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“Remember: No eating your siblings.” Bard gently chided. It was more of a joke than anything else.
Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. And elves are friends, not food.”
“Alfrid’s not an elf.” Bain blurted. “Can we eat him?”
“Ewwwww!” Giggled Tilda.
“I’m with Tilda. He’d be stringy and rotten at best.” Sigrid wrinkled her nose in disgust. Bard did not like this line of thought even though he was certain his children were joking.
Taking another look at Sigrid, Bard hesitated. Probably . “No. No eating any people. Furry four-leggeds only. Remember, the Elven King allows us to use his woods-”
“-Out of the goodness of his heart because he doesn't know what we are. We know, Da.” Sigrid waved her father off. “We’re just cursed. We’re not actually monsters.”
While she had a point, Sigrid’s tendency towards blunt logic meant she rarely comprehended the way other people felt about certain things.
Carding his hands through his hair, Bard resigned himself to a long night. “There used to be an island of true werewolves. While their origins have been forgotten by most, their brutality has not.”
When Bard was bitten as a child during the fleeing of Dale’s destruction, Bard’s mother was the only thing that kept him from being eaten alive. She beat the monster off of Bard with a fury only matched by other mothers. From there, she searched for any and all information on werewolves with a rabid need to protect Bard. The venom of their bite was deadly to elves, but there was little information on what it would do to men.
Unlike his children, Bard did not have the pleasure of waiting until puberty for his first transformation. By then, his mother had become as much of an expert on werewolves as Sauron himself, but she did not have a way to contain him or communicate with him in his new form. Werewolves spoke something akin to Black Speech, but even learning pieces of the forbidden tongue did not make Bard’s new form more manageable.
“I will take twelve visits to the cobbler each year over anything happening to my son. No expense is too great to keep you safe.”
She never gave up, and neither would Bard.
“Let’s try to hunt as a pack this time.” Bard spoke a little louder to accommodate his children going behind the bushes to ditch their clothing. He did the same, protecting the fabric from the changing of their bodies. Only poor Tilda was left out, but she would join them in some years, and it was important she saw every step of the process. “That way no one gets surprised by the spiders.”
“I wasn't surprised!” Sigrid growled, her voice changing as she began the arduous process of morphing her body.
“I was.” Bain’s admittance wasn’t quiet or ashamed, but it too was strained by the stretching of his vocal chords to accommodate a bestial throat.
Tilda and Bard giggled at their bickering until their transformations were complete. Bard took far less time with more than double their lifespans in practice. His was also far less painful, reduced to nothing but a familiar ache that hardly warranted a grunt of acknowledgement.
When Bard emerged from the bushes, two smaller werewolves stood before him on all fours, teasing their sister with snuffling. Tilda was writhing on the ground shrieking about how it tickled and, frankly, that was a damn good start to the night. Bard had been ready to chase Sigrid down and actually keep her from tormenting Esgaroth.
Bard walked on two legs, using his claws to scruff his older children and pull them back from their sister. “ She needs to be able to breathe if she wants to run with us .” The language of the Isle was one Bard had learned intuitively, but it still made him flinch to hear it come from his own muzzle.
“ You’re no fun.” Sigrid huffed. She tried to cross her arms as she would in her natural state, but her wolven anatomy made the motion look anything but fluid.
Setting his other kids down, Bard helped Tilda back up to her feet. He was still wary of his claws despite the practice he had holding her with them. Tilda hugged one of Bard’s arms, and Bard, for the hundredth time this year alone, wondered if he was doing right by bringing her along. More than anything in the world, he wanted to keep his children safe. She is safer here with me than at home alone to the mercy of our neighbors , he reminded himself.
“Take a lap. Both of you.” Bard rested his head against the top of Tilda’s for a moment before gently pulling away from her hug. He needed to warm up as well, and so he joined Sigrid and Bain in running the edges of the clearing. With every yard, Bard’s muscles remembered their places, finding comfort in the activity until it all felt good. Right. As if this were his natural shape instead of the man.
Once they were done running, Bard stood back up and took several deep sniffs of the night air. He could smell everything down to the last drop of water in the river. He could smell the positions of the elven patrols, the animals, and the monsters alike. He could smell where they needed to hunt.
“Delicious meat this way.” Bard’s children knew the drill, yet he still glanced over his shoulder to ensure they fell into proper formation. Sigrid and Bain would flank Bard, keeping Tilda in between for protection. They could not truly run with Tilda, but they could lope along at a comfortable pace until the hunt demanded they tuck Tilda away and sneak up on their prey.
Bard’s nose was never wrong, and they soon found the web of a single, fat giant spider. He gestured for his children to follow him as he scooped Tilda up and placed her on his shoulders. They climbed the nearby trees, placing Tilda safely in a nook of thick, stable branches before descending down upon their prey.
