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Breakfast


Author: Malinorne
Pairing: OFC/Thranduil
Warnings: NC-17
Disclaimer: Thranduil is Tolkien's, Eadhild is mine. No profit is made.
Beta: Mary Aseltyne
Chapter summary: A maidservant at an inn brings the Elvenking his breakfast.
Author's notes: This piece fits into "Scenes from a life" between chapters 3 and 4, but is written to work as a stand-alone as well.

It was the beginning of an ordinary day at the inn of the small town of Ninglorost, a Gondorian outpost north of the Rohan plains. As usual, the servants had been up since dawn, carrying firewood and water, baking bread, collecting eggs from the hen-house, and doing all the other mundane tasks that would make up a comfortable stay for the night's guests, human as well as elven.

The newest maidservant, not a young girl, but new to this house, carefully crossed the main hall and went up the stairs to the second floor, where the guests' quarters were located. The hesitation in her movements originated not only from the fact that she was still unused to carrying food trays, but also from uncertainty how she would be received by the one she was going to. The hot-tempered leader of the Wood-elves was regarded with much fear by the servants, and though he had taken a carnal interest in the woman the previous night there was no guarantee what his reaction would be this morning.


Eadhild had been prepared for many things to happen when she reached the Elf's room with the breakfast he had so endearingly ordered the previous night. "Slut," he had called her, but with the slightest hint of fondness that indicated that the word was not meant to offend, at least not only. She had been prepared for him to pounce on her just as she entered the room or to find him in bed, either commanding her to join him, or sneering at her for daring to disturb his rest. She had not been prepared to find the room empty, the Elf gone.

Even now she waited just a little longer, in case he had been hiding somewhere and would reveal himself as soon as she relaxed. To no avail, she thought. It was not yet full daylight, but light enough to prevent anyone from standing in the shadows. And absolutely ridiculous to think that the Elf would lie in wait for her under the bed, which would have been the only possibility.

The whole party of them had probably left in the night, as soon as the weather cleared up. It made her feel a little empty inside. She had thought their black-clad leader enjoyed her company, even if she had no illusions of comparing to the females of his own kind. Nevertheless he had seemed eager to meet her again. He was arrogant, of course. And dangerous. Sinister. Inconsiderate. And handsome, alluring, attractive, irresistible. She realized that she missed him.

Reluctantly, she turned back to leave the room, and almost dropped the tray when the door was flung open, and then closed, just as quickly, by the Elf.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked in a condescending voice that made her wonder how she could have felt sorry to think him gone. "I do not think so."

The Elf stood between her and the door, still in black leather, and his hair glowed like spun gold in the morning sun. His clenched jaw and haughty expression only added to the impression that this was a creature from another world, someone to worship. He was breathtakingly beautiful, and Eadhild had to draw her breath before she spoke.

"Your breakfast, my lord." She tried to say it casually, as to just about anyone, even if her heart had started to beat faster the moment the Elf entered the room.

He passed her, making her turn around to follow him with her gaze, and then sat on the bed. He pointed at the table in the corner and gestured impatiently for her to put the tray there. She did so, and was just about to start moving the table closer to him, when he halted her.

"I do not desire to eat."

"My lord?"

The Elf chuckled, breaking his sinister expression for a moment, and then looked her in the eyes. She felt trapped.

"I can have bread and cheese and what else you have there... goat milk, is it?" He frowned with disgust before continuing, with a sneer, "I can have such… delicacies… in the main hall, and in fact, I prefer lembas when travelling. Eating or drinking is not my desire."

This made Eadhild angry, whatever other feelings warred in her, and she could not hold back when she answered him. She had made an effort to serve him the best the inn could offer and he had never even planned to eat! He was just stealing time from the other guests!

"Then why did you tell me to come? I have other duties and I am leaving now!"

Demonstratively she walked to the door, leaving the tray on the table in the hope that the sight of it would make him feel at least a little guilty for wasting such fine food. Again, the Elf stopped her with his commanding voice.

"You do have other duties, correct. But, none of them involve leaving this room."


Thranduil smiled to himself as he watched the mortal woman freeze in mid-step and turn slowly towards him, but was careful not to let her see behind his stern facade. He congratulated himself on the unexpected luck to find a female, who suited his needs so well, in this unlikely place. It was rare to find one who feared him enough to awaken the hunter's instinct that was strong in him, and make his blood flow hot in his veins, but was not terrified to the degree that would make him feel protective and pity her. Ah, yes, this serving wench was just the right blend of submissiveness and impudence and he looked forward to conquering her a last time before he would be on his way back to his realm.

He was also pleased that the woman had taken obvious pleasure in his advances; though he suspected that she had not yet realised that submitting herself to his dominance aroused her more than the tender caresses of a gentler lover would. He would give her another opportunity soon. Very soon.

In the blink of an eye he was up again, standing behind her, with her wrists caught in one large hand. The sudden flicker of excitement in her gaze had not evaded him and he pushed her forward, to the window, where the shutters were wide open. There, he suddenly let go of her hands, and she stumbled forward, catching herself on her hands against the windowsill.

He stood behind her, enjoying her silent waiting. It was tempting to order her to raise her skirt right there and then ravish her in plain sight of passers-by, but it would have been too dangerous. He did not have the right to put his life at stake by baring himself to any murderous arrows that might rip the beautiful morning apart. The drawbacks of royalty, he thought, but shrugged the thought away as soon as it had come. He was used to always being on his guard.

It was just as tempting to not touch the woman, and instead to wait and watch her growing need make her lose all pride. Ah, to see her beg for him to take his pleasure, plead with him to use her. But it was too early. She might just have enough self-control to leave the room when given a chance. His desire was too urgent for him to take that risk now. But next time… He would ensnare her with his lust, tune her to him so that he could make her wet with just one glance.

If there would be a next time. Valar knew if he would ever stop by this excuse for a town again! He would certainly not do it for the exquisite meals, he thought with a disdainful glance at the food tray again.


Eadhild thought her heart would stop when the Elf held her trapped. Fear and anger mixed, overriding common sense. What did he mean by saying she could not leave? Would he vent his anger on her, perhaps kill her, leave her there to die? She almost dared not breathe.

As she steadied herself against the windowsill she felt her heart pound as hard as if it would break. She waited, staring at the flaking paint that barely covered the grey wood. The Elf had not killed her yet, perhaps he wouldn't? The thought made her immediately feel better, and she even came to think of another reason for the Elf to keep her captive.

Had his lusts awakened again? Would he touch her now, make her do things… shameful, lovely things? Reluctantly, she realised that she would not be adverse to that. He would move his large hands possessively over her body, intruding on her most private parts, and she would let him. She would feel the heat spread between her legs again, and he would make the flames rise higher…

Or, maybe he would not. Perchance she had disappointed him, and he did not desire her. He would tell her to leave, and it would be a relief. She could return to her duties and some other time she would meet another Elf. That would be terrible. She could not let that happen. If she would be told to go, she would plead with him. She would ask him to touch her, or at least to allow her to pleasure him.

Horrified, she realised that she was quickly earning the name he had used… slut. It was all the Elf's fault. He had conquered more than her body that first night and now she was at his mercy. She would do anything to burn like that again. If only he would touch her…


Having made up his mind, Thranduil lifted the woman onto the table, chuckling at her sudden lack of resistance. Mayhap he had misjudged her… she certainly seemed intent on being most forthcoming to his desires. She just sat there, looking furtively at him. Her hair was tousled already in a way that suggested that she might just have risen from the bed of a lover. She was leaning back a little, steadying herself on her hands, which made her bosom strain most endearingly against the fabric of her blouse. The blush on her cheek deepened when he moved closer, but she parted her legs for him effortlessly, almost absentmindedly, as if it had been a natural reaction of her body, rather than a conscious decision of his mind. He liked that.

With a quick movement that made her wince, he tugged at the ribbon of her blouse, making it fall open and reveal her breasts to his eager gaze. The nipples were very pink against her white skin, and the cool morning air had caressed them into taut peaks. How very delicious.

He caught one of the ample fruits in his hand, cupping it from underneath and brushing his thumb over the tip. The woman had closed her eyes and turned her head away, in a modest gesture that fitted ill with how she gasped when he tightened his grip slightly. And when he covered the other nipple with his mouth, she kicked her legs slightly, which only served to gain him better access. He could feel her now, her supple mound against his hardness, and while still occupying his lips with her breasts, he snaked one hand under her skirt.

She was wet, very much so. He ran a finger over her folds, and met no resistance when probing between them and slipping a digit into her. She gasped and leaned further backwards when he thrust quickly, and then sank back entirely to lie on her back. He nodded knowingly at the effect his deft thumb had on her little nub. Just the slightest pressure, in combination with small circling movements… like that… yes…

The time for further advancement had come. He removed his fingers from her wetness, which, suitably enough, caused her to open her eyes so she could watch him licking her fluids from his hand. She seemed mesmerised by the simple motion and sat up slightly again, continuing to follow his hands as they slid her skirt up over her hips, and then lazily undid the laces of his leggings. He admired the sight in front of him, the woman's glistening sheath and the wanton expression of her eyes, both telling him everything that needed to be said. With a little sigh, she lay on her back again, and she lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist without hesitation. He placed his rigid member at her entrance and locked his gaze with hers.

At first she made no sound. Her eyes widened as he slowly filled her, and her mouth became round, but she seemed to be speechless. She opened her mouth even more as he began to move with long, slow, determined strokes, but it was not until he had done it several times that she let out a keening sound. After that, there seemed to be no way of silencing her. It suited him perfectly. He liked them noisy. Needy. Shameless and desperate to be impaled, again and again.

He continued to thrust into her, still slowly, agonisingly slowly. It amused him to restrain his desires for yet a while, thus ensuring greater satisfaction when he would eventually let them lose. Just a little more and that threshold of his patience would have been reached. And she made it difficult for him. Those noises… her body writhing, thrashing from side to side, threatening to knock over that loathsome jug of milk.

With an effort, he paused his motion and took hold of her wrists, efficiently nailing her arms to the table, on either side of her head. Resuming his previous pace, he noticed contentedly that she was only able to move her head… and her hips. He stood still for a moment, relishing in the feeling as she repeatedly lifted her hips to take in more of him, to force him to continue. Yes. She had had enough of tenderness. It was about time to move on. Just a few strokes more… Holding her lust-filled gaze, closely observing the slightest change, he gave her the last, hard thrusts that sent her over the edge, screaming.


Eadhild thought she would swoon when the Elf finally moved. Sitting on tables was not a habit of hers, but his intentions seemed clear enough for her to bite back any words of protest. How could she say anything to this intimidating creature, let alone something that might awaken his anger again! She wanted his touch so badly now and she held her breath as he bared her breasts. It felt shameful to sit like this, presenting herself to his penetrating gaze… oh, that wicked grin. She had to look away as he fondled her, biting back the moans of pleasure that threatened to expose the full extent of her wantonness.

And then, he felt underneath her skirt and she could not refuse him. His touch was so demanding, so deliberate, and when he touched her there, between her thighs… ah. She could not stand it anymore, she had to lie down. It ended all too soon, but she regretted that she had lifted her gaze to look at him. That lecherous expression on his face as he sucked his fingers went straight to her core.

She could not look away when he moved his hands to that bulge in his leggings. Carefully, he untied the fastenings, and then… She swallowed deeply at the sight of his impressive organ, reminded of the previous night. He did not let her admire it for long, but sheathed it in her painstakingly slowly, as if determined to make her feel it. She did, very well. So well she did not register what happened afterwards, only those green eyes refusing to let her go. She was barely aware of her screams. When she recovered, she wanted more. The Elf wanted the same.


Thranduil noted contentedly that he did not have to use verbal commands to get the woman where he wanted her next. He gestured towards the open window, and she quickly complied. He had judged it reasonably safe, after all, as the streets were nearly empty, and by this time his archers would keep the area under their watchful eye. They would not begrudge their king indulging himself somewhat on a beautiful morning.

He nodded curtly in reply to the woman's quizzical look over her shoulder. Obediently she took hold of the windowsill, and he took his position behind her. He shoved her skirt up over her generous hips and nudged her legs farther apart with his thigh. She answered by arching her back and pushing out her bottom, very obviously offering herself to him. This time he entered her swiftly and picked up a fast, almost brutal, pace at once. Her moaning vocalisations urged him on and waves of pure pleasure rolled over him as he continued to pound into her.


The scene offered to the townsfolk that were up and about their business at this time of the day was not as scandalous as one might think. True, there could be no doubt as to what the woman and the Elf in the window were doing. Not even if she had kept from moaning loudly every time the Elf made an extra forceful motion with his hips would the passers-by be deceived. Her empty gaze and grimaces, in combination with the sounds she made, could only originate from extreme pleasure.

But, there was very little flesh showing. The untied ribbon of the woman's bodice could have made some viewers hope for the ample breasts to escape their prison when she leaned over to accommodate her lover, but his hand kept them in place. There would be no show of blushing milk-white skin here. And, as the Elf had been very eager to take his pleasure, the woman was still fully dressed. Her skirt was a crumpled mass around her waist, but it still hid her from the eyes of others, if not from the Elf's other hand. He mostly held her around the waist, but frequently strayed to place his hand on her core, pushing and sliding his fingers over it to make her produce the most enticing sounds.

The small audience in the street did not complain over the lack of visual nakedness. A woman and her grown daughter hurried by with large baskets in their hands, on their way to the market. The mother stared straight in front of her, but the younger woman couldn't resist casting a glance towards the window. The scene made her blush profusely, but thoughts of the handsome Elf would occupy her mind for many days after.

Two men were standing in the shadows of the building on the other side of the street on unsteady legs. "Look at that wench," one of them said to his companion in a far from sober voice. "That point-ear is really giving it to her." There was admiration in his voice. A lewd grin spread on the yellow-haired man's face as he lifted his hand to his crotch. But most were not as bold, and preferred to not act out their reactions to the scene in the window.

Nevertheless, it served to further enhance the reputation of the inn, and those maidservants who added to their salary by exchanging pleasure for coins went with full apron pocket for weeks afterwards.


Thranduil suspected that the sight of the men would have made the woman cringe, but their presence and crude talk did not disturb him. Foolish mortals! In a way, he was rather encouraged by the audience as it gave him the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the superiority of Elves. Those peasants knew nothing about making a female delirious with lust!

He glanced down at them with contempt a last time before he turned his full attention back to the woman in front of him. Her round backside was for sure a far more pleasant sight, and the slapping sound as their thighs met a sound sweeter to his ear.

His thrusts increased in force and fervour, to the point that he had to steady her with his hands around her waist, but she showed no sign of discomfort. If anything, she spread her legs further, moaning and whimpering, urging him to continue.


Eadhild felt dizzy. Already blessed, but not sated, from her first climax, she had complied eagerly with the Elf's desire to have her against the window. She had felt anxious at first, but all sensible thought left her after he had entered her again. His thrusts, his hands, and his hot voice in her ear, was more than enough to concentrate on… and the feelings they created in her. She had reached her peak more than once, but the Elf seemed never to stop, he just continued to bestow his passions on her, until, finally she had heard him shout as in triumph. It was the call of the victor, and she did not mind being conquered.

She nearly collapsed when he let go of her, but then his strong arms caught her again. He looked satisfied now, calmer than she had seen him before. Not as menacing. But the green fire in his eyes was still there, and she was not deceived to think him "safe". What would he do now?

"You will rest," he said and led her to the bed. She followed him reluctantly and protested, saying that she had other duties this morning.

"You shall eat, and then you shall rest," he repeated again, pushing her shoulders to make her sit. "Until noon." Then he was gone, and though the door shut surprisingly quietly, the sound of a key turning in the lock was very clear. The arrogant elf! How dare he do that! Anything to get his will, it seemed.

She sighed, but as soon as she lay down, she felt that he had been right. It was probably for the best that he had left, or she would soon have been even more sore. But his scent lingered on the sheets, like fresh leaves and moss. Such a pity they would have to be aired. But she would sleep a little first, and then enjoy the bread and the deliciously fat goat milk. For all the refinement of Elves, some simple pleasures were clearly beyond their imagination.

Scenes from a Life Home


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Posted: July 6, 2004

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"Long live Thranduil, great Elf-king of Greenwood!"