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Upon This Carven Throne

Gilraen knew she had lived in the Hidden Valley for too long when she could sense the Elven virtue of a land long before she entered it. Their journey through Mirkwood had been a tense one, despite the assurances from the resident Elf Prince by way of her son, that a lot of the spiders had since been eradicated. So it was with a sense of relief that they crossed the borders of the Woodland Realm.

She glanced at the young man her son was now, possessed of the same dark hair and grey eyes as she, and was amused to find a poorly disguised expression of eagerness on his face. From what she had gathered from him on their journey together, he had met the Prince of Mirkwood while travelling in the wild and they had become friends - seemingly close enough friends that he had somehow merited an invitation to the kingdom.

“I take it you will be happy to see him again, Estel?” She knew she should call him by his true name now, but old habits died hard. “I assume he will be just as happy to see you?” There was a knowing look in her eye.

Estel ducked his head to try and hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. He should have known better than to try and keep anything from his ever-perceptive mother.

“We are merely friends,” he replied. “He simply wants to show me his homeland. He thought it fair since he has visited Imladris in the past, years before we came there.”

“And while that is well, what I do not yet understand is why I am here,” she said. “You are grown and have no need of chaperone or guardian. So why did you ask me to accompany you?”

This time it was Estel who grinned. “I thought you might like to see the Elvenking again. I am fairly confident that he would be more than happy to see you.”

This time it was Gilraen who averted her eyes.

She did not know how much Estel knew of the trysts she had with the king of Mirkwood in the rare times he had come to Imladris since their first meeting, given they had always tried to be discreet, and she was not inclined to ask him.

After each one, she had told the king (and herself) that it would be the last time, because nothing could come of it. They lived different lives in different worlds. Yet every time the Elvenking visited, she would somehow find herself in his bed the next morning… and the next… until he left again.

Estel’s smile softened. “You have missed him. He has probably missed you as well.”

Gilraen gave a small laugh. “He is a king, Estel.”

“A king who clearly has an eye for you.”

“How would you know?”

“Mother, I have known since you first met him… and… Legolas mentioned he speaks of you sometimes; when he attempts to ease his loneliness with too much wine.” He reached over and squeezed her hand when she looked at him. “It has been over 20 years; you are not bound to mourn my father to the end of your days. It is time you lived again… for you, and for your own happiness.”

She smiled fondly at her son. “Are you practicing your speeches on me?” she teased.

“Master Erestor said I should work on them,” Estel replied. “But heed my words for they speak true: you are strong; and you are more than a match for any king, Elven or otherwise.”

“Then with your blessing, I shall seek this new life you speak of, and hope.”

“It is given,” he said. “And now I shall race you to the bridge!”

~*~*~

Thranduil watched from above, concealed within an alcove, as the pair walked their horses over the stone bridge that led to the main gate of his kingdom. There, they handed reins to grooms and allowed the beasts to be led away to the stables — but not before Gilraen had given strict instructions about their care. She always did love her horses.

He watched mother and son speak to the guards, giving their names and informing them they were expected, and he felt a stirring in his heart.

Estel he had not seen in over ten years; and gone was the boy, in his place a promising young man who had also somehow managed to captivate his own son — though to what extent he did not know… yet.

Gilraen, blessed with the long life of her people, still looked mostly unchanged since he had seen her last, yet his keen Elven eyes noticed a couple of new lines on her face, and a few extra wrinkles on her hands — a pesky reminder of her mortality. But none of it served to diminish her beauty and grace.

“If you stare at her any harder, your eyes may fall out of your head,” a soft voice said behind him.

He glanced back to see his son. “See to it that they are comfortably lodged and have everything they need for their stay. I will be in the throne room.”

Leaving Legolas to carry out his commands, he turned and left the alcove, as the doors opened and their guests were granted entry into the Woodland Realm.

~*~*~

She strode across the throne room like she was meant to be there; and not for the first time did Thranduil entertain the idea of making it so; because she deserved to be a queen, not a widow still tied to a nomadic clan of remnants from a bygone age.

Her grey eyes held him as he stood in front of his throne and he watched her approach with no small amount of desire in his eyes. Briefly he glanced to the guards that followed her, and with a look dismissed them from the room entirely, listening with satisfaction as the doors clanged shut.

“It is bold of you to assume I am not here to harm you, my lord Thranduil,” she said as she reached the foot of the stair that led up to his platform.

“And what harm do you intend to inflict on me, Lady Gilraen?” he asked.

“Nothing that you could not endure,” she replied without missing a beat.

He smirked down at her. “Is that a promise?”

The barest hint of a smile graced her lips. “If you would like it to be… but for now, I merely seek an audience with the king.”