Bard leapt onto the spider itself, causing it to crash through its own web. He severed its head with a single bite, but held the body steady as a precaution until his kids had torn the limbs from it. Bard knew from tales that the meat from these monsters was poison to normal men, but unfortunate experiences had also taught him that werewolves could survive off of the juicy morsels like the seamen from crabs.
After satiating himself on the meat of the spider, Bard left his children only long enough to find safe berries for Tilda. He carried them up the tree to her and presented them as dessert. He had fed her before they left for the night, knowing she would need whatever meat they found cooked if she could digest it at all. It was safer this way. She could have a sweet treat and still eat with them without needing a full meal the way they did.
“Thank you, Da.” Tilda bubbled, unable to speak the wolven tongue just yet. She would learn as she changed, just as Bard and his children did. But, unlike his children, Bard had learned to focus himself and make sense once more of the languages of Man in his animalistic state. It took a great deal of concentration, so much that it often hurt him, but he could communicate.
“You’re… welcome.” The words were gravelly and wet at the same time, slow and deliberate as if Bard was speaking around a mouth full of rocks. Pressing the top of his snout to Tilda’s forehead in a pseudo-kiss, Bard climbed back down to check on his other children.
Sigrid and Bain were messy eaters in this form, their claws and muzzles covered in their food. It was endearing to Bard, as he remembered when they were human toddlers, but he could see why people so feared werewolves as well. Any beast with gore on it would be terrifying to behold, but especially an unnatural one like this.
Bard paced around the perimeter, keeping vigilant guard with the knowledge that more spiders would be along to investigate the destroyed web. His nose never lied, telling him the spiders were met with elves before they could make it to him. The elves did not smell injured, so he did not feel guilty letting them help him protect his children.
Once their first spider was down to the inedible pieces, Bard collected Tilda and led his other two to the next one foolish enough to be by itself. This one he let Sigrid and Bain slay, keeping a close eye on its stinger and mandibles to ensure it did not harm his kids. They worked well as a team, attacking from the sides while the spider's focus mistakenly remained on Bard and Tilda.
The only issue was the shrill scream the spider released, filling the forest with a noise that blinded Bard’s senses. Even poor Tilda had to cover her ears, laying on Bard's back to stay steady without the use of her hands. Sigrid and Bain howled with pain, thrashing violently at the spider to make it stop screaming for good.
Bard’s head pounded with the pain, his vision a pulsating white that moved in time with the ringing in his ears. Salted bile threatened his mouth, taking everything Bard could just to swallow it back. He couldn't shake or drop to the ground. He couldn't cover his ears for worry of dropping Tilda. All Bard could do was bear it.
Closing his eyes, Bard breathed through the pain. Distressed huffing and puffing finally breaking through the barrier to reach his own ears. From there, Tilda's quiet whimpers came next. Then Sigrid's pissed off chewing. Then Bain’s pawing. They were okay. Bard’s children were alive.
“Tilda… Are you… okay?” Bard shifted sideways to coax her down his shoulder and into his arms.
“Mm-hmm… I'm okay, Da.” Tilda nodded, clutching Bard’s fur for obvious comfort. She buried her face against him and inhaled deeply. Bard probably smelled like a dog to her, and he was okay with that — Tilda had said repeatedly how she loved the smell of the working dogs that lived around Esgaroth.
“Bain? Sigrid? Are you okay?” Bard didn't like bringing Tilda close to them while they ate, worried the gore of it was too much for her at her age, but he needed to check them over.
“ Okay here. ” Bain grumbled, shaking his head vigorously before going back to eating.
“ That fucking hurt .” Sigrid spoke around a muzzle full of spider leg. She had sat atop the giant spider, its body full of holes from her being a vengeful eater.
Nosing his elder two, Bard smelled them for blood. Not a drop of their own, thankfully. But there was other blood. More spider blood. Scrunching his face, Bard sniffed again.
Elves .
“Leave it. We will find more food.” Bard barked out the command, reaching with his free claw to swipe his children away from their kill.
Sigrid snapped at him. “Fuck that. This is ours.”
“We need to go. Now.” Bard insisted, raising his voice and baring his teeth in a vicious snarl. He hated having to threaten his kids, but the wolven parts of them were more stubborn and hungry. Bard had been the same way once, so he understood the extra push was necessary.
Bain hopped right up to go, but Sigrid lingered, lifting her own snout to smell for a threat. “ Elves don't scare me.”
“They should.” Bard growled, making a grab for Sigrid’s scruff. “Remember our rules.”
“I can eat fast.” Sigrid backed down, finally catching up to Bard’s desperation. She ripped off another chunk of flesh and practically swallowed it whole.
