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Game


By: Malinorne
Beta: Mary Aseltyne
Pairing: Thranduil/OFC
Warnings: NC-17, PWP
Disclaimer: Thranduil is Tolkien's, the rest comes from my imagination. No money made.
Summary: A maidservant satisfies more than her curiosity about a black-clad elf with a hot temper. PWP.
Author's notes: This is a kind of sequel to "Scenes from a life", written for a fan of that story who wanted Eadhild, or a younger maidservant, to meet the black-clad leader of the Wood-elves again. It fits in before the last chapter of "Scenes", and will make more sense if you've read that story. But, it should be enjoyable as a PWP even if you haven't.
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"Tell me about the dark elf."

Surprised, Eadhild looked up from the patchwork quilt she was sewing. The request as such was not new - the younger maidservants often asked her to tell them something from her rich experience with the elves who came to the inn for more than just food and drink. She still took one to her bed on rare occasions, but she had come to enjoy solitude more and more, perhaps to better recall, and relive, the caresses of her strangest lover, King Thranduil.

"There are no dark elves," she told the girl. "They are all fair of skin, even the ones with black hair."

She lied. She remembered a particular dark, even black, elf very well. His hair had shone like the sun on a mild summer's day, but his eyes had been dark. And his clothes, even his temper. The king of the elves in the great forest had been a formidable elf, and was still, for all that she knew.

His wine was all she had tasted since she left him. The proud creature hadn't visited the inn even once after that, even though it happened that a small group of northern wood-elves stayed the night. They always left hours before dawn, and were not generous with their money, but the women who served them were usually left satisfied nevertheless.

Without realizing it until much later, she had made it a habit to look at the necks of anyone who visited one of these elves, scanning them for a stone pearl of a particular colour that would have told her that the dark elf had been in the company, and had chosen another favourite. It never happened, and it was ridiculous of course. As head of housekeeping, she kept a close eye on all the visitors to the inn, and she would recognize him in any disguise.

His distrustful glances that turned greedy when he looked at something he wanted. His quick movements, the way he used to fling his hair. His voice that made her ache with need long past her child-bearing years, when no decent woman should harbour such needs.

"But, mistress Eadhild," the girl insisted, "the others say that in your youth, there was an elf here who scared everyone, everyone but you. Please tell me about him!"

She studied the girl. Nineteen, perhaps twenty, years of age, with hair of nondescript tawny colour and a pretty face. Lara, was it? A good girl, if perhaps overly cheeky in her behaviour with the men. Not the shy countryside girl she herself had been before she met him. And what could it hurt to tell a few words, relive some of the thrill of that first encounter? Lara turned out to be a grateful listener. Not once did she interrupt the tale, and Eadhild found to her astonishment that she ended up giving the younger woman a few more details than she had initially planned to. By the time she finished, she suspected that her own face looked as flushed as Lara's.

"And... you never saw him again?" The girl sounded disappointed.

"Never, my girl." And that was for the best, she thought. She was past playing games.

The door to the inn shut with a slam. Lara ran to attend to the customer, while Eadhild hurriedly hid her quilt in a basket under the table. Enough sewing for today, it seemed. This lonely man would soon be joined by more, who wanted their evening meal. She went to the kitchen to alert the staff there, but sent the girl instead when she saw who the lonely guest was. Not a guest at all, it appeared, merely John, the eldest son of the farmer on the other side of the river.

"You're early," she said. These folk usually had enough to do during the day without wasting their time on drinks and company.

"I have an unusual errand, mistress," he replied, scraping his foot. "When watering my horse in the glade just outside town, I was approached by an elf. They sent me here."

"Did they pay you?" He fidgeted, blushing as he shook his head.

"Eh... no. They said the value of their order would be pay enough for the inn to afford my services." She narrowed her eyes and asked him, now suspicious.

"What do they want?"

"Provisions, madam. Bread, cheese, smoked fish. And wine, they were clear about that. What an insult to our fine brewery!" His voice became steadier as he talked indignantly about the strange taste of the elves, and nearly forgot to mention hay for their horses.

"I know their tastes, don't worry. I will send someone." She fished a coin out of her apron and handed it to the man, who eagerly pocketed it.


Thranduil paced the glade impatiently. The hunt, possibly the last one before the winter, could have been called successful. Three boars, dangerous beasts, hanged gutted from the trees, together with seven of the slender deer. Last year's young bucks, mostly. Plenty of food for his people.

But, the white deer had escaped him. As always, she had urged him on, flapping her furry tail and jumping this way and that through the depths of the wood. It would have been cheating to fell her with an arrow, but he had been close to reach her with his knife. Close, but not there. With a last jump over a stream she had ducked into the undergrowth, where his horse could not follow.

The excitement of the hunt still flowed hot in his veins. Drunk with victory it made him, the blood rising in every limb. He flung his head at the noise from the road, sending a cascade of pale gold in the air. From his position in the shadows he could see the mortal woman on the road well.

He would send her back if she was as cheeky as she looked, confidently steering the ox chart along with only her right hand. Her left was resting on the seat, as if prepared to hold on to it. He had no doubt she did it to better display her assets. Soft breasts with nipples straining against the fabric, and now, the breeze lifted her skirt almost to her knee. White legs she had, plump and ripe, just like the rest of her. She did not make a gesture to straighten the garment, but an annoyingly self-satisfied smile played at her full lips. Impudent tart!


Lara had volunteered as soon as she heard about the elves, and even though she would have preferred to make a fancier entrance than perched on an ox-cart, she made the most of the situation. She was not on foot, after all, and her elevated position would allow them to notice her from afar. Turning this way and that she pinched her cheeks at intervals to make them rosier, and she sat as straight as she could.

She was thinking about elves, and how they were reputed to bring a woman more pleasure between the sheets than any man was able to. If she could impress this lot, they might seek her company at the inn next time instead of lurking in the forest like woses. She tugged at her blouse, forcing the neckline an inch lower. There!

The cart stopped with a creaking sound, and the oxen refused to continue. An elf was standing in the middle of the road, fixing the slow creatures with his gaze. His sudden appearance startled her, but she was not afraid. It was still broad daylight, after all. She sat up straight, put her hair neatly behind her ears and wet her lips before she addressed him.

"Master elf," she said, eagerly studying his fair face and lean form. Blond he was, like the elf in the tale, but dressed in dark green and grey. Almost like a slender tree! She leaned forward a little, to give him a better peek, and then said again, "Master elf!"

The rest of her little speech about how she had brought everything he and his companions might wish for, and how they were welcome to the inn next time, stuck in her throat when the elf suddenly stood on the cart with her, towering over her menacingly. She shrank back in her seat and wished that her skirt hadn't been raised quite so high.

"What have we here... a spy!" His voice sounded full of contempt, but his eyes... no, she could not help looking at him. Too fair was the angry face for her to take her eyes off him. She tried to explain.

"No, my lord, I was sent here with the food you ordered and..."

"A bold spy at that!"

She flinched when she realized who he was. The dark elf! It must be, even though the clothes were wrong. The voice was right, and how he was angry without provocation, and also the way he made her feel. He scared her, but there was also something else stirring in her. She wanted this elf, and not later, back at the inn.

"What will you do with me?" It seemed such a stupid thing to say, but she had to know. His fiery gaze had roamed her body, and she would follow him into the forest if he asked.

"Spies deserve harsh punishment."

The words hit her like a cold rain shower and she trembled. Now she suddenly wasn't so sure. It had seemed such a good adventure, and from what Eadhild had said about elves, a safe one. The elf's anger appeared real, and he was so much more threatening than she had imagined. A surge of fear joined the thrill in her stomach. At least he would not hurt her, would he? Elves didn't do that!

When she lifted her gaze again the elf's eyes gleamed strangely, and now he looked hungry, not unlike the men at the inn. That was something she could handle, and well, but she felt that caution was in order with this creature. She rose slowly and turned towards him. He was beautiful and dangerous like the heat of the sun, or a sweet-smelling but poisonous flower. Her heart pounded so hard in her breast that she must have missed some of his words.

