare back, but Harry hissed lightly as each thrust pushed him back and up against it and as Thranduil's grip pulled him back.
Pressed flush, chest to chest, the heat of their bodies mingling, the pain didn't seem so important.
Noises weren't important either. A ward Harry had cast would alert them to any interfering spiders and their weapons were on the ground by their feet. There were plenty of Elves close by (but not too close) that could help if they were attacked, only a shout away. The raven's chatter had grown familiar to Thranduil in the past months, and he ignored its voice, not listening to its words, as it cawed frantically above their heads. He listened instead to the noises Harry made for him. Soft panting breaths against his cheek, low groans for more against the base of his throat, harsh cries, voice rough with desire as he threw his head back, screaming it to the sky; they were what Thranduil listened to. He heard the slap of flesh against flesh, Harry hissing as his back rubbed against the bark, his own growls as he thrust furiously into his mate, but it was Harry who heard the clapping of running feet across uneven ground.
His eyes narrowed, as both hands moved to hold on to Thranduil's shoulders. He considered stopping, but when nothing came towards them and his ward didn't making his skin burn in warning, Harry pushed the sound from his mind. Maybe it was the sound of his heart beating or his blood rushing through his ears, or perhaps it was Thranduil's pulse, jumping at the base of his throat?
And then they came stumbling out of the underbrush, a ragged group of web-covered Dwarves. Their clothes were torn, their faces dirty, and a couple of them were only standing because someone else was holding them up. The tallest was at the front, cutting his way out of the trees with an axe in each hand. They grumbled and moaned amongst themselves, something about 'food' and 'hungry' and 'voices, where? Oh, there!'
They seemed more disorientated than Harry was to see them, but the Dwarves' eyes passed right over the naked couple. Harry should have stopped Thranduil, but he didn't. Instead, he clutched him tighter with arms and legs as the coiling in the base of his belly tightened and then released: he came with a soft cry, humming into the Elven-king's hair which had fallen across his face. Flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes, the colour of molten silver, peeked out through the strands of blonde; a pale mouth opened and snapped shut again a second later, teeth grinding as his own orgasm washed over him. Harry felt him come, and clenched around the other's cock, milking it for all it had. As the King regained his breath, slumping forward so their foreheads were pressed together and they were chest to chest, Harry glanced around him (half obstructed by one pointed ear) to smirk at the group of suddenly staring Dwarves.
His attention, however, was caught by the lone figure who hovered at the very back of the group. He was shorter than the others, with curly hair and pointed ears, and tiny, child-sized hands that twisted anxiously in front of his stomach twining a gold ring between his little fingers. He looked like a child, but his face was that of an adult, and Harry had never seen the like of him before.
The Wizard nudged Thranduil aside without a word, merely turning his head to encourage the other to pull away. He leaned around the Elf, green eyes wide and staring straight at the blushing creature. "What are you?"
Thranduil jerked away as if Harry's words had hurt him. Unconcerned by his nakedness, he pulled away and apart from his fea, crouching down to snatch his sword from the ground. The Elven-king held it out before him, threatening despite the condition he had been found in, and he snarled soundlessly as his eyes swept over the Dwarves, as if searching for one in particular.
Harry ignored them both. Let them have their moment, he decided, far more interested in the flustered man (child? thing?) before him. He bent down for his wand before straightening, moving slowly towards the unwelcomed party. With a nonchalant wave of his wand he had re-dressed himself and Thranduil, calling their clothes back from wherever he had sent them earlier. "Was that rude?" He asked, half-smiling. "Sorry, but I've never met one of your kind before. Are you half-Goblin?" Harry through of Professor Flitwick, who had been about the same height but far more usual looking.
"No I most certainly am not!" The creature looked properly scandalized. The tall one still stared hatefully at Thranduil, joined by several of his kin (though the younger ones were more interested in Harry), but for a moment his eyes flickered towards Harry, a frown on his face, before darting back to glare at the intruders. "I am a Baggins of Bag End, and I thank you never to call me a Goblin again! How ill-mannered of you!" He huffed, crossing his arms after tucking the ring away in a pocket of his torn waist coat.