“No time.” Successfully scruffing her on the second try, Bard tried to flee on his hind legs with both of his daughters in tow. “Bain! Lead!”
Bain looked scared of Bard’s order, uncertain when put on the spot, but he did as he was told. Bard was the fastest for his stride, but Bain was stringy and light compared to the rest of them, easily gaining a distance that few could follow.
Able to set Sigrid down and have her run was helpful, but Bard still had to carry Tilda. Her little human legs would never keep up. The trick would be whether werewolf eyes could track better than elven eyes.
When arrows fell between them, Bard howled for his children to sprint faster. But hooves thundered behind him, heavy and aggressive. An animal trained for war.
Bard strained his legs, keeping up with Bain and Sigrid with no regard for where he was being led. Safe. Safe. He had to keep his children safe no matter the cost. No matter-
Slamming into Sigrid’s back, the werewolves all skidded to the edge of the cliff over the river. Their claws kept from falling over, but even though Bard knew he could survive that dive, he worried for his children. He had to make a choice.
Setting Tilda down, Bard pressed his muzzle to her forehead in another pseudo-kiss before turning around to face the approaching elves. “Stop… There’s… Children.” Bard coughed out, forcing himself to revert to his human shape prematurely. He held his arms wide, trying to shield them while still being as vulnerable and nonthreatening to the elves as he could be.
An elk larger than most charged up to Bard, ensuring that he had nowhere to run. Its rider was an elf unlike any that Bard had ever seen — with hair so blond it was nearly white and a tail that reminded Bard of the many depictions of unicorns. The elf wore ornate armor and a seasonal crown upon his head. When the elf held his hand up, those that rode up behind him lowered their bows.
“Children?” The elf raised a thick dark brow in question. “I see only one child.”
“The wolves too. They are also my children. I have permission to hunt in these woods. Permission from the King of Eryn Galen.” Bard felt sweat bead down his temples. He wasn't lying, but he knew he was revealing his entire hand.
This information seemed to catch the elf’s attention, however. A smirk crossed his beautiful face before he spoke again. “I do not recall ever seeing you enter either of the palaces. How do I know you truly spoke to the king?”
Bard swallowed past the lump in his throat. “The request was made by letter from myself, Bard the Bargeman of Esgaroth. I asked not only for permission to hunt on elven lands, but also to collect from what washes down the river. I complimented the make of elven barrels and I mentioned my heritage as an ally to the elves of Eryn Galen.”
When he was left uninterrupted, Bard continued. “I have never taken more than enough for my family, and now that my children are growing, we hunt the monsters that others cannot stomach.”
The smirk fell from the elf’s face, replaced by something Bard couldn't place. “When I heard of monsters quarreling on my lands, I wondered after Bard the Bargeman and his family. I questioned the safety of the mortals I allowed in my realm. I would not have done so if I had known the truth.”
“I know- And I am sorry. I was turned as a child and I did not know until my eldest hit puberty that my children would also transform. My wife was a mortal woman just as my parents before me. I apologize for the dishonesty.” Bard was baffled by the idea that this elf was the king. He held himself in perfect posture and kingly fashion, his looks stood out amongst all the others, and yet… Bard wanted not to be entranced by someone of such high status.
Bard may have royal blood, but he also had the disease of a monster. Even his wife was too good for him. Bard’s inner wolf had whispered lustfully about his wife, and now it insisted on doing the same about the Elven King.
“Turned as a child…” The Elven King stroked his chin in thought. “Though we have no records of such a thing occurring, we have records of one of Sauron’s few remaining wolves fleeing through Rhovanion some years ago. I accept that you and your children are no current threat.”
Though the Elven King nodded his head to Bard and pulled the reins to leave, the other elves questioned the wisdom of such a decision. “New circumstances require observation, not annihilation.” The Elven King defended his stance on the matter calmly. “At the moment, Bard the Bargeman and his children are aiding our efforts against the creeping darkness. We may reevaluate them should such a status change.”
“It would not.” Bard spoke up. “We have no intention of endangering your people or the people of Esgaroth.”
“So you say.” Spat the elf closest to the king. “Mortal words are frivolous at best! How do we know you control your actions over that of a darker master?”
“Test me.” Bard pleaded. “Test me in any way you please. I will prove myself.”
“What of your children?” The Elven King held up his hand to silence his people.
“You may watch them personally.” Bard prayed the look in his eyes gave the Elven King a hint of his thoughts. “Again, my youngest cannot transform. The affliction only became apparent in her elder siblings at puberty, and even then they are still children.”
“I accept. I will watch your children once you undergo the test.” Changing his hand gestures, the Elven King commanded his men to split into groups. They were to herd and hide the only other giant elk within the forest, leading her to a place that they would not relay. “Your test will be to hunt something for me in your wolven form. You will capture the beast without damaging it irreparably. If it appears you cannot complete your task, the test will be cancelled and your fate will be decided. Do you understand and agree to abide by these terms?”