Their eyes met and he felt his desire increase, though he also questioned why it did so. She was still a mortal woman, as he constantly took to reminding himself every time she crossed his mind — which seemed to happen a lot. There was nothing remarkable about her, but there was also something about her that drove him to distraction.

At this moment it was the rich emerald-green gown she wore, edged at the hems with a delicate silver vine pattern that seemed to add a spark to her grey eyes. The fabric draped sensually over her, highlighting certain curves just so, and he knew she had worn this gown just for him because she had not been wearing it upon her arrival in the Woodland Realm.

His smile remained teasing, even as he admired the way she stood unbending below him, like a tree drenched in twilight. “Bold of you to assume that I would grant such a request.”

She started up the stair slowly, taking her time. “Would you dismiss me from your presence then?” she asked him in challenge.

“Would you obey me if I did?” he asked, following her every step with his eyes, but making no further movement of his own.

“I am not one of your subjects, my lord, king though you may be.” She ascended another step. “My obedience is not simply given.”

Her simple words of defiance lit a fire in him and it was all he could do to remain where he was and let her come to him. “I did not think it would be,” he said. “So as you are a guest in my realm, you have my ear.”

She reached the top and stood a few paces from him. “Oh, I would have more than just your ear… your majesty.”

He noted the colour in her cheeks and the way her breathing quickened ever so slightly now that she was mere steps from him, but she held steady and unwavering beneath his scrutinizing gaze, letting his eyes undress her even as she knew his hands longed to do the same, damn her.

She took a single, slow step towards him, and he mirrored her movement.

“And what would you have from me?” he asked.

“Your undivided attention,” she replied, taking another step; and he gave a small laugh because they both knew his attention had been hers from the moment she walked into the room.

“There is no other within these halls that I am required to pay heed to. We are quite alone.”

They stepped again, and the gap between them lessened as they neared each other, even as the tension between them grew. Thranduil noted the outline of her breasts under her dress, and his fingers twitched at his sides, wanting to have them in his hands. But he restrained himself, refusing to give into her wiles so easily.

Gilraen stretched her arm out and placed her hand on his chest, and it all but burned him under the fabric of his robe. “And I would have you,” she said.

He pulled her to him so they were in each other’s arms, and he kissed her fiercely, letting his hands finally run over that maddeningly green gown and finding the fabric so very, very thin — almost like touching her skin, but not quite. It only served to feed his need for her.

“It would appear you already do,” he said when he released her lips to let her breathe.

“I would have you beneath me.” She kissed him softly, repeatedly, as she stepped forward, forcing him to move backwards until he could go no further. “On your throne.”

He took his seat amidst the plush cushions and lush drapes and she let him run his hands over her rear as she straddled his lap, her fingers running through his pale hair, mindful of the crown still upon his head.

One of his hands then gripped the back of her neck, his other arm wrapping around her as he pulled her head down to kiss her fiercely again, sighing happily when she returned it with equal fervour — it told him she had missed him as well, even if she did not say it out loud.

His hands moved again, this time to caress her thighs over the fabric of her dress, and he smiled at the noise of satisfaction she made before repeating the gesture, only to feel her smirk in turn as she shifted on his lap and made him groan.

Gilraen released his hair and his lips. “Has my lord not been looked after since we last parted?” she asked, her hands running down his body until they rested on his stomach.

“As if any other could satisfy me like you.” Thranduil inhaled sharply as her fingers made quick work of his lacings, pulling them open until she had him exposed beneath her; and he raised a brow at her when he realised there was no barrier between them, feeling her warmth and wetness on his skin. “Now that is very bold of you indeed.”

“I know that you care not for tarrying when there is no need to.”

“Nor do you, it seems.” He started to reach for the lacings of her dress only to stop abruptly when she touched him, his head dropping back with a moan.

Her hand stroked him gently before coaxing him between her legs, and he needed no further incentive to hold her hips and thrust into her, letting her take him in completely.

Her sounds as she started to ride him, while he ravished her neck with his mouth, made him shiver; and he held her close, staying in rhythm with her, but letting her set the pace. She was slick with arousal, and moved easily on him, her green dress rippling with every motion; and he moaned again as he felt his release draw near.

Thranduil looked up at her, at the dark wisps of hair that had escaped their trappings and framed her face; and at the exposed skin that was damp with sweat. His hand grasped at a breast as he licked at her neck, and the moans it elicited from her made him thrust harder into her.

She pushed him back against the backrest of his throne, her grey eyes dark with lust as she rode him vigourously, clenching around him and drawing him to a climax. With a cry of her name, he released into her, gripping her hips and keeping her moving on him until he was spent.