"But what are you?" Harry asked again, because for the life of him he couldn't guess.
"He is a halfling," Thranduil answered, voice soft and steady, to match the look of complete calm that had crossed his face once he had walked within arms reach of Harry again. "Guards!" He called, glancing behind the Dwarves as several 'ting' noises reverberated through the forest: the sound of arrows notching against tightly drawn string.
"What?" Harry laughed as he turned to his lover. "Really? What for?"
"Trespassing," Tauriel answered him as she emerged between two trees.
The she-Elf had a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, both aimed at a different Dwarf. Legolas was quick to join her, attached at the hips as they were, and then several more Elves appeared. Each was quick to round up a Dwarf, though each looked at the Hobbit in confusion, especially after he puffed out his chest and muttered at the ground, "I am not half of anything, thank you kindly. I am a Hobbit, though not as much of a respectable one as I used to be!"
"Trespassing?" Harry glanced between the Dwarves and the scattered Elves, eyes wide. "Trespassing? I thought you said Istari come through here sometimes? And the men from Lake-Town? And other Elves?"
Legolas and Thranduil shared a look, one that Harry had fortunately (for their sakes) missed as he grew louder in his questioning. Each Elf wanted Harry to stay, and neither was above telling the odd white lie to make it happen, and so close to the six-months agreed expiring, neither were eager to tell Harry about the Dwarf in their dungeon who had claimed to be travelling with an Istari. Not just any Istari, but Gandalf the Grey, second greatest Wizard in Middle Earth. It was only one day: what magic could Gandalf have conjured in one day to send Harry home, especially since Gandalf hadn't actually been there? And Gandalf wasn't with the party now either, Thranduil had earlier noted with relief, tension quickly melting from his shoulders the longer the Wizard stayed unseen.
"Of course they do," Thranduil agreed diplomatically, choosing only to half-address the issue. "But not Dwarves."
"That's ridiculous. What if I had said I didn't want to stay with you because you were an Elf, huh? That I'd rather have stayed in Lake-Town or I don't know anywhere else because I didn't like pointy ears? I'd sound stupid and petty, that's what. Just like you sound now!" He would have chastised the King in Sindarin if Harry had known enough of it to form a paragraph, but as it was he was forced to use Westron. The Dwarves gaped, some of them even stumbled about in surprise, and the Hobbit looked horribly scandalized. The Elves were almost used to Harry calling each of them out whenever they did something he didn't agree with, but never before had he so publicly scolded their King. Legolas on the other hand was laughing.
Thranduil thought about it, eyebrows furrowed and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. What was the likelihood that these ones knew the one he had arrested? And if they did, of these Dwarves actually knowing that there was another of their company in his dungeons? Or of Harry going to search for him? What harm could it do now, now that it was too late for Harry to take back his promise and without the Istari there to help him at any rate? It could only make Thranduil look merciful and kind, wise and accepting; all traits that Harry found pleasing in his lover whenever the King deigned to display them.
So he nodded his head, a deferential tilt towards Harry that had the Wizard's cheeks flushing at the giggles the Elves couldn't suppress. The Dwarves tried to shift closer together, bumping into their Elven guards at each attempt, until with a soft command in Sindarin the Elves stepped away silently. They disappeared back into the forest, all but Tauriel and Legolas, to re-join the others still singing in the clearing. When they were no longer surrounded, most of the Dwarves relaxed a little: the elder ones only looked even more suspicious.
"Follow me," Thranduil commanded. His voice was like silk, soft and smooth, but there was an undercurrent to it that the Dwarves didn't want to test. So, like when Lord Elrond had offered them food, the company followed.