“I do.” Normally, Bard would have bargained. The weak growling of Sigrid and Bain behind him proved that they saw the difference in his methods, but not the looks the Elven King gave him. The Elven King seemed to have understood Bard, purposefully sliding Bard the kinds of looks that promised no real harm would come to Bard's family. A king had to appease his people, even if only with the façade of a compromise.
Once the other elves had left, the king descended from his mount. He murmured to it, pressing their faces together before he stood over Bard. The Elven King was just over a head taller than Bard, and the realization that Bard was staring at his chest did nothing to make the silence less awkward. It was as if Bard's nakedness finally occurred to everyone in the situation and the king’s flawless pale skin tinged red as he cleared his throat. “Do you typically parade around my forest in the nude?”
The slight scent of arousal reached Bard’s nose and Bard forced himself to ignore it for the sake of everyone’s sanity. Rubbing the back of his neck, Bard looked everywhere but up at the king’s face. “Uh, no. We leave our clothes in the bushes near the entrance. Transforming gets… messy.” There was absolutely no point in covering himself now — his children were still behind him and the Elven King had seen all there was to Bard’s mortal form.
“Would it perhaps make you more comfortable to have your fur?” The Elven King murmured, his blue eyes boring holes in Bard.
“If you wouldn't mind?” Bard flinched from his own tone. When he was given the nod of approval, Bard changed back into a proper werewolf, his height quickly scaling the king's and further. Where the king was one head above human Bard, Bard's wolven form was at least five heads above the Elven King.
“Da? Are we going to be okay?” Sigrid asked quietly.
“We will be fine. The king will watch you while I hunt for him. Afterwards, we are free.” Bard tried to keep their language from sounding as harsh as it normally would, hoping to portray that they were still no threat. Entranced by Bard or not, the king had a sword on either hip and armor Bard was willing to wager his teeth could not penetrate.
Sigrid and Bain both grumbled uncomfortably, but they let the subject go in favor of laying down. Tilda, however, marched herself forward and poked the king in his knee. “You should be nice. I want you to be nice.” Tilda demanded of the Elven King.
Shock turned to amusement quickly enough as the king got down on Tilda’s level. “I do not plan to be wicked, only to make a point that the rest of my people should believe in your father as I do.”
“Tilda… please…” Bard scooped his youngest up, holding her to his chest for both of their security.
The Elven King’s eyes traveled upwards before the rest of him, surprise evident in their wideness. “You can speak The Language of Dale with such a snout?”
“It is… difficult.” Bard nodded, glad that he could not blush with hair covering his cheeks. “I can… speak Sindarin… and… Northern Mannish too.”
“Impressive.” The Elven King reached out and felt along Bard’s empty arm. He examined the muscles under the fur and made audible, muttered comparisons that sounded positively medical. Bard was a learned man compared to much of Esgaroth, but most of the terms flew right over his head. Bard fidgeted under the gentle, but purposeful touches, choosing to focus on Tilda instead.
“Do you… need a… snack?” Bard noses Tilda’s hair, taking comfort in the scent from the birthmark on the back of her head. “I can… find more… food.”
“I'll be okay.” Tilda huffed into Bard’s fur. “But Bain and Sigrid didn't finish.”
“Bain and Sigrid?” The Elven King still held Bard’s claws, stopping in the middle of examining the joints in the paw-hand to look up at them. “Are those your eldest?”
“Yes…” Bard turned to gesture at them with his head. “Sigrid is the… oldest. Bain is the… middle.”
“Are they hungry? My men carry rations. They may feast while you hunt.” The Elven King promised.
Bard felt his brows furrow, his mouth open in a panting-laugh. “Be… careful. Sigrid… bites.”
“I will bear that in mind-” Before the Elven King could say more, his men returned with news that the test was ready.
Holding out his arms, the king offered to hold Tilda and, despite her initial protests, she agreed to be held. “I have a son of my own whom I raised on my own. Nothing will happen to your children in my care.” Tilda did not look fully convinced that she would be safe, but Bard was reassured.
“The elk you are hunting is the mate of my steed.” Adjusting his hold on Tilda, the Elven King pointed at the giant elk. “Her scent will be on him. Find her and bring her here without harming her. That will prove your control.”
Bard dropped to all fours and circled the elk, sniffing him from every angle. Once he caught the correct scent, Bard took off at a dead sprint. He wove between the trees, tearing deep into the forest after his quarry. Bard didn't have to worry about leaving tracks or hiding from anyone. The king knew what Bard was doing, and any monsters that got in Bard’s way were fair game.
