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“Greetings! May I?” Felagund pointed to one of the nine empty chairs encircling the table.
Thranduil sat alone at the tenth. He motioned an arm towards several of the chairs across from him; Felagund pulled out the closest one nearest to Thranduil and began to sit down.
“Middle-earth, right?”
“Born and raised,” said Thranduil, his other hand holding a glass of red wine aloft.
“My sister told me.”
“Ah. Introductions appear unnecessary.”
Felagund was just shy of truly sitting down, hovering just slightly. “Would you prefer to be alone?”
Thranduil perceived the change in Felagund’s voice–his initial greeting came with a light and airy sound, with the sort of charisma expected of the party’s host. This question was real and came with a flash of uncertainty in Felagund’s eyes. He was already beginning to rise up again as Thranduil still did not answer.
“I did not mean to disturb you.”
Sincerity. Disappointment–obviously in himself.
“Sit.” Thranduil set his glass down and moved one of the empty ones towards the seat beside him. “Sit,” he said again when Felagund remained frozen, and Felagund finally sat down. Thranduil poured wine for Felagund and refilled his own glass. “How much has your sister told you of me?”
Felagund folded his hands on top of the table, and did not touch the wine. “She said you were lonely. Lonely like me.” Felagund glanced up. “You...get my meaning?”
Thranduil sipped his wine and nodded. “What was his name?”
Felagund looked back down. “I knew him as Balan, but you may have heard of him as Bëor.”
“I am familiar with the name.”
“And you?”
Thranduil drank again, and sighed, and wondered how much Galadriel had shared. More than once, she had remarked to him that he might consider settling West, living in Valinor, but especially, meeting her brother. The tales of him always sounded quite romantic, that his lover awaited him, and he came back to her after death. Galadriel assured him the last time they spoke in Middle-earth that the stories were exaggerated and complicated, and that Amarie had been a married woman even in the Years of the Trees.
“I met him during the war,” said Thranduil. “It was very complicated. My wife had already passed.” He took another drink before he uttered the name. “Bard of Laketown.”
Felagund nodded. “I still think of him, after all these years.”
Thranduil looked into the bottom of his glass. Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was Felagund’s soothing voice. “When I close my eyes, I can hear his laughter.”
Felagund folded his arms over the top of the table and looked around the room. He gave cursory smiles to those who made eye-contact. Without looking directly at Thranduil, he lifted his glass to mask his lips from anyone who might have been trying to determine what they were speaking of. “Valinor has not progressed, not like Middle-earth did and continued to long after I was last there. You need to watch who you tell your truth to.”
“I assume you are safe.” Thranduil had lifted his glass to block his lips from being read by others as well.
“I am–obviously–but I am serious about your safety. Until now, I have only told my sister what I just told you.”
Thranduil waited for the rest, and then prodded him. “Only your sister?”
Felagund looked over at Thranduil without turning his head. “It took me a long time to confide in her.” He took another breath; Thranduil could see the perspiration on Felagund’s brow. “In two minutes, I am going to drop a key on the floor. Do not look at it. I am going to stand up, bid you a good night, and leave. Count to fifty, then notice the key. Pocket it. Finish your wine. And if you are amenable, the address is 455 Nalta Road. Do not ask anyone for instructions there. It is the third house north from the The Cursed Blade Pub. Blue door.” Felagund downed the rest of the wine, then set the glass down as he stood up. There was a slight glint; it was the key hitting the carpeted floor. Once more, his voice was lifted, what Thranduil now knew was fake joy. “It was lovely meeting you, Vëatuilë. I hope we might speak again soon.”
“Likewise.” Thranduil pulled his gaze away and began to count. In his head. One…two…three…
“Thranduil.”
He had not foreseen an interruption. “Galadriel.”
She smiled. “Artanis, here, please.”
“Of course.” Thranduil motioned to one of the empty chairs, but Galadriel shook her head. “Are you enjoying the party?”
“Mmm.” Artanis looked across the ballroom. She waited until Felagund passed through the doors before she asked, “Are you?”
Thranduil realized he had already lost his count. His fingers itched to grab the key before she saw it, but he balled up his fist in his lap instead. “It is a lovely night for one.”
Artanis laughed. “Indeed it is. And, a lovely night for other things as well.” She winked. “May the stars shine upon your path,” she said as she moved away from the table.
“And yours,” replied Thranduil as he began to hastily stand. In his head, he heard her laughter again and cautionary words: Do not forget the key.
Twenty minutes later, Thranduil approached 455 Nalta Road to find Felagund pacing on his own porch. The moment he caught sight of Thranduil walking up the narrow path overarched with artfully sculpted bushes, Felagund smirked and shook his head. “I foiled myself,” he whispered, trying not to laugh. “I made it three steps away from you when it came to me that I would not have a way to let myself in.”
“Was that why you had Galadriel–er, Artanis–come to the table?” Thranduil walked up the steps to the porch.
“I did send her a message by thought, yes. I hope I did not overstep in doing so.” Felagund smiled as Thranduil held the key out to him. “Thank you.” He closed his fingers around the key, purposely brushing against Thranduil’s hand. “Would you like to come in? Since you are here?”
Thranduil lowered his voice and said, “Probably a better idea than continuing here on the porch in public.”
“Indeed.” Felagund slid the key into the lock and continued to chatter as he let himself in and beckoned Thranduil to follow. “I do not usually attend balls such as the one tonight, but Artanis convinced me that being a cranky old hermit is not becoming of a hero of Middle-earth, so I–”
Thranduil did several things at once. One was to shut and lock the door. Another was to grab hold of Felagund’s wrist before he got too far ahead of him in the dark hallway. Nearly simultaneously, he pulled Felagund closer, and kissed him.
Words paused, the key fell to the floor, and Felagund wrapped his arms around Thranduil. It was the only encouragement needed for Thranduil to back Felagund against the nearest wall. One arm he used to anchor Felagund to him; the other slid back into golden hair.
The next conversation came when they paused in kissing and groping to begin undressing each other. “Bedroom, upstairs. Or, couch in the parlor.”
“Couch. No, bed,” decided Thranduil.
Felagund shrugged himself out of his shirt and tossed it onto the floor. Then he tugged on Thranduil’s hand and led him up the stairs. “I am not sure your preferences, but–”
“You want to be on the bottom.”
Felagund shrugged. “I can be flexible, but–”
Thranduil pulled Felagund against him when they reached the top of the steps. They kissed again, and Thranduil said, “I will fuck you until dawn if you let me.”
Felagund groaned. “Only dawn? I have all day. Balan used to fuck me until I could hardly walk.”
“Then until we run out of oil, and once more after, to remind us both of the stamina of Men.”