Harry reached out to link his arm with Thranduil's, no longer needing to be asked, or told, or motioned. It was habit now, that when the King walked his Consort walked with him. It was comfortable too, the warmth against his side, Thranduil's other hand enclosed over his own, pressing it against the curve of the Elf's elbow; it was secure. It was probably stupid but it made Harry feel wanted and welcome, and not at all un-manned like he had thought it might. Legolas walked behind them, to the left of his father, and occasionally he glanced back at Tauriel who had taken up the position of rear-guard. Two Dwarves in particular seemed awfully interested in the Silvan Elf, though she looked as equally exasperated as they did awe-struck. The blond one with the braided moustache was less so than the dark haired one, but even he couldn't keep his eyes from widening every time they met hers.
They wandered the way Harry had once been shown, through the forests and the trees, beneath their willowy branches and climbing vines and through trunks that had grown tall and bare and twined together above their heads like towering gates. Oak leaves coated the ground like a carpet, crunching beneath their feet as they stepped around and over stones, heels clacking against the cobbles that lay half-buried; the path through Mirkwood.
Harry could have travelled it in his sleep. His late night wanderings had become common-place in the realm and Thranduil had almost grown used to the idea that Harry wasn't trying to escape Mirkwood, but rather discover more of it. He still sent Noruinivon though, and as Harry's personal guard the Elf couldn't complain about the duty; it was far better than guarding angry Dwarves in the dungeons in any case. But the company of 'guests' had never come this way before, having only travelled as far as the clearing and before that, from the looks of them, into an Acromantula's nest. They were fortunate not to have been eaten, though they were worse for wear, and they were more fortunate still not to have been run through by the guards before coming across the King or his, far more compassionate, soulmate.
Gasps of awe were hard to smother, despite the sour looks worn by Dwarves who would rather remain unimpressed. The Hobbit, however, made no attempt to seem displeased. He glanced above his head with wide eyes, enraptured by the trees that had been bleached white by the sun (before the darkness came down from the north), the leaves and branches like vines and ivy curling up its trunk rather than hanging out over them, like intricately carved staffs. He laughed as butterflies landed upon his nose and then fluttered away, more and more of them the closer they came to the hidden palace's entrance. Harry watched him with a smile, eyes sad as he thought of the same expression on James' face the first time Harry had shown his baby Prongs.
"He seems nice," Harry murmured.
Thranduil and Legolas glanced over their shoulders at the Hobbit. "they're supposed to be very well mannered, but also not known for travelling. I wonder why he's here?" Legolas asked, eyes bright with curiosity. For all of his years, he was as much of a child to the Elves as James was to Harry. Tauriel was only a little older, and even she looked curious, listening to the Dwarves as they talked amongst themselves to discover what she could. Mostly, they spoke of how hungry they were.
They led the party along pathways and down stairways carved from the roots of great trees, and hardened earth and stone beneath the forest floor that made platforms and levels of the palace. When at last they stopped before Thranduil's throne, red satin and velvet cloths draped across the seat and over the back for comfort, and effect for it made the great antler's that decorated it look all the more impressive, Legolas and Tauriel offered short bows, though the she-Elf then dropped to one knee, her hand on Kili's shoulder to encourage him to do the same. Thranduil sprawled across his throne, one leg bent at the knee and kicked across the other so that he could rest an elbow upon it, while the other casually lay over the arm rest. Harry handed him his oaken staff, and Thranduil held it across his lap, waiting until each Dwarf was on his knees before him before he spoke.
"Welcome," he told them, voice echoing loudly throughout his throne room. The guards that had waited behind raised their heads, turning as one to stare at the Dwarves from behind their face-plates and helmets. He continued, with a sly smile on his lips, "to the halls of the Woodland King."
XXX
Beneath the halls of the Woodland Realm there was a dungeon. In that dungeon, currently resided on Dwarf by the name of Thorin Oakenshield. It was his party and his kin that were currently being shown to the dining hall, forgoing a bath or rest in favour of the food and drink each of them so desperately desired.
It was Thorin and his company who had been travelling with Gandalf the Grey, and it was this same company who had been left behind at the edges of Mirkwood by Gandalf (who had suddenly found himself needing to be elsewhere). Thorin had, unfortunately, been separated from the others after Bilbo had freed them all from the spider webbing, lost in the confusion of the battle. He had stumbled, half-blind in the darkness, and so, so hungry he thought he could actually taste food in his mouth, chewing on the ends of his hair and the beads just for something (anything at all) to eat. Thorin had stumbled into a party of Elves, out hunting spiders or Dwarves: they didn't discriminate when it came to trespassers in their woods. They had brought him to their King, fed him lembas bread as he waited and quenched his terrible thirst with their own water-skins.
And then Thorin Oakenshield laid eyes upon the great Elven-king. The very same one who had turned his back, and his army, on Thorin's people so long ago, who had abandoned them in their time of need, and who had helped the surviving men of Dale rebuild but had ignored the plight of the Dwarves of Erebor for a century afterwards.
His anger couldn't be tamed by his full stomach. The thirst that no longer plagued him was replaced by a burning fury in his belly and this itching in his throat that made him want to scream and scream until he was hoarse. So, scream he did. He vented his fury on the placid King, who watched with a pale face and one eyebrow raised in amusement, and when Thorin was done, when he was suddenly out of verbal anger, (though always still angry) and had sunk to his knees in defeat, Thranduil waved him away.
"To where my King?" One Elf had asked softly, even as he took hold of Thorin's upper right arm with a grip tight enough to leave marks.
"The bathing rooms," Thranduil had responded, with another negligent wave of his hand, "and feed him while you're at it."
It was then that Thorin had damned himself, by cursing the Wizard who had led him into this mess in the first place. With a mutter of "when I get my hands on Gandalf" followed by grumbles in Khazadul that the Elves could not understand, Thorin's destination changed from the bathing rooms to the dungeons.
As he was dragged from the halls, protesting loudly, demanding his freedom, and cursing the Elves to Mandros and back and Thranduil in particular, he heard the King whisper, "Do not let Harry see him."
Who Harry was, Thorin didn't know and he hadn't seen anyone other than the same group of Elves that had dragged him there in the first place, but he was very interested in meeting him. Whoever Harry was, if Thranduil didn't want them to meet, then it would obviously benefit Thorin for such a meeting to occur.
It had only been a day and a night since he had been imprisoned. He kept quiet, ate what he was given for he would need his strength to break free and continue on through Mirkwood in search of his kin, and neatened his braids for that was a matter of pride, which Durins had mountains of (no pun intended, for he actually had no mountain to speak of yet). But on that second night, (perhaps he was going crazy already, perhaps the spiders had poisoned him and he was hallucinating.... perhaps he was dead and about to greet his brothers in Mahal's halls?) Thorin would have bet the treasury of Erebor that he could hear Dwarves singing of his homeland above his head, in the halls of the Woodland King.
XXX
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This was horribly hard to write. I don’t even know why, but if it’s shit don’t tell me? Also, yeah, I lied. This chapter was shorter than I thought it would be so there’ll be more chapters than I thought…
No one seemed to have noticed that I purposely left out one Dwarf at the end of the last chapter. Book-readers, don’t spoil it for anyone else :P
This should have been done sooner, but I am trying to get ahead for Loki month. I’m 3 prompts down, out of 7, so I’m not doing too bad. Enjoy this one anyway!
* * *
Words: 3,357
Chapter 04
Admittedly, fucking against a tree wasn't the most comfortable of places to do 'it', but Harry wasn't about to put a stop to things. Instead, he dug his teeth into the meat of Thranduil's shoulder; biting hard enough to taste blood when the Elf gave a particularly accurate thrust that shoved him hard enough against the trunk of the tree that Harry knew he was bleeding. The rest of the time, he'd throw his head back, losing himself in the feeling of fullness and the burn that accompanied the first few moments of being stretched and then later the ache in his lower back, as he crept closer to an end, even as his belly and groin demanded more.