It was freeing to run wild, the pads of his paws digging into the leaf litter as he tracked down a single target. There was a small cheat to his hunt, Bard’s nose following traces of the elves from before as well. They had herded the elk to its hiding place, and no amount of dipping their boots in water could hide their scent from him.
No amount of flowers, either. It was clever to hide the elk in a royal garden. Bard had to fight off several sneezes during his crouching and creeping through the gates. When Bard got close enough, he tried to lift the elk up, but she was significantly more hefty than her mate and Bard stood very little chance. His next best option was to herd her himself. Nipping at her heels and dodging kicks wasn't a fun way to spend the wee hours of the morning, but at least it worked.
Bard struggled to keep the giant elk in line at times, shifting from side-to-side to ensure maximum cooperation. It was exhausting work, but Bard had practice herding wolf pups and, frankly, the elk didn't have the attention issues that Bain was born with.
Once the elk arrived in front of the king, Bard laid out on the grass to relax for a moment in the cool night air. “There… she… is…” He panted. “Are we… free… to go?”
The Elven King’s men insisted on checking the animal over at least a hundred times before the king finally waved them off. Not a scratch. A couple of scrapes, but those could have been from a number of things and definitely not at all Bard’s teeth (Bard may have made contact with a couple of his jaw snaps in the beginning to show that he was not messing around). “You are free to continue hunting on my lands. However, I would prefer to know your schedule if you have one.”
“The full… moon.” Bard pointed up at the sky, earning himself a quizzical look from the king. The stereotype keeps us… safe.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I want to turn into a woof.” Tilda huffed, crossing her arms and stomping her little feet. “It’s not fair.”
“I know, I know-” Bard tried to hide his exhaustion behind a sympathetic smile. They were running later than usual because of Tilda’s fussiness. It may have saved them, since their neighbors all saw them being normal that evening, but it took its toll on Bard nevertheless. “Your siblings had to wait. It’s only fair that you wait too.”
“Turning into a wolf is fun, but you really don’t want the other stuff.” Sigrid wrinkled her nose in disgust. “There’s blood.”
“And pimples.” Bain interjected, clearly still traumatized from the last of Sigrid’s bleeding time rants. “Weird thoughts too.”
“We would also have fleas if we did not keep close to the horses and pigs.” Bard’s smile stretched painfully thin as he fought to keep it on his face. “You’ll turn when you’re ready.”
“But I am ready!” As if to make her point, Tilda picked up a nearby stick, put it in her mouth, and shook it violently. “I can kill spiders! See!” She spoke around the bark that stuck strong to her tongue and cheeks, refusing to clean her mouth out of a stubborn streak that Bard was blaming entirely on Sigrid (and his schedule of being overworked and underpaid).
Kneeling down in front of her, Bard kissed the top of Tilda’s head. “Your body has to be ready too. Don’t be in such a rush to grow up.”
“Your father is correct.” Came a familiar voice. Bard’s human ears heard better than most, but elf feet were lighter than most. “It is acceptable to enjoy what you have while anticipating the things to come.”
Bowing his head on instinct, Bard did his best to be polite towards the Elven King. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to know that my son could have benefitted from siblings.” The Elven King chuckled. Sitting down on the grass beside Tilda, the king tilted his head to the side with a smile. “That is what you crave most, is it not? To join your siblings?”
Tilda nodded her head vigorously before shooting Bard a dirty look for not getting it the way the king did. “Yeah! I want to run and play and hunt and be a pack!”
“They already include you in so much. Why do you feel you are not a pack?” The king’s smile stayed the kind of soft that made Bard’s heart flutter.
“‘Cus…” Tilda toed the dirt with the end of her shoe, looking down and getting quiet as if that might stop Bard, Sigrid, and Bain from hearing her. “... They have to hold back when I’m here.”
“No, Ladybug, that’s not it at all.” Bard tilted her chin up to make her look at him. “We don’t hold back because of you. We hold back because it’s easy to lose control. Werewolves are big, scary monsters to everyone else, remember? We can destroy a lot if we’re not careful.”
“Yeah.” Bain piped up. “I like it when you cheer us on. It makes me feel like I can do a lot more.”
“For sure.” Sigrid nodded along. “And, if you weren’t here, Da would bore us to death by making everything way too serious. You make sure we have fun.”
“Really?” Tilda’s bottom lip quivered.
“I promise.” Bard, Bain, and Sigrid each said in turn.
The Elven King held out a hand for Tilda. “Would it help you to have someone else who cannot transform around for the night?”
Suddenly, Tilda’s usual shy, clinginess returned. She took his hand and mumbled out a tiny “yeah”.
“Then, if your father does not mind, I will accompany you all on your hunt.” The Elven King gently shook Tilda’s hand twice before just holding it there until she pulled away. It was a practiced gesture that had Bard feeling weak in the knees. Yes, he knew there was a prince, but to know that the king was such a loving father was entirely unexpected.
“I don’t mind a bit.” It was Bard’s turn to chuckle, his own smile returning with renewed energy at peace that washed over his family.
“Then, for ease of time and effort, please, call me Thranduil.” The Elven King extended his hand to Bard this time, and Bard shook it for a tad longer than he intended. Clearly, the attraction between them had not faded, but Bard had no idea what to do with it other than let it fall awkwardly by the wayside.
That night, Thranduil stayed with them until the sun came up the next morning. He helped Bard smuggle the children back into Esgaroth without notice of the guards, and he stayed laughing in Bard’s house for a small breakfast while the children napped off their adventures. Thranduil apologized to Bard for keeping him awake, but Bard didn’t mind. He’d been staying for most of his life, and what good was the added endurance from his affliction if he didn’t make it earn its keep?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Month after month, Thranduil came to hunt with Bard’s family. He stood vigilant guard over Tilda when needed, and turned into the most competitive tag player when Bard’s children chose fun over necessity. Bard felt safe leaving the kids with Thranduil — not only did he never do anything to Sigrid, Bain, or Tilda, but they never did anything to Thranduil. Thranduil fit right into that little notch out of Bard’s life, making it right and whole once more.
Even Legolas, when they met him, felt right at home. Yes, he treated Bard’s children like dogs sometimes by bringing balls to play with, but it was never a malicious thing… Simply a lack of understanding that embarrassed Thranduil enough to make him hide his face in Bard’s shoulder. That felt good. Not only because of how soft Thranduil’s hair was against Bard’s skin, but because Thranduil had to actively bend to do it. It was purposeful and hard to mistake for anything but a closeness Bard hadn’t enjoyed in years.
Bard was just as endeared by Legolas’s absentmindedness as he was by the way Legolas could match Sigrid in her moodiness. Sure, it was annoying at times, but it made for something to laugh over later. Families had quarrels. For Bard, things like that only strengthened their bonds once they were talked out and understood. And, what Bard lacked in understanding, Thranduil had in spades. It worked in the reverse as well, and Bard forgot that Thranduil was out of his league.
Thranduil must have forgotten too, because he persisted in his interest in Bard. It was easy to brush off or ignore little gestures or words, but Bard’s nose never lied. Thranduil wanted Bard in a way that would bind them together forever. Bard was familiar with the elven traditions. Sex meant marriage. It was the same for werewolves. To mate meant that you were together until death did you part. Bard couldn’t shackle Thranduil down like that. It had too many implications-
“Bard.” Thranduil’s voice rang out loud and clear in Bard’s ears despite it being little more than a whisper. Hands kept Bard from following his children out of the woods, and piercing blue eyes bore holes in him as they did the night he and Thranduil met.
“Yeah?” Bard caught himself leaning in uncomfortably close, drawn in by the reeking want that permeated the clearing. Thranduil’s tail, normally calm and still, swung back and forth nervously. Bard could hear Thranduil’s heart beat, steady as a drum but twice as fast as usual.
Clearing his throat, Thranduil squeezed Bard’s hand in between both of his. “I would like to discuss something with you privately. If you could meet me here after you let your children off to sleep, I would be most grateful. I will gladly pay The Master to ensure that your absence is excused. So, please, do not fret about that.”
Guessing what Thranduil wanted to talk about was easy. Both halves of Bard wanted to talk about it too. Still, Bard’s pulse matched Thranduil’s and then sped up more just to tease him with death by potential heart attack. “I’ll be here.” The words flowed out of Bard before he had time to come up with a more diplomatic answer. One that didn’t sound so eager.
One that didn’t sound like he hated having to pull his hand from Thranduil’s.
But Bard did have to. He had to catch up with his kids, take them back to town to sleep, and fake a summons to Eryn Galen that would explain his being unable to work the day after the full moon.
The walk back to Esgaroth was blissfully silent if only because Tilda and Bain were falling asleep on their feet. Bard could carry them home. Even if he couldn’t lift a giant elk three times his own weight, he could at least carry his kids. But that left Sigrid to slog around with something clearly on her mind.
“What are you going to say to him?” Sigrid finally broke the silence when Bard tucked her into bed. For more space, he let her have his bed on days where he couldn’t catch a wink before work. Though the circumstances were slightly altered, Bard let her have it again this morning. “Thranduil likes you, Da.”
Her question gutted Bard. Part of him wanted Sigrid to not know what that smell was and a part of him simply wanted his children to be too innocent to notice flirting that wasn’t blatantly in their faces. “I, uh, I haven’t decided.”
“But you like him too.” Sigrid countered, sitting up in bed with a vigor that made Bard wonder if this was the day she finally decided to attack him on her way to fight Eru.
“I do…” Bard tried to card a hand through his hair only to catch his fingers on the strands he had tied back from his temples. “But it’s complicated.”
“But it’s not complicated.” Sigrid insisted, swinging her legs out of the bed. “You’re noble-blooded. He’s noble-blooded. It’s perfect.”
“It’s not perfect, though.” Bard winced. “Dale doesn’t exist any more. What’s in our blood doesn’t matter any more. We’re commoners. Average nobodies. Mortals, even. There’s nothing that could benefit an elven king like Thranduil.”
“Um. Love benefits him.” Sigrid addressed Bard with the type of tone that said she thought he was being an absolute moron. “And if it’s such a big deal, then let’s slay a dragon and get our land back.”
Only Sigrid could say such a brazen thing and mean it earnestly. “We’re werewolves, Da. We can fight.”
“Not a dragon, we can’t. Building a kingdom back up from the ground takes more than that too. Infrastructure, commerce- There’s a lot that goes into it. A lot that we can’t afford.” Bard tried to let her down gently but sternly.
“We could with Thranduil’s help. People would ditch The Master in a heartbeat if they knew you had the backing of the King of Mirkwood-”
“Eryn Galen.” Bard’s instincts had him interrupting before his brain could catch up to the conversation. “And I’m not about to use Thranduil to overthrow the government here. I’ll say what I need to say and then I’ll be home.”
“Fine.” Sigrid stomped back to the bed with a stubborn set in her shoulders. “But promise me one thing.”
Sighing, Bard let himself deflate. “Sure.”
“Be honest with him.”
“I will.” Bard promised Sigrid — and he meant that promise. He just had no idea how to make good on it and not wind up married.
It certainly didn’t help that Thranduil greeted Bard with a smile and an offered hand either. Bard took it without hesitation, happy to feel the familiar fit of their palms slotted perfectly together. They swung their hands back and forth, each one feeling the other out for who would break the silence first.
“I was thinking-” They both started speaking in tandem.
Coughing, they attempted to urge each other to go first before, somehow, Thranduil won and made Bard speak up. “I actually know what you want to talk about.”
“Really?” Thranduil’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, forgoing his circlet altogether. When Bard tapped his nose, Thranduil seemed to catch his meaning immediately. “Ah. I see.”
“Yeah. Worse yet, Sigrid knows too.” Bard chuckled. “She gave me a lecture about treating you right. Not in those exact words but-”
Thranduil’s groan of dismay stopped Bard in his tracks. He watched as Thranduil’s head descended to his shoulder, leaning against Bard with a distinctive “kill me now, please”.
“That’s the last thing I want to do.” Testing the waters, Bard pressed his cheek against Thranduil’s head. He shouldn’t have been doing it, but it felt right.
“What is the first?” Thranduil shifted under his cheek, but he didn’t reveal his face to Bard.
“Uh-” Cursing himself, Bard realized he had no way of being honest without digging himself the kind of hole he would never be able to climb out of. Taking a breath, he steadied himself. “Something I can’t do with you smothering yourself in my sleeve.”
That got Thranduil’s attention, bringing the elven king’s gaze level with Bard’s. “I am listening.”
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Bard reached up with his free hand and guided Thranduil’s face closer. It was supposed to be a quick peck on the lips, nothing more, but given the way Thranduil pressed into it, they were going to have a hard time stopping until somebody needed to come up for air. Thranduil even coaxed Bard’s mouth open, diving in with a strong, desperate kiss that told Bard that Thranduil had been without for far longer than Bard had. Still, Bard leaned into it, letting Thranduil draw a moan out of the back of his throat as they tilted their heads for a better angle.
“Does this mean you accept?” Thranduil panted, not wasting a second after they broke apart. His eyes studied Bard, travelling up and down and back up again as a faint pink spread across his cheeks.
“I- Well, I mean, I haven’t exactly heard the whole offer.” Bard tried to stall for time and reasoning, but his mind came up with very little. “And I’m not great at controlling myself.”
“No, you are phenomenal at controlling yourself.” Rolling his eyes, shifted impatiently. “I have watched you for a year now.”
“Sex is different than hunting. It’s marriage- For us too, I mean.” Something about Bard’s words blew Thranduil’s eyes wide.
“Then you have been abstaining since…?” Thranduil tried to be delicate, his voice growing painfully quiet.
Nodding his head, Bard shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. So there’s a good chance I’d transform midway. If not sooner.”
The pink on Thranduil’s cheeks turned a deep red as Thranduil’s tail began to flick in a way Bard had never seen. “I believe I would enjoy that.”
“Right? I’d probably tear you in half-” Bard’s brain caught up with what Thranduil actually said rather than what he expected Thranduil to say. “What?”
“I would enjoy that.” Thranduil repeated. “I am just as attracted to you in both forms, and elves are made to properly fit their chosen spouse.”
Bard’s brain shut off for a moment, unable to process those words. There was no world in which Thranduil was built ready and willing to take Bard’s cock let alone Bard’s werewolf cock (which more than doubled in size during transformation).
When Bard failed to respond, Thranduil began to strip, taking off one layer at a time in a quiet, graceful manner that was downright bewitching to behold. “If we are as bound together as I believe we are, we would fit as a lock and key.”
Turns out, Bard’s brain wasn’t having a failure of intellect, all of his blood had just rushed downwards to pump him up until he was straining against his trousers. He had secretly been nervous about the idea of taking it from another man — the stigma from his own people and his own need for control battling it out over the idea of giving himself up like that. But thinking about burying himself balls deep into Thranduil? Every single piece of Bard loved that idea.
The more he saw of Thranduil only served to fuel that fire, too. “You think so?” Bard asked, dragging Thranduil back down for another kiss. Bard attempted to make a grab for one of Thranduil’s hands, but Thranduil’s palm found his erection first, grinding against him through the fabric of his pants.
“I know so.” Thranduil breathed against Bard’s lips, the confidence coming off of him only serving to drag Bard in deeper.
Bard clasped both of his partially gloved hands onto Thranduil’s ass, copping a feel and bringing them flush together in a single motion. Bard threw his concerns out of the window, resolving himself to the idea that saying no would be the single stupidest thing he could ever do. “Then I accept.”
Thranduil let out a noise of joy at Bard’s words, refusing to let their lips part for longer than necessary as he changed his tactic. Whatever part of Bard’s clothing Thranduil reached for, Bard helped him take off. Coat, gloves, belt, shirt, pants- Bard let it fall around his boots until he had to step out of those too. There was nothing sexy about the way Bard did it either, but the way Thranduil watched Bard made it feel like maybe the one-legged boot hop wasn’t the least attractive thing in the world.
Coming back together, Thranduil turned around and rubbed the crease of his cheeks along Bard’s length. Bard had no idea where to put his hands first as Thranduil moved in front of him. He wanted to cup his chest, to fondle his cock, and to play with Thranduil’s hair. It was all so enticing that he decided to just memorize the feel of everything within reach — going so low as Thranduil’s knees and as high as his lips. Thranduil’s skin truly was flawless, even his cock smooth and velvety under Bard’s fingertips. It had a pointed tip too, one that made Thranduil gasp every time Bard played with it. “Bard- I-” Thranduil interrupted himself with a moan, jerking his hips into Bard’s touch. “I want you inside of me.”
Bard was surprised when Thranduil took one of his hands and brought it back up to his mouth. Thranduil tongued the tips of Bard’s fingers before taking them between his lips and wetting them with his saliva. Bard curled his fingers slightly, stroking Thranduil’s tongue until his digits were spit out in favor of another moan.
A lack of experience with other men didn’t mean Bard didn’t know what to do with his slickened fingers, either. He squeezed them between their bodies immediately in order to play with Thranduil’s ass. To stretch him. To get Thranduil as ready as he could for his cock. Bard didn’t waste time when Thranduil gave him more saliva to rub on his dick, adding his own into the mix to make sure he was as wet as he could be before taking the plunge.
Bard hadn’t had his cock in anything other than his hand for a long time (and even that wasn’t very recent), to feel Thranduil encircling him was incredible — Thranduil’s ass greedily taking Bard to the base immediately. Bard trailed kisses over Thranduil’s neck and shoulder, peppering each and every freckle in an effort to help Thranduil relax. Thranduil’s breathing was already rough, and Bard could feel the transformation trying to take hold with every flex around him.
Thrusting was what brought on the change, though- Something in Bard snapping the first time Thranduil gasped out a pleased “yes!”. Rough turned to ragged as Thranduil had to quickly adjust to the massive cock inside of him. Bard couldn’t imagine how it felt to have his organs rearranged like that, but it sounded like Thranduil was growing to love every second of it.
“Hnng–mmff- harder!” Thranduil struggled to get the words out, his tongue lolling out against his bottom lip as he pressed his body backwards to meet each and every thrust. Bard grabbed Thranduil’s hip with one clawed hand, taking Thranduil’s chin and neck with the other. He could feel Thranduil’s pulse under the pads of his fingers, but Bard never pressed down on it, too careful to ever risk that in any form.
“Lock… and key…” Bard rumbled out, running his tongue over the tip of one of Thranduil’s ears. Thranduil’s entire body shuddered in his grasp. Thrusting harder, Bard pressed his abdomen to Thranduