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Summary: Elrond takes exception to Thranduil�s extreme activities and finds himself in a bind. Literally.
Author�s notes: Written for the 2006 Slashy Santa Exchange. Though the story does not encompass all of the requested elements, it does contain a nice bit of BDSM/fetish play and a hint of incest.
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“You’re kidding,” Elrond whispered to Elladan in shocked disbelief. “They appear to be so normal.” His gray eyes flicked across the dining hall to where Thranduil sat, hand-feeding his son, Legolas, strawberries off of a salad plate.
Legolas perched on the edge of his chair, mouth open like a little bird, eagerly awaiting the next bite of berry. An act that had seemed innocent and sweet only moments earlier now dripped with sordid titillation. Thranduil plucked an especially ripe berry from his plate and rubbed the edge of it along Legolas’ lower lip, leaving a red-tinged stain of juice along the fullest part of it. A flick of Legolas’ pink tongue caught the droplets before they could escape. Thranduil chuckled and responded by gently pressing the berry between Legolas’ parted lips.
Elrond watched the scene play out a full three times. It was all quite unseemly. Moments earlier, Elladan had hurtled into the dining hall like a runaway wagon and skidded into his seat at the head table, breathless with newfound gossip. Though Elrond listened to his son’s stark accusations regarding the Mirkwood delegation, he had not really believed them until he saw the evidence with his own eyes. Three times. Thranduil had managed to turn the noontime meal into an erotic floorshow.
“Stars! Would you look at them? He has his fingers in Legolas’ mouth,” gasped Elrond. He stared intently at the pair in morbid fascination, half-expecting them to begin rutting at the table like a pair of bucks in heat.
“Yes! It’s shameful, Ada,” Elladan agreed.
At some point, Elrohir had joined them and now flitted behind Elrond and Elladan like a nervous butterfly. The whole scene made him antsy. It was one thing to be naughty in the confines of the bedchamber, but to be naughty in the dining hall…well, that was rude. And kind of hot.
Thranduil licked Legolas’ ear in preparation for round four, and Elrond blanched. “I never knew they had that sort of relationship, but, then again, those Sindar have some unusual customs. Don’t tell your mother I said that,” he commented under his breath.
Elladan leaned in closer to his father. “That’s not the half of it. I have it on good authority that they frequently engage in more exotic activities once the sun sets.”
“Oh, yes,” Elrohir interjected. “Bondage. Erestor caught them in the weapons room two nights ago, eyeing his bullwhip with ill-intent.”
“Sweet Valinor,” breathed Elrond. “Incest and bondage? In MY house? Why, I should toss them both out this very instant!” He leapt to his feet in a sudden rush of anger, but Elladan swiftly tugged him back down in his chair.
“No, Ada. It is only hearsay thus far. Nothing more than a rumor and some suggestive playing with strawberries,” Elladan hissed into Elrond’s ear. “We cannot ask them to leave on the basis of wild speculation. They’ll simply deny it. What we need is hard evidence.”
Elrond’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, yes. You are right. If I send Thranduil home without any proof of misconduct it will cause a diplomatic nightmare of epic proportions,” he groaned while rubbing at his temples with his fingertips. “But how would we get evidence? I’ve never had this sort of problem before. Certainly, Celeborn’s habit of leaving his wet towels on the bedroom floor is annoying, but this…this is a flagrant disregard for my fine hospitality.”
“I think we should barge into their bedchamber tonight, unannounced, half an hour after the evening meal. With any luck we’ll catch them in the act,” replied Elrohir, feeling quite proud of himself for thinking of such a brilliant idea.
“Ohhh. Tonight? Not tonight. Glorfindel is giving a class on how to make those little cakes with the buttercream icing.” Elrond liked cakes with buttercream icing, especially when they were topped with delicate sugared flowers. Light, sweet, and creamy. He smiled just thinking about them. “And your mother and I like to turn in early on Thursdays. It’s chess night,” added Elrond, matter-of-fact.
Elladan rolled his eyes in frustration. “Forget chess. This is more important.”
Elrond’s expression wavered between worry and disappointment. “But, your mother will be upset.”
“Would she be happier to find out that you knew Thranduil had Legolas strapped to the bedposts and did nothing to stop it?” Elladan raised his eyebrow in emphasis, a gesture he had learned from Elrond. Elrond decided he did not like that gesture being used against him.
But after a long, tense moment, Elrond sighed and shook his head. “No. That would displease her considerably more. Very well. Come and find me after dinner.”
~*~
The rest of the day progressed with little fanfare, save an unfortunate incident involving Lindir, the hallway rug and a jar of blackberry jam. By the time the servants had finished scrubbing the stain, however, it was hardly noticeable, especially after Elrond moved the side table to hide it.
By the time dinner ended, all was well once more in the Last Homely House. Elrond, full of mincemeat pie and warm brandy, stretched long in his chair and surveyed the bustling dining hall with a lazy smile. A few of Glorfindel’s cakes and a lively game of chess would be the perfect nightcap.
“Ada!” A tug on his sleeve and an insistent whisper instantly drained the smile from his face. Blast. He had forgotten about his plans for evening intrigue. Unfortunately, his sons had not. Now they stood behind him, wriggling like a pair of eager puppies awaiting their nightly walk.
Elrond sighed heavily and hauled himself to his feet. “Honestly. The things I have to do around here. Save me one of Glorfindel’s cakes,” he griped to Celebrían as he ambled to the door. At least he would have something nice to look forward to after the inevitable confrontation with Thranduil was over.
The walk down the narrow corridor to the guest wing did not take nearly as long as usual, what with Elrohir tugging him by one hand and Elladan dragging him by the other. Elrond frowned and dug in his heels. “Slow down! It’s not as if we have tickets to see a command performance. I highly doubt that ushers will greet us at the door and demand we wait for intermission to enter.”
Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a look. Elrond recognized that look. It was the same look he had witnessed them exchange last year, just before the visiting Marchwarden from Loríen had been found passed out naked in front of the statue of Gil-Galad. The twins had claimed innocence. Elrond did not believe them for a second.
“I am not going one step further until you tell me exactly what is happening here,” announced Elrond, skidding to a stubborn halt in the middle of the corridor.
Elladan looked frantic. Elrohir looked nauseated. Elrond’s eyebrow reached new heights on his forehead. “Start talking. Now.”
“Well…you see, Ada,” Elladan began. His words sounded muffled, as if he were speaking through a heavy layer of gauze. Elrond wobbled ever so slightly. He did not feel well. Not at all. Slowly, the hallway began to spin round and round, building speed until Elrond had to reach for Elrohir’s shoulder to keep from falling.
“I think I may be ill,” mumbled Elrond, sinking to his knees as he spoke.
That was the last thing he remembered.
~*~
It was cold. Why was it cold? Elrond shivered. The bed felt harder than usual. In fact, the bed felt suspiciously like tile flooring. Elrond forced his eyes open and blinked rapidly in the dim light.
“Where am I?” Wherever he was, it was cold and hard, he was naked, and his hands were bound with fur-lined handcuffs. Panic began a slow crawl up his spine.
“Sleeping beauty awakens,” came the ominous reply. Thranduil. It had to be. But what was he doing lying naked as a newborn on Thranduil’s floor? The answer flew to him in a sickening rush. Obviously, their plan to intercept the Mirkwood shenanigans had gone horribly wrong.
Elrond managed to raise his head a millimeter off the floor, just far enough to see the shiny, black toe of a patent leather boot tapping mere inches from his nose. That did not bode well for the rest of the evening.
Rough hands closed around Elrond’s shoulders, dragged him up to a seated position and propped him against the wall. A slightly off-center vision of Thranduil drifted into view. Elrond could scarcely believe his eyes. The King of Mirkwood, ruler of Greenwood and distinguished emissary, stood dressed in what was quite possibly the tightest pair of leather pants Elrond had ever seen. Every lump and bump of his muscular form was on glorious display. Elrond’s eyes lingered on one particularly prominent bulge. Impressive.
“I take it that you approve of the outfit,” Thranduil remarked while he and his bulge maneuvered ever closer.
“Actually, I do not approve. It’s unbefitting a king. I’m surprised your wife lets you out of the house dressed like that,” Elrond said. He forced his eyes upward and away from eye-level temptation. Thranduil stood bare-chested and smiling with all the innocence of a crouched tiger. Elrond immediately regretted his cheeky comment.
“My wife is not here. But you are.”
Trepidation rose like floodwaters in the spring, racing through Elrond’s veins as he sat with his back pressed firmly against the wall. He opened his mouth to speak when a movement from the rear of the room caught his attention.
“Who else is here? Elrohir? Elladan! Is that you!? Thank, Eru,” cried Elrond, straining his neck to see around one of Thranduil’s leather-clad thighs.
From out of the shadows stepped his sons, each one costumed in an outlandish outfit. Elladan wore some sort of Orcish torture device with mithril straps that criss-crossed his chest and a shiny metal codpiece that barely covered his privates. Elrohir wore the shortest scullery maid’s outfit that Elrond had ever seen, and apparently, nothing underneath. Elrond closed his eyes and slumped against the wall.
“Please, for the love of Elbereth, tell me that you two had nothing to do with this,” groaned Elrond. “I’m missing chess night.”
“Well, technically, we’re here to see Legolas,” Elladan replied while adjusting his codpiece. “We brought you along at Thranduil’s request.”
A moment later, Legolas himself crawled on his hands and knees out from under a nearby table to sit at Elrohir’s feet. His blond hair was held back with a headband, to which was attached a set of pink cat ears. A long pink tail dangled from the back of his sparkling pink thong.
“He’s dressed as a cat,” Elrond said, stating the obvious.
“Meow,” replied Legolas. His pink-tipped fingers lightly clawed up the inside of Elrohir’s bare leg and disappeared underneath his ruffled skirt.
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no NO! I will not stand for this sort of disgusting behavior in my own home,” cried Elrond indignantly. He made an effort to stand, but his legs would not respond. It was as if they were made of lead. In the meantime, his tormentor stalked ever closer.
“No, you will not stand for it,” replied Thranduil. “You’ll take it lying down, most likely on yonder bed, though we can do it on the floor if you’d prefer.”
Elrond stared at his feet, willing them to move, pleading with them to do anything. His big toes wiggled weakly in response. He was not going anywhere.
Black boots straddled his shins. Elrond drug his eyes up the leather clad thighs, this time lingering only briefly on the impressive bulge between them, and stared balefully at Thranduil. “What do you intend to do with me?”
The predatory grin on Thranduil’s face grew wider. He dropped to his knees, seated himself atop Elrond’s thighs and cupped the Elf’s chin in his hand. “I intend to ride you like a thoroughbred. I intend to master your body with spur and crop until you buck underneath me,” he purred sweetly. “I intend to fuck you like an animal.”
Elrond’s eyes were wide with fear. He jerked his chin away and looked frantically over Thranduil’s tanned shoulder for his sons. Surely, they would help him!
But, alas, they were already ensnared by Legolas’ feline wiles. Elrohir sat in an armchair, head thrown back and legs splayed, his skirt hoisted up above his waist. Legolas, on hands and knees in front of him, lapped delicately at head of Elrohir’s cock, covering it with kitten licks and warm laves of his tongue. Behind the blonde prince knelt Elladan, who had pushed the tail to one side and was happily exploring Legolas’ lovely posterior.
“Do not look to your sons for aid. I have given them Legolas for the evening as a reward for bringing you here, and he will keep them well occupied,” Thranduil said with a knowledgeable tone. Elrond reckoned that if anyone knew, it would, indeed, be Thranduil. That sick bastard.
Strong hands slid under Elrond’s knees and behind his back, effortlessly lifting him up and cradling him against a broad chest. Elrond gasped in surprise, inhaling a strong scent of musky sandalwood and tanned leather. It was oddly comforting to know that Thranduil had bothered to shower before he defiled him.
The trip from the floor to the bed was a short one, and Elrond found himself dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. Now was his chance! With a well-aimed kick, he could free himself and dart out the door! He looked around wildly for Thranduil. Before Elrond could mount any sort of offensive, however, Thranduil grabbed his shackled wrists and wrenched them above his head, securely latching them to the bedpost. Elrond howled in dismay and tugged frantically at his bindings.
“The rumors are true. You are a bucking bronco under that calm exterior.” Thranduil climbed atop the bed, rocking it gently as he crawled across it to sit on Elrond’s thighs. The soft leather felt good against Elrond’s bare skin. Not that he would ever, EVER, admit that.
“You’re mad! Utterly and completely mad! Who says that the Fëanorians cornered the market on insanity?! You’re every bit as crazy as they ever were,” yelled Elrond in a rage of righteous ire. He bucked and rolled and writhed, but to no avail. He could not unseat Thranduil. And so, after a few minutes of fruitless struggle, he lay panting and sweaty under Thranduil’s ample bottom. He was trapped.
Thranduil, clearly enjoying every moment of Elrond’s struggle, reached up and wiped a few damp strands of dark hair back from Elrond’s brow. “If you are quite finished with your petulant fit, we can get on with it.”
Elrond paled. On with “it.” Never had one two-letter word carried more weight. “I do not want this. It is rape. You are taking me against my will, and I am missing chess night. Celebrían will never forgive you. Please, do not,” he begged. It was a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable. Elrond seriously doubted it would work. As expected, it failed in spectacular fashion.
Instead of replying to Elrond’s plea, Thranduil merely raised one elegant hand and placed it right in the center of Elrond’s heaving chest. It was as if a burning coal had been laid upon bare skin, so warm was the heat from a single touch. Elrond’s stomach clenched. The hand moved lower, gliding over sweat-slick skin, exploring every contour of Elrond’s shivering torso and leaving no doubt as to its eventual destination.
Thranduil shifted his weight so that the smooth leather of his pants deliciously grazed Elrond’s outer thighs. Elrond shivered. The combination of inquisitive fingers tangling in the curls at the base of his shaft and the warmth of tanned leather licking his legs proved a heady elixir. Much to Elrond’s abject horror, his body responded with an eagerness he had not anticipated.
“It seems to me, Elrond, that you do want this. You want this very much,” Thranduil said as he noted the swell of flesh that slowly bloomed between Elrond’s thighs. “Actions speak louder than words.”
Elrond trembled in earnest and tried to wriggle away from Thranduil’s firm caress, but the movement only intensified the succulent feel of skin-on-skin. The vaguely sweet ache blossomed to vivid desire.
“But, I am married,” Elrond offered in weak protest, secretly hoping it would be brushed aside. Which, of course, it was.
“As am I, but I cannot help myself. My desire for you is so strong that it is nearly visceral. Give me but a taste, Elrond, and I will be satisfied,” murmured Thranduil. His hand closed around Elrond’s turgid flesh and stroked it slowly, lingering on the swollen tip.
“I cannot,” came Elrond’s barely audible reply. Oh, how he wished he could, but decorum and modesty forbade it. Fortunately, Thranduil was acquainted with neither.
“Then I shall take you, willing or not,” Thranduil said with a voice as dark as polished ebony.
A thrill raced down Elrond’s spine and sent a shock of raw desire straight to his cock. He’d never experienced anything quite so erotic. Sex with Celebrían was sweet, pleasurable and comfortable, much like a fine wine sipped before a glowing hearth. But this…this was raw. Raw, savage and animalistic.
Thranduil played his role of predator well, licking his lips and eyeing Elrond’s pale flesh like a tiger would eye a piece of warm meat. With cat-like grace, he rose up on his knees and shifted between Elrond’s sprawled thighs. Fingernails scraped along the inside of his legs. Elrond mewled at the intimate touch that forced them open further. Though he had been naked the entire time, he now felt truly exposed, laid bare to an Elf who intended to devour him.
Seemingly out of thin air, Thranduil produced a small jar of ointment. “This will ease the passage,” he said as he unscrewed the cap and liberally coated two fingers in the amber cream.
Elrond gritted his teeth and threw his head to one side, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the impending invasion. Two fingers plunged into him, swirling and massaging until he thought he would cry out from discomfort. Reluctantly, he popped one eye open to reassess the significant bulge in Thranduil’s pants. Significant was an understatement. If two fingers had him nearly to tears, he did not want to imagine what that would do to him. He shut his eyes tightly and prayed for salvation.
Somehow, during Elrond’s wild imaginings and whimpered writhing, Thranduil had unlaced his pants and eased them down to his knees, where they formed dark pools on the white bed sheets. When the swirling fingers withdrew from Elrond’s body, he opened his eyes just wide enough to squint up at his assailant in tortured curiosity. Even in his hazy state of near-crazed panic, Elrond knew magnificence when he saw it. Thranduil was nothing short of glorious: all golden hair and tanned skin. The most obvious of his charms rose proudly up from between his thighs, and Elrond’s eyes locked on it in wonder.
“Oh my…”
Before he had time to fully register what was happening, Elrond found himself shoved back onto the bed sheets, legs flung over Thranduil’s shoulders and warm flesh nestled against his sensitive opening. He swallowed hard.
The pain was sudden, swift and sharp, biting with an intensity that rocketed through Elrond’s entire body. He responded with a guttural cry as raw and savage as that of any wild animal.
~*~
“What was that?! Was that Ada?! I think your father is killing him, Legolas,” Elrohir said between gasps of pleasure. Legolas’ full lips worked the head of his cock with expert precision, sucking and mouthing while a pink tongue flicked devilishly over the sensitive slit. Talented prince, he was.
“Relax. It’s his first time and he’s in a bit of pain,” remarked Elladan as he gave Legolas’ pert bottom a hard slap. “If I remember, you screamed so loudly that Erestor swore there were Orcs rushing the south lawn.”
Elrohir had the grace to blush at the mention of that particularly bawdy coupling. “Yes, well, that was different. We were outside, and you did not have the foresight to bring much in the way of lubricant. And even then, I didn’t howl as loudly as Ada is screaming right now. Seriously. I think he’s being torn in two.”
“Mpmph rwmph arrwowr,” replied Legolas. It was difficult to enunciate with a full mouth.
Elladan spanked Legolas’ other cheek and grinned as it colored a lovely shade of pink. “That’s quite enough out of you, Kitty. It seems to me that you’re begging for punishment. You are such a naughty kitten,” he said while eyeing Legolas’ prominently displayed assets.
The thong had long been shed and now lay in a glittering heap on the floor next to Elladan’s discarded codpiece. Though it seemed a shame to waste such attractive outfits, Elladan decided quickly that it could not be helped. The codpiece chafed, and the kitten tail hid parts of Legolas’ anatomy that really needed to be seen. He carefully parted Legolas’ freshly spanked cheeks and ran his finger up the crevice between them. The blond shivered in response. Encouraged, Elladan positioned himself and, with one hard thrust, plunged right into Legolas’ slender body.
Legolas inhaled sharply through his nose, but did not pause in his ministrations. Elrohir was duly impressed with Legolas’ tolerance for pain and dedication to the task at hand. “You just went right in, Elladan? No preparation or anything?”
“It’s a well-traveled road,” said Elladan with a grin as he began to thrust.
Legolas’ head bobbed up and down in agreement. Elrohir stilled it with a stroke to the Elf’s ear. “Right. Now get back to it, Kitty.”
“Mrrowr,” Legolas purred happily in response.
~*~
Elrond’s body was no longer his own. Thranduil rode him like an unbroken colt, easily mastering his bucks and kicks with a firm hand. Together, they galloped swiftly toward the inevitable conclusion. It hurt – Goddess, it hurt – but Elrond was powerless to do anything to end the agonizing rapture. Pain and pleasure twisted together like the braided leather of a riding crop, and bit into his flesh every bit as deeply.
“I…mmm,” Elrond began, the last bit sounding suspiciously like a moan. He winced, hiding behind pale eyelids, and willed the baser side of himself to be still. Part of him truly enjoyed the brutal nature of their company, especially now that the pain had merged with searing pleasure. He hoped desperately that Thranduil had not noticed that fact.
“Open your eyes. Watch me. I would have you look into my eyes as I take you,” Thranduil demanded with a growl.
Warily, Elrond peeled his eyes open and forced them up along the golden expanse of Thranduil’s tanned chest. The King of Mirkwood was stunning, hair tossed in a wild mane around his shoulders, eyes dark with unspent passion. Elrond felt weak.
“You’re breaking me! I cannot take any more of….ohhhh,” cried Elrond. “You’re an animal!”
“Absolutely!” Thranduil roared in reply, throwing his head back and driving into Elrond’s trembling body with a savage thrust. So joined were they that Elrond did not know where he ended and Thranduil began, but he did not look away. Not even when Thranduil howled his release did Elrond’s gaze leave the blonde’s flushed face.
A warm hand closed over his own throbbing erection, and within moments, Elrond came to his own shivering, wrecked release. He lay panting and weak on the coverlet, his body broken, and his mind still hazy with sated passion. Thranduil seemed quite pleased with himself, and sat back on his haunches to inspect his handiwork.
“You are everything I thought you would be, Elrond. True passion lurked beneath those formal robes. It only took an experienced rider to coax it out of you,” Thranduil said. His lips curled upward into a cocky grin. Elrond thought that it made him look a ferret. A handsome ferret, but weasely, none-the-less.
Elrond wanted to refute Thranduil’s claims. He was not passionate. Only lesser Elves were ruled by their own feral desires. He was sensible, wise and distinguished, not some dissolute Elf with the morals of a stray dog. The fact that he was lying naked and spent in Thranduil’s bed, however, worked as a powerful argument to the contrary.
“Well, I cannot say the same for you. You were nothing short of a savage brute, with the bedside manner of a rabid warg,” sniffed Elrond with as much disdain as he could muster, but Thranduil seemed not to care.
“Feel free to complain all you want, but I’m going to sleep.”
Tender hands released Elrond’s bindings and rubbed the marks on his wrists. Strong arms curled around him and pulled him firmly against a broad chest. Thranduil spooned behind him. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and, for the first time that evening, Elrond did not fight it. After all, it was only sensible to rest tonight. Tomorrow, he would slap the taste out of Thranduil’s mouth.
~*~
Elrond blinked his eyes open. The room was light with bright morning sunlight that streamed in through the filmy curtains. He was back in his own bed. Alone. His brow furrowed. Where was that arrogant prick, Thranduil? And how had he managed to stumble back to his own room?
“Oh, Elrond! Thank Eru!” Celebrían gave a little cry of joy and rushed to his bedside, laying a cool hand upon his brow.
“Sweetheart? What has happened?” Elrond was confused. The last thing he remembered was being held tightly against a sweaty chest and plotting all sorts of highly inappropriate retaliation, most of which involved Thranduil’s ass and the business end of a steel-toed boot.
“You have been asleep for two whole days! The twins said you passed out in the hallway on your way to visit Thranduil and they carried you back here,” Celebrían said as she fussed over him.
“Asleep for two days,” repeated Elrond in amazement. Then, the whole sordid affair with Thranduil was nothing but a dream! Elrond was giddy with relief.
“Oh yes, and I’ve been worried sick! Let me go and tell the twins you are awake! They’ll be happy to see you,” chirped Celebrían as she swept from the room with a cheerful flourish.
Elrond could not have been more delighted. A dream! Suddenly, everything seemed right again. The sun shone a little bit brighter, the birds sounded cheerier, and he most definitely had not slept with that bastard, Thranduil. Life was good.
Elladan and Elrohir burst into the bedchamber, thrilled that Elrond was feeling better, and rushed to their father’s bedside.
“I’m so glad you are up and awake,” said Elladan with a broad smile. “When you fainted in the hallway, we were quite worried.”
Elrond noted his son’s cheerfully benign expression and replied, “I honestly don’t remember a thing. Can you shed some light on what happened?”
Elrohir shot his twin a nervous look. “Nothing of any importance. We brought you back here, put you in bed, and then went to play poker with Thranduil and Legolas. Legolas cheats, by the way. We caught him with an ace shoved down his leggings.”
Elrond opened his mouth to ask how they had discovered the card, and then snapped it shut. Some questions were better left unanswered. Suddenly, Elrond felt very tired. Just hearing Thranduil’s name made him slightly nauseated.
“I need to get some rest. It’s been an exhausting week. Come back after dinner and we’ll play canasta,” he said, shooing his sons out the door with a wave of his hand. They took the hint and bid a hasty retreat.
As soon as the twins were in the hallway, Elrond sank into the mattress and began to fret. It really had been a dream…hadn’t it?
~*~
A slim package wrapped in white tissue paper sat on the edge of the narrow table next to the front door. Yuletide gifts from far and wide had arrived over the course of the past two weeks. A great number of ornately wrapped presents and festive packages littered the foyer, but the skinny white box was the only one that piqued Elrond’s interest. He could not for the life of him figure out what it was.
Curious, Elrond picked it up and inspected the wrapping. It was for him! He fairly quivered with excitement. Carefully, he peered around the corner, making sure his wife was well out of sight. She disliked him opening gifts before Yule, but she would not find out about this small indiscretion. He would hide the evidence. Grinning like an Elfling, Elrond tore into the paper, wadded it into a crumpled ball and pulled back the lid of the box.
There, in the center of the narrow box, lay a braided leather riding crop. Elrond’s stomach lurched with sickening dread. His hand trembled as he reached for the enclosed note and opened it.
“For our use upon your next visit to Mirkwood, my feisty little colt.
Warmest Regards,
Thranduil.”