Softly Gilraen kissed him then, but with no less fervour, as she waited for the last of his immediate euphoria to dissipate. As he started to relax under her she kissed him once more, then carefully raised herself off his length and his lap, and stood.

He reached for her, intending to now give her the same satisfaction she had given him, but she stepped from his reach and dropped into a quick curtsey, though with a wicked smile on her face.

“I thank you for granting me this audience, my lord,” she said. “It was most productive, and I shall relish the fruits of our labour. But for now I must settle into my lodgings.”

She turned to descend the stair as the Elvenking stood, tucking himself back into his trousers and lacing them again before smoothing out his robes.

“I command you to stay,” he said. “I would not have you go unfulfilled.”

Gilraen glanced back over her shoulder at him, pausing before the first step. “I told you, my lord: I am not your subject to command,” she replied. “However, should you wish to… fulfill me — again — perhaps his highness should request an audience with me… in this room tonight.”

Thranduil only needed a brief moment to imagine her lounging on his throne before him — his hands raising that green dress up her thighs, which she would willingly spread only for him. He would kneel between them, kiss them, and then let his tongue bring her to ecstasy slowly, and her voice would echo sweetly in the hall around them.

Perhaps she would wear his crown once he had stripped that maddening gown off her — his crown, and nothing else. And she would ride him again — still strong, still unbent. What a fine queen she would make then. If only…

“Very well,” he said, stopping his musing. “Return tonight, and I will personally see to your… fulfillment.”

“I shall look forward to it, my lord.”

~*~*~

Gilraen could not say with certainty what the hour was, but she knew it was late and that there was no reason for anyone else to be in the throne room at this time save for the king and anyone else he permitted to be there.

So when she heard the sound of the main door quietly creaking open — as her mind returned from the heightened peak of bliss it had just been in — she reached down and touched the pale head between her thighs, stilling the gentle lapping of the Elvenking’s tongue and removing her leg from his shoulder.

Thranduil moved back and looked at her as she sat upright on his throne, the skirt of the green dress that he had shoved up around her hips falling back over her thighs. She looked regal, he thought idly once more; every bit the queen she could never be amongst her own people.

He was about to ask why she had stopped him when they both heard the hushed whispers from familiar voices trying their best to be quiet. Sighing in irritation, he helped Gilraen to her feet as he stood, letting the short silver robe he wore hang open as he stood behind her, so she could still feel against her back how much he wanted her, how much he wanted to be within her. A glance back at him said that she knew very well.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders, instinctively, protectively, (and perhaps even a little possessively) and they watched — Gilraen in amusement, Thranduil in annoyance — as their sons attempted to steal kisses in the shadows of the tree-pillars, hoping they would lead to something more.

The Elvenking cleared his throat loudly and the two sprang apart as if an arrow had been shot between them, and they turned to face the throne platform with wide eyes before bowing low when they saw who stood atop it.

“Apologies, Father,” said the prince. “We thought no one would be here.”

“Clearly you thought wrong,” Thranduil replied curtly, more frustrated at the interruption itself than anything his son had said.

Gilraen rested a hand on the side of his leg to stop him from saying any words he might come to regret later. “Perhaps your… explorations… would be more enjoyable were they in the comfort of one of your own chambers?” she suggested.

Estel swallowed tightly, flushing red. “Of course, Mother. We shall heed your advice and retire there.” Nudging the Elf at his side, he took his hand and quickly led him out of the room.

The door shut with a dull thud, and she only had time to indulge in a quick chuckle when there came the sharp sound of lacings being ripped and the Elvenking finally rid her of her dress. She was spun around to face him in all his glory, as his robe joined her gown on the floor.

“Now…” he growled low, sending a thrill running up her spine. “Provided there are no more disruptions….” He kissed her hungrily. “If my lady would like to take the throne…”

She obliged him and sat back down on the plush cushioning, amongst the soft drapes; and raised a leg invitingly, letting him see that she was eager for him as well. But as he moved towards her, she changed her position — rising to her knees and turning away from him. Glancing back at him over her shoulder, she smiled coyly, bending forward slightly to grasp at the antlers that rose from the back of the throne, her legs parting for him naturally in invitation.

“If his majesty would like to keep his promise of fulfillment…” she said.

Thranduil smirked as he gripped her hips and pressed his body to hers, sliding into her easily, and relishing the sound of her moans as he resumed his pleasuring of her. “If that is what my lady wishes.”

“No, my lord,” Gilraen replied, guiding one of his hands over her body so he could add to her pleasure. “It is what I command.”

Perhaps, she thought as she savoured the sensations that coursed through her courtesy of the Elvenking’s ministrations, it really was time to embark on that new life she had long desired.

~ END.