Harry put thoughts of how much it would hurt to lie flat tomorrow out of his mind, focusing instead on the here and now, on how Thranduil's hands squeezed around his upper thighs, the Elf's strength holding him up easily as Harry clung on with one arm around his neck and the other thrown up above his head to claw at the bark of the tree. Sometimes, he'd bite into his own arm, using the pain to push back his orgasm, not wanting it to end yet; it was too soon, it was still today and until it was tomorrow Harry didn't want to think of anything other than 'faster, harder, more'. The trunk of the tree was rough, bark scraping at his bare back, but Harry hissed lightly as each thrust pushed him back and up against it and as Thranduil's grip pulled him back.
Pressed flush, chest to chest, the heat of their bodies mingling, the pain didn't seem so important.
Noises weren't important either. A ward Harry had cast would alert them to any interfering spiders and their weapons were on the ground by their feet. There were plenty of Elves close by (but not too close) that could help if they were attacked, only a shout away. The raven's chatter had grown familiar to Thranduil in the past months, and he ignored its voice, not listening to its words, as it cawed frantically above their heads. He listened instead to the noises Harry made for him. Soft panting breaths against his cheek, low groans for more against the base of his throat, harsh cries, voice rough with desire as he threw his head back, screaming it to the sky; they were what Thranduil listened to. He heard the slap of flesh against flesh, Harry hissing as his back rubbed against the bark, his own growls as he thrust furiously into his mate, but it was Harry who heard the clapping of running feet across uneven ground.
His eyes narrowed, as both hands moved to hold on to Thranduil's shoulders. He considered stopping, but when nothing came towards them and his ward didn't making his skin burn in warning, Harry pushed the sound from his mind. Maybe it was the sound of his heart beating or his blood rushing through his ears, or perhaps it was Thranduil's pulse, jumping at the base of his throat?
And then they came stumbling out of the underbrush, a ragged group of web-covered Dwarves. Their clothes were torn, their faces dirty, and a couple of them were only standing because someone else was holding them up. The tallest was at the front, cutting his way out of the trees with an axe in each hand. They grumbled and moaned amongst themselves, something about 'food' and 'hungry' and 'voices, where? Oh, there!'
They seemed more disorientated than Harry was to see them, but the Dwarves' eyes passed right over the naked couple. Harry should have stopped Thranduil, but he didn't. Instead, he clutched him tighter with arms and legs as the coiling in the base of his belly tightened and then released: he came with a soft cry, humming into the Elven-king's hair which had fallen across his face. Flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes, the colour of molten silver, peeked out through the strands of blonde; a pale mouth opened and snapped shut again a second later, teeth grinding as his own orgasm washed over him. Harry felt him come, and clenched around the other's cock, milking it for all it had. As the King regained his breath, slumping forward so their foreheads were pressed together and they were chest to chest, Harry glanced around him (half obstructed by one pointed ear) to smirk at the group of suddenly staring Dwarves.
His attention, however, was caught by the lone figure who hovered at the very back of the group. He was shorter than the others, with curly hair and pointed ears, and tiny, child-sized hands that twisted anxiously in front of his stomach twining a gold ring between his little fingers. He looked like a child, but his face was that of an adult, and Harry had never seen the like of him before.
The Wizard nudged Thranduil aside without a word, merely turning his head to encourage the other to pull away. He leaned around the Elf, green eyes wide and staring straight at the blushing creature. "What are you?"
Thranduil jerked away as if Harry's words had hurt him. Unconcerned by his nakedness, he pulled away and apart from his fea, crouching down to snatch his sword from the ground. The Elven-king held it out before him, threatening despite the condition he had been found in, and he snarled soundlessly as his eyes swept over the Dwarves, as if searching for one in particular.
Harry ignored them both. Let them have their moment, he decided, far more interested in the flustered man (child? thing?) before him. He bent down for his wand before straightening, moving slowly towards the unwelcomed party. With a nonchalant wave of his wand he had re-dressed himself and Thranduil, calling their clothes back from wherever he had sent them earlier. "Was that rude?" He asked, half-smiling. "Sorry, but I've never met one of your kind before. Are you half-Goblin?" Harry through of Professor Flitwick, who had been about the same height but far more usual looking.
"No I most certainly am not!" The creature looked properly scandalized. The tall one still stared hatefully at Thranduil, joined by several of his kin (though the younger ones were more interested in Harry), but for a moment his eyes flickered towards Harry, a frown on his face, before darting back to glare at the intruders. "I am a Baggins of Bag End, and I thank you never to call me a Goblin again! How ill-mannered of you!" He huffed, crossing his arms after tucking the ring away in a pocket of his torn waist coat.
"But what are you?" Harry asked again, because for the life of him he couldn't guess.
"He is a halfling," Thranduil answered, voice soft and steady, to match the look of complete calm that had crossed his face once he had walked within arms reach of Harry again. "Guards!" He called, glancing behind the Dwarves as several 'ting' noises reverberated through the forest: the sound of arrows notching against tightly drawn string.
"What?" Harry laughed as he turned to his lover. "Really? What for?"
"Trespassing," Tauriel answered him as she emerged between two trees.
The she-Elf had a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, both aimed at a different Dwarf. Legolas was quick to join her, attached at the hips as they were, and then several more Elves appeared. Each was quick to round up a Dwarf, though each looked at the Hobbit in confusion, especially after he puffed out his chest and muttered at the ground, "I am not half of anything, thank you kindly. I am a Hobbit, though not as much of a respectable one as I used to be!"
"Trespassing?" Harry glanced between the Dwarves and the scattered Elves, eyes wide. "Trespassing? I thought you said Istari come through here sometimes? And the men from Lake-Town? And other Elves?"
Legolas and Thranduil shared a look, one that Harry had fortunately (for their sakes) missed as he grew louder in his questioning. Each Elf wanted Harry to stay, and neither was above telling the odd white lie to make it happen, and so close to the six-months agreed expiring, neither were eager to tell Harry about the Dwarf in their dungeon who had claimed to be travelling with an Istari. Not just any Istari, but Gandalf the Grey, second greatest Wizard in Middle Earth. It was only one day: what magic could Gandalf have conjured in one day to send Harry home, especially since Gandalf hadn't actually been there? And Gandalf wasn't with the party now either, Thranduil had earlier noted with relief, tension quickly melting from his shoulders the longer the Wizard stayed unseen.
"Of course they do," Thranduil agreed diplomatically, choosing only to half-address the issue. "But not Dwarves."
"That's ridiculous. What if I had said I didn't want to stay with you because you were an Elf, huh? That I'd rather have stayed in Lake-Town or I don't know anywhere else because I didn't like pointy ears? I'd sound stupid and petty, that's what. Just like you sound now!" He would have chastised the King in Sindarin if Harry had known enough of it to form a paragraph, but as it was he was forced to use Westron. The Dwarves gaped, some of them even stumbled about in surprise, and the Hobbit looked horribly scandalized. The Elves were almost used to Harry calling each of them out whenever they did something he didn't agree with, but never before had he so publicly scolded their King. Legolas on the other hand was laughing.
Thranduil thought about it, eyebrows furrowed and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. What was the likelihood that these ones knew the one he had arrested? And if they did, of these Dwarves actually knowing that there was another of their company in his dungeons? Or of Harry going to search for him? What harm could it do now, now that it was too late for Harry to take back his promise and without the Istari there to help him at any rate? It could only make Thranduil look merciful and kind, wise and accepting; all traits that Harry found pleasing in his lover whenever the King deigned to display them.
So he nodded his head, a deferential tilt towards Harry that had the Wizard's cheeks flushing at the giggles the Elves couldn't suppress. The Dwarves tried to shift closer together, bumping into their Elven guards at each attempt, until with a soft command in Sindarin the Elves stepped away silently. They disappeared back into the forest, all but Tauriel and Legolas, to re-join the others still singing in the clearing. When they were no longer surrounded, most of the Dwarves relaxed a little: the elder ones only looked even more suspicious.
"Follow me," Thranduil commanded. His voice was like silk, soft and smooth, but there was an undercurrent to it that the Dwarves didn't want to test. So, like when Lord Elrond had offered them food, the company followed.
Harry reached out to link his arm with Thranduil's, no longer needing to be asked, or told, or motioned. It was habit now, that when the King walked his Consort walked with him. It was comfortable too, the warmth against his side, Thranduil's other hand enclosed over his own, pressing it against the curve of the Elf's elbow; it was secure. It was probably stupid but it made Harry feel wanted and welcome, and not at all un-manned like he had thought it might. Legolas walked behind them, to the left of his father, and occasionally he glanced back at Tauriel who had taken up the position of rear-guard. Two Dwarves in particular seemed awfully interested in the Silvan Elf, though she looked as equally exasperated as they did awe-struck. The blond one with the braided moustache was less so than the dark haired one, but even he couldn't keep his eyes from widening every time they met hers.
They wandered the way Harry had once been shown, through the forests and the trees, beneath their willowy branches and climbing vines and through trunks that had grown tall and bare and twined together above their heads like towering gates. Oak leaves coated the ground like a carpet, crunching beneath their feet as they stepped around and over stones, heels clacking against the cobbles that lay half-buried; the path through Mirkwood.
Harry could have travelled it in his sleep. His late night wanderings had become common-place in the realm and Thranduil had almost grown used to the idea that Harry wasn't trying to escape Mirkwood, but rather discover more of it. He still sent Noruinivon though, and as Harry's personal guard the Elf couldn't complain about the duty; it was far better than guarding angry Dwarves in the dungeons in any case. But the company of 'guests' had never come this way before, having only travelled as far as the clearing and before that, from the looks of them, into an Acromantula's nest. They were fortunate not to have been eaten, though they were worse for wear, and they were more fortunate still not to have been run through by the guards before coming across the King or his, far more compassionate, soulmate.
Gasps of awe were hard to smother, despite the sour looks worn by Dwarves who would rather remain unimpressed. The Hobbit, however, made no attempt to seem displeased. He glanced above his head with wide eyes, enraptured by the trees that had been bleached white by the sun (before the darkness came down from the north), the leaves and branches like vines and ivy curling up its trunk rather than hanging out over them, like intricately carved staffs. He laughed as butterflies landed upon his nose and then fluttered away, more and more of them the closer they came to the hidden palace's entrance. Harry watched him with a smile, eyes sad as he thought of the same expression on James' face the first time Harry had shown his baby Prongs.
"He seems nice," Harry murmured.
Thranduil and Legolas glanced over their shoulders at the Hobbit. "they're supposed to be very well mannered, but also not known for travelling. I wonder why he's here?" Legolas asked, eyes bright with curiosity. For all of his years, he was as much of a child to the Elves as James was to Harry. Tauriel was only a little older, and even she looked curious, listening to the Dwarves as they talked amongst themselves to discover what she could. Mostly, they spoke of how hungry they were.
They led the party along pathways and down stairways carved from the roots of great trees, and hardened earth and stone beneath the forest floor that made platforms and levels of the palace. When at last they stopped before Thranduil's throne, red satin and velvet cloths draped across the seat and over the back for comfort, and effect for it made the great antler's that decorated it look all the more impressive, Legolas and Tauriel offered short bows, though the she-Elf then dropped to one knee, her hand on Kili's shoulder to encourage him to do the same. Thranduil sprawled across his throne, one leg bent at the knee and kicked across the other so that he could rest an elbow upon it, while the other casually lay over the arm rest. Harry handed him his oaken staff, and Thranduil held it across his lap, waiting until each Dwarf was on his knees before him before he spoke.
"Welcome," he told them, voice echoing loudly throughout his throne room. The guards that had waited behind raised their heads, turning as one to stare at the Dwarves from behind their face-plates and helmets. He continued, with a sly smile on his lips, "to the halls of the Woodland King."
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Beneath the halls of the Woodland Realm there was a dungeon. In that dungeon, currently resided on Dwarf by the name of Thorin Oakenshield. It was his party and his kin that were currently being shown to the dining hall, forgoing a bath or rest in favour of the food and drink each of them so desperately desired.
It was Thorin and his company who had been travelling with Gandalf the Grey, and it was this same company who had been left behind at the edges of Mirkwood by Gandalf (who had suddenly found himself needing to be elsewhere). Thorin had, unfortunately, been separated from the others after Bilbo had freed them all from the spider webbing, lost in the confusion of the battle. He had stumbled, half-blind in the darkness, and so, so hungry he thought he could actually taste food in his mouth, chewing on the ends of his hair and the beads just for something (anything at all) to eat. Thorin had stumbled into a party of Elves, out hunting spiders or Dwarves: they didn't discriminate when it came to trespassers in their woods. They had brought him to their King, fed him lembas bread as he waited and quenched his terrible thirst with their own water-skins.
And then Thorin Oakenshield laid eyes upon the great Elven-king. The very same one who had turned his back, and his army, on Thorin's people so long ago, who had abandoned them in their time of need, and who had helped the surviving men of Dale rebuild but had ignored the plight of the Dwarves of Erebor for a century afterwards.
His anger couldn't be tamed by his full stomach. The thirst that no longer plagued him was replaced by a burning fury in his belly and this itching in his throat that made him want to scream and scream until he was hoarse. So, scream he did. He vented his fury on the placid King, who watched with a pale face and one eyebrow raised in amusement, and when Thorin was done, when he was suddenly out of verbal anger, (though always still angry) and had sunk to his knees in defeat, Thranduil waved him away.
"To where my King?" One Elf had asked softly, even as he took hold of Thorin's upper right arm with a grip tight enough to leave marks.
"The bathing rooms," Thranduil had responded, with another negligent wave of his hand, "and feed him while you're at it."
It was then that Thorin had damned himself, by cursing the Wizard who had led him into this mess in the first place. With a mutter of "when I get my hands on Gandalf" followed by grumbles in Khazadul that the Elves could not understand, Thorin's destination changed from the bathing rooms to the dungeons.
As he was dragged from the halls, protesting loudly, demanding his freedom, and cursing the Elves to Mandros and back and Thranduil in particular, he heard the King whisper, "Do not let Harry see him."
Who Harry was, Thorin didn't know and he hadn't seen anyone other than the same group of Elves that had dragged him there in the first place, but he was very interested in meeting him. Whoever Harry was, if Thranduil didn't want them to meet, then it would obviously benefit Thorin for such a meeting to occur.
It had only been a day and a night since he had been imprisoned. He kept quiet, ate what he was given for he would need his strength to break free and continue on through Mirkwood in search of his kin, and neatened his braids for that was a matter of pride, which Durins had mountains of (no pun intended, for he actually had no mountain to speak of yet). But on that second night, (perhaps he was going crazy already, perhaps the spiders had poisoned him and he was hallucinating.... perhaps he was dead and about to greet his brothers in Mahal's halls?) Thorin would have bet the treasury of Erebor that he could hear Dwarves singing of his homeland above his head, in the halls of the Woodland King.
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This was horribly hard to write. I don’t even know why, but if it’s shit don’t tell me? Also, yeah, I lied. This chapter was shorter than I thought it would be so there’ll be more chapters than I thought…