"Inattentive," he spat, "like all of your race." Before she knew it he was behind her, whispering in her ear, his voice like the caress of a lover against her ear. His words were lewd, crude descriptives of the kind that aroused her more than she would ever confess. By the time he lifted his fingers to her chest she was ready to thrust her breasts into his hand.

"Wanton," he hissed, pinching an aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "I should take you here like the common whore you are."

"Ye... no, my lord," she whined, nearly breathless from the sweet torment he put her through.

"You would like it, I am sure," he continued, pushing his other hand up under her skirt. "To be on display, where all could see you."

"Oh, no." The thought of it excited her further, and she knew that he was mere seconds from feeling how wet she was.


He was lucky, after all. The cheekiness of this wench was on the tolerable side. Her protests did not sound remotely sincere, but she made up for it with the honesty of her effort. Wet she was to his finger as he delved into her moist warmth, and she squirmed promisingly, pressing her ripe backside into his groin in her attempts to escape his fingers. She moaned well, too. His decision was quick. The horses would not mind their hay being put to other use first.


Lara gasped when the elf lifted her and unceremoniously dropped her on her back in the pile of hay on the cart. Shouting indignantly, she sat up as fast as she could, but the elf was already there, with her, crouching on the cart floor with one hand on her ankle. Ready to pounce.

She kicked her leg, or tried to. How was it possible that his hold on her was not unpleasant, and yet she was unable to lift her foot? She looked into his eyes again; smouldering fire. Perhaps she didn't need to kick him... maybe she was where she wanted to be, after all... yes... That smile, or smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth made him even more handsome, and she reached out a hand to touch his hair, so irresistibly smooth-looking.

And that was when he pounced. Suddenly she found herself resting on her back, quite comfortably at that, with the elf over her. Her wrists were caught above her head, his eyes were mere inches from hers, and oh! how he moved his hips against hers. It made her secret place tingle with anticipation, and she wished she'd thought to lift her skirt.

It didn't seem like he would do it anytime soon; he appeared perfectly content with tormenting her like this. He even stuck his tongue out and lapped at her neck, right below her ear. Now she could hear him breathing, not quite like a man, but almost. The lust was there, and the need. She moaned as the tingling sensation between her legs became stronger, and wriggled beneath him as best she could. If only their clothes had not been there!


She was more than ready for him when he took the plunge. Her eager bucking against his groin urged him on further, as if that had been needed. The knowledge of soon having her had been enough from the start. And he would have her! Now!

Lifting his hips, he snuck his hand between their bodies and removed all further hindrance. She was enticingly wet against his fingers, and he held them there for a while, allowing her to seek her pleasure from them. Then he parted her nether lips, and finally thrust deeply, pinning her to the floor. He heard himself moan as he found his target and just stayed there, deep inside. But how she ground herself against him with abandon!

He chuckled at her impatient whimpers, and then he started giving her what she wanted, needed, had asked for, ever since he saw her. Deep and hard. Slowly at first, listening to her drawn-out moans. And then - fast, nearly to the point of drenching her voice in the creaking from the wretched cart. But, it was the sound of victory, ringing in his ears, pounding in his veins, like he pounded into her. A little more now, harder, faster, deeper... there!

There. Satisfaction. Rest.


Like she anticipated, the elf was not sentimental, and she decided that she rather liked that. As soon as they were finished, the other elves emerged from the shadows of the forest and began to unload the cart. She smoothed her skirt, but not too quickly, and curtseyed to them before she climbed back into the driver's seat. Had they been watching the whole time? The thought was outrageous, but titillating, too. She found herself hoping that they had enjoyed themselves as much as she had.

"I may summon you again," she heard their leader say from somewhere beside her. "You will come."

"Yes, my lord."

She was sure she fooled him with her meek response, although she had to fight hard to keep her gaze locked to the ground. And thus, she did not see the Elvenking's smirk and the gleam in his eyes as he disappeared into the trees with the others.

THE END



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Posted: August 13, 2005

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