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Far Beyond Mirkwood, Chapter 25

Authors: Mary A and Malinornë
Beta: Erfan Starled
Pairings: Mainly Thranduil/OFCs
Warnings: Adult sexual content
Disclaimer: This is a work of amateur fanfiction of the parody type and is meant solely for entertainment purposes, no profit is made.
Chapter summary: Mary continues to chase fleas in Faramir’s bed, while Mal’s tour of Mordor together with Thranduil reveals unsuspected news, which is followed by the expected consequences.

~ Mary ~

Once I had Faramir settled down, under the covers beside me, undressed except for his trousers, I began to feel more optimistic. This stubbornly chaste man beside me was not going to leave that bed without having the best time of his life, even if it killed me, or him.

At first, I stayed perfectly still, not even speaking, as we grew used to the sensation of being alone together, in a bed. After a few moments, I explained, as if searching for fleas was something that I did for a living, how our generating some body heat would entice the little critters to appear. I felt him stiffen. He was so touchy that I was getting irritated.

"Turn over on your side facing away from me," I said. "I will turn away from you on my side, and we can put our backs together. Surely that will not tempt either of us into doing anything scandalous." His back was smooth and sturdy against mine.

With a bitter sigh, I realized that the man was far more intelligent, and wise, than either Anborn or Eomer were. Not one word had been spoken about honor, fidelity, or the existence of betrothed women waiting back home, but they all stood between us like a stone wall.

"Did you know, " I asked, as if I was only interested in polite conversation, "that I am being a bridge for Thranduil right now? Ever since we got into this bed he has been watching us." Actually, I could not tell if the king was completely with us, but I did not feel as abandoned anymore, as I had earlier.

"With all due respect, Lady Mary," Faramir said finally, after a long silence. "Please forgive me if I speak out of turn, for I do not intend to insult you..." He paused, as if still uncertain.

"Go ahead, say it," I said. "You would be amazed at how hard it is to insult me."

"Am I to assume that this bridging activity," he asked, "which you continuously allude to, is something that requires your being in a bed with another man, besides Thranduil?"

"Maybe it does," I answered quickly, and I did feel a little bit insulted. "Mostly it does," I admitted, and then I flipped around and poked his back. "Did anyone ever tell you that you are too smart for your own good, Your Highness?" It was the very first time I had acknowledged his princely status. He turned his head and glanced at me sidelong, before answering.

"I presume," he said, "that being a bridge must require you to be intimate with various men, while Thranduil watches you with them, through some process of thought transference."

"Oh, it's a little bit more complicated than that, my lord" I assured him. "Sometimes there are more than just Thranduil watching me and whoever I happen to be with at the time." Specifically, I remembered the night with Celeborn, and Mal. Galadriel had been watching the three of us, along with the king. I told Faramir about it, leaving out the agonies of jealousy I had endured.

"In other words, you are nothing more or less than a royal doxy," he said, and then slid his eyes over me to judge my reaction. Of course, he never should have said it, but he had no way of knowing that being a bridge worked both ways. On the outside, I remained calm. I even smiled at him. On the inside, I saw red, various shades at that.

'Did you hear what he called me?' I silently screamed at the king, and I felt his response immediately, as did Faramir.

"All I have left to me now is the element of surprise, my friend," I said, in a deadly tone of voice.

"I beg your par..." Faramir began to reply.

I pounced. With one hand on his upraised shoulder, and with a surprising physical strength that had nothing to do with my musculature, I turned Faramir over flat on his back and pinned him in place with my eyes. Since he was lying there with his mouth conveniently agape in shock, I leaped on him, after throwing the furs off, and kissed him, without closing my eyes. He stared back at me.

With deep thrusts, I stabbed my tongue down his throat, effectively stifling any argument he might make. While keeping his lips occupied, I pressed my naked self all over him, sliding my body back and forth over his, rubbing my breasts up and down against his chest, in order to make him feel every square inch of me that could touch him in that position. He did not exactly respond, but neither did he make any attempt to stop me.

My hands were busy, too: one was unlacing Faramir's trousers, while the other was caressing his chest, an ability I did not previously realize I had. After breaking free from the kiss, and before he could stop me, I pushed myself down until my face hovered above the opening in his breeches. Very slowly, with my eyes locked to his, I reached inside and investigated.

"You are not disappointing," I finally informed him, before I yanked his pants down farther, took hold of the velvety hard shaft with both of my hands, and then inserted him into my mouth. Never once did I break eye contact as I suckled him with abandon. It was very nearly rape. When he was close to spending, I pulled away, letting his throbbing, wet member plop out and land, with a soft 'splat', on his pleasingly flat tummy.

"Enough foreplay," I announced firmly, while I removed his trousers completely. The poor man gasped and shook his apparently dizzy head. Gently now, I lifted his sorely abused, but still very eager manhood, straddling his hips while I did so, and impaled myself on him with one deft, sure downward thrust. He gasped louder than I did, and then he moaned. This might truly have been considered rape.

For a few moments I did not move a muscle. Instead I stared down at him, and waited for his glazed eyes to clear and focus on me again. When I was sure he was listening, I said, "I believe you have earned for yourself a lesson in respect, my dear man."

In a way, I almost felt sorry for Faramir. The 'dear man' was thoroughly outnumbered, even though he was unaware of it. For me, the sexual part of the experience was nearly an after-thought. Feeling the king inside of me, not just directing me and controlling the situation, but palpably surging through me, was nearly more thrilling than the act itself. We were co-partners in the deed of lust. I reveled in the power.

After Thranduil allowed us to come to the final, explosive act of completion, Faramir and I both collapsed into a panting, sweaty and exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

"Call me a doxy, hah," I muttered, not able to lift my head to see if Faramir even heard me. If he made any response, I will never know, because I fell sound asleep on top of him.

~ Mal ~

I awoke in complete darkness, terribly sore, my left arm nearly feeling numb from being trapped between my body and the hard makeshift bed of stone. The elves had graciously offered any garments they didn’t need for the night to make me a mattress, but even Thaladir’s long, thick robe proved too thin for comfort.


Legolas’ voice from a small distance away made me blush as I thought back upon what I had been doing with his father a few hours ago, well within the young elf’s hearing range. Legolas was ‘younger’, not ‘young’, I reminded myself. He was by no means an innocent, and maybe he had even enjoyed listening. Wrong thought! For some reason, that idea made my cheeks even hotter. What if he actually desired..?

“I know you are awake,” I heard him say, much closer now. “Breakfast is ready, if you would like some before we leave.”

I quickly chased all unseemly thoughts from my head, admittedly with some effort – the novel idea of Legolas as a potential bed partner seemed to have planted itself firmly in my mind already – and rose with as much grace as I could muster, which was barely enough to keep me from tipping over. There was a light touch to the small of my back – Legolas again – and I gratefully accepted his rubbing my spine.

“Thank you,” I said when I felt I could possibly walk enough to find out what was for breakfast.

“Don’t mention it; it was just as much for my sake,” he replied, and added in a secretive whisper: “I would prefer not to have to listen to the old one lecturing us all on the physical incompatibility of the human body with regards to various bed materials, or, Elbereth forbid, require us to spend the whole day at this fascinating place because he declares you unfit to travel.”

I stifled a giggle. “Hush, he can hear us, don’t you think?”

“He can, but he has also had centuries to get used to me. Besides, His Excellency knows that I love him dearly. And he is most patient.”

Someone cleared his throat very audibly, and we both chuckled.

“Indeed,” I said loudly, “His Excellency is a most valuable member of the royal household.”

“Then allow me to inform you, Lady Malinorne, Your Highness, of our impeding departure and the necessity of haste with regards to nutritional intake, inasmuch as such is desired.”

Thaladir, right beside me now, offered me his elbow and guided me to a stony seat even less comfortable than the bed. Soon I was sitting in the Elven-king’s lap instead, holding a cup of hot water with herbs in it and a piece of cold meat. One of last night’s eagle-caught rabbits, no doubt, but at least it looked like it was cooked, which Thranduil confirmed.

There was nothing in his voice to suggest anything out of the ordinary, but I could feel the tension in his thighs and the arm he held around my waist. His fingers were plucking at my clothes, as usual, teasing and demanding access, but in an absent-minded way, as if he wasn’t entirely there. I felt sorry for him. This orc business must have upset him even more than he expressed yesterday, which only showed how deeply he loved his son, if he had agreed to travel because Legolas wanted it.

Eventually my eyes got used to the darkness, or perhaps it was the first hint of the dawn that helped me pick out the dark, looming form that was the seneschal. He was looking at me and I recognized the silent toe-tapping.

“Why this haste, Your Excellency?”

“You are forgetting your lessons. The yrch of Mordor, whether of new habits as indicates His Highness, or, following their foul ways of old, are unlikely to have developed resistance to sunlight. Hence, for the current trip to be meaningful, we should not tarry.”

“I’m sorry.” Thaladir accepted my apology and turned his attention to Legolas instead, which was a relief, until I heard what they were discussing... the defence structures at Morannon, the Black Gate, and whether any of them were of the orcs’ conception, or all the work of Sauron. In the safety of the king’s caverns, such talk would have bored me. Here, it filled me with fear.

I sipped my tea, quicker now, and felt sorrier for myself with each sip. In a few moments’ time, I would be miserable again, in the open air and exposed to cold winds. Most of all I wanted to go home, or at least somewhere more welcoming. The idea of orcs scared me too, even if only seen from the relative safety of the back of an eagle. I might fall off just from looking at their nasty faces. And what if they had crossbows?

Thranduil took the now empty cup from me and tossed it to his seneschal, who hid it somewhere in his cloak.

“It is time,” said the king, and rose. I instantly felt cold again.

On an impulse, I tugged at his sleeve. "Your Majesty, please, can’t we just go back to Osgiliath?" He looked surprised, but also concerned.

"Now that we have come this far, I will not forego this opportunity to see my enemy." He sounded patient, and much kinder than I would have, considering the circumstances. It was the kind of explanation one might give a child.

“Then could I please stay here? The rest of you could go, and you could pick me up on the way back.”

“Alone? That is out of the question.” The determination in his voice was a relief; I realized that the prospect of being alone – anywhere – was much worse than my fear of orc-seeing.

“With Thaladir, then?” I asked without really being interested in the answer. It was more a means to drag out the moment of departure than to offer a serious solution.

“No. I need my seneschal.” I sighed. “And,” he continued before I could blurt out a silly response to that, “I need you. I have invested far too much in you to risk losing you to the abyss, or a dragon foraging.”

I gave a shiver. Compared to facing a dragon alone, watching orcs in the Elven-king’s company sounded almost as pleasant as Mary’s waterfall trip with Faramir. But it was what he said about needing me that did the most to convince me to overcome my resistance.

I still did not have to like it, and spent the first part of the ride closely pressed against Thranduil’s back, hiding from the wind as best I could. But, as soon as I felt the Elven-king’s fingers take a harder grip around my arm, I leaned to the side, looking down on the landscape beneath us. It was an uneven patchwork of brown and yellow, whether crops or mud or sand I could not tell in the bleak morning light. Not a living soul was there to be seen, not by my eyes at least. Legolas shouted, ‘There!’ a couple of times and even tried to direct my gaze, as did Thranduil. Thaladir sat quiet, unmoving, but I could see his eyes scanning the ground.

Finally I saw them, too. Oblong houses of the same non-descript hue as the ground around them, and fenced-in pens of different sizes and shapes, clumsily patched together and without a straight angle anywhere. The impression was somewhat pre-historic, of being constructed by someone strong but with no sense of beauty, only rough practicality. Small creatures swarmed around the place, and I watched their numbers with growing alarm until I realized that they were just pigs.

They suddenly began making excited noises and move in the same direction. Three orcs with buckets in their hands emerged from the building below us and poured the contents in a trough. We saw more scenes like that, orcs watering pigs, feeding hens, repairing houses or just moving about. There was nothing sinister or war-like about them. As Thaladir pointed out, there were no watch-towers, not even a simple wall around the village. We made another turn over the pig farms, where some of the workers had now stopped and were gazing towards the sky.

The eagle dove straight at them. My eyes filled with tears from the wind, which was lucky, as the roller-coaster sensation in my belly was quite enough without looking. When the eagle planed down her flight over the heads of orcs and pigs running in panic and tripping over each other, falling head first in mud, she screeched, causing new rounds of panic wherever she flew. Thranduil roared with laughter, and Thaladir was near to smiling. I felt giddy with sheer excitement and would have shouted, ‘Again!’ but Legolas arm on mine stopped me.

“Up!” shouted Thranduil, and the eagle lifted us higher on mighty wings, just in time before spears and black-feathered crossbow arrows began to fly around our ears. We continued to circle above the village for some time, while the elves discussed armament and weaponry and fortifications and other such things I tried not to hear too much about. The scenery below us became calm again, the pigs restored to their pens just before the sun’s rays began to burn in earnest. The orcs took refuge in their houses, and we continued south, towards the lake of Nurnen, following the eagle’s insistence that she needed to drink before setting out on the long flight back to Osgiliath.

‘Seemingly docile, but far from defenceless,’ was the king’s conclusion about the orcs. He warned our bird from repeating the trick, if she was ever to venture here again, and repeated his offer of archers to Legolas, in the war he still deemed necessary. The younger elf tried to dodge, but eventually had to tell his father openly that he was of a different opinion. None of them said another word until we reached the lake, located in a fertile landscape with patches of shrubbery between fields. The water glittering in the mild sunlight and the green grass around us lifted our moods.

The eagle landed a small distance from the water. The nearest farm looked deserted in the early hour, apart from a stout man too busy picking up rocks from a furrow to pay attention to us.

While the great bird moved away to drink, the rest of us continued to watch the man. He was broad-backed but otherwise appeared slim, his arms were much too long, and his knees were bent as if from some malady that made it impossible for him to straighten them. Elf-like ears, but contorted somehow, maybe because of the ridiculously wide-brimmed hat.

When he turned, deep-set eyes peered at us from a wide face. He opened his mouth and displayed an uneven row of teeth, or fangs. An orc!

I screamed, and so did the orc.

A farmer, pitchfork in hand, came running.

“What are you doing with my farm-hand?” he shouted, none too friendly.

“That is an orch,” declared Thranduil with obvious disgust.

“An uruk he is, and a good worker. Now, why are you bothering him?”

Thaladir frowned. “Do not use that tone when addressing a lord, peasant.”

“Lord? Lord? The dark lord is dead, and no-one should ever enslave us again,” he muttered angrily.

“That is all well, good master,” said Legolas kindly and with a polite nod. “We are here only on a brief visit, out of curiosity.”

“It would still be seemly to remember proper manners when talking to a king,” said Thaladir.

The man straightened his back and fastened his eyes at the seneschal. “We, the free farmers of Nurnen, recognize only one king, Elessar Aragorn II of Gondor, who took us out of slavery and granted us these lands.” Even the seneschal seemed taken aback by that and was quiet for almost a minute, giving Legolas the opportunity to continue:

“And now, these creatures are your serfs instead?”

The farmer waved his hand. “Oh, no, that would be just like the dark one. The king has forbidden it. This young uruk here serves me of his free will.”

“Really?” I was surprised.

“Many of the younger males work at farms around here. Keeps them out of trouble, it does, until they are strong enough to win a girl and start their own family. Shurak here, I give him clothes and food, and his mother fetches his salary every month.”

During our conversation, the orc had stood motionless behind his employer, looking at the elves with fear. To them, he was a beast, evil and soulless, their enemy for millennia. To me, he had begun to change as soon as I took a closer look at him. Not pretty, and probably not too clever, either. Nevertheless, indisputably a person. Someone with a name, a family, and dreams. Suddenly, there seemed to be nothing particularly fun about the eagle raid in the village.

“Thank you,” said Legolas to the man. “Your information has been most valuable to us.”

“Wait a moment.” His eyes narrowed. “You are elves, are you not? Except for the woman.” Legolas nodded, and the farmer turned to me. “How did you come to be with them? He does not hold you enthralled, does he?” He hinted at Thranduil, who had put a protecting arm around me. I realized it could be interpreted differently.

“Enthralled?” I smiled. “Not against my will, no.” I could sense the king’s appreciation, but he didn’t relax for a moment.

“Whatever suits your fancy.” The man shrugged. “I know the queen is supposed to be partly from that race, but I don’t trust them, no, I don’t.”

At that point Thaladir could no longer hold his tongue. “My good man,” he began in a condescending variant of the voice he usually reserved for lectures. “Allow me firstly to inform you that questioning the reliability of His Majesty is, regardless of your apparent and most appalling ignorance, considered high crime, and furthermore...”

Legolas stepped in and silenced the old elf with a smooth, but effective “Excellency”.

“As I said before,” he addressed the man, “we should be leaving now. We are most grateful for the visit.” He began to shoo the other elves in the direction of the eagle, while continuing to thank the farmer.

It looked comical, but it was easy to stifle my initial impulse to giggle. The Elven-king was furious, his body tense to the point of eruption. I tried to put my hand on his arm as we went but he shook me off so violently that I stumbled and fell. Not hurt, but shaken and surprised, I stopped for a moment. Thranduil was walking away fast, clenching his fists, and his seneschal was beside him, half-running to keep up, and constantly babbling something I couldn’t hear.

“Forgive him, please!” Legolas looked positively stricken where now he stood beside me. “I have not seen him this agitated since... a long time ago. Please. He needs you.”

“I will,” I told him. Thranduil had likely not really registered my presence and would have lashed out at anyone at that moment.

He was still distraught when Legolas and I caught up, pacing to and fro in front of the waiting eagle. Thaladir appeared to have given up his attempts at soothing his king, and merely stood there, arms crossed, looking sour.

“Tame yrch!” spat Thranduil. “This is not the world as when I first gazed upon it.”

“It is not,” confirmed Legolas mildly. “And, so...”

“I should leave it to mankind as soon as possible,” he replied irritably, “and quit stalling for time by extending this journey around Middle-earth? Is that what you mean, ion?”


“What a magnificent end to the era of the elves! The last king to remain concedes the power of his people to a man who would keep yrch as pets!”

The king’s mood seemed to rub off on the eagle, who began to flap her wings and flex her talons in an alarming way. When she opened her beak and gave an eerie cry, Legolas took me aside.

“Mal, I am afraid to ask, considering what just happened, but I fear we cannot fly safely while he is in this mood. Please, would you..?”

I agreed without thinking for a second, and felt incredibly proud of myself for being such a model royal concubine. What a waste Thaladir was not in a mood to notice!

I expected the quickest, and possibly hardest, fuck ever but rather than ripping the clothes off my body as soon as we had reached the relative privacy of the shrubs Thranduil just clung to me like a drowning man. I embraced him, holding his head to my chest and stroking his hair, until I felt the tension in his muscles melt away.

A moment went by, while he remained so still I began to wonder if he was sleeping. Then, his mouth, wetting my nipple through my tunic, confirmed that he was his old self again, ready to take advantage of the situation and very much in control.

We made love slowly, so painstakingly gently that I whined with impatience through most of it. A glance into the Elven-king’s eyes showed that it was precisely how he wanted me.

~*~ From Thaladir's Notebook ~*~

Status of daily schedule: Of insignificant consequence in the light of current, most unfortunate, circumstances.

Remarks: Certainly, the events of this day have been highly unpleasant, unseemly and, furthermore, unsuitable indeed! Words fail me as I attempt to describe my mind upon beholding the uncouth creature in the midst of the Second-born, an unsettling experience surpassed only by witnessing the most appalling absence of manners, as well as wit, in its master. Helpless at Thranduil’s distress, I can but praise His Majesty’s foresight in insisting on Lady Malinorne’s presence on this journey. Long live Eryn Lasgalen!

To be continued...

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Chapter posted: April 23, 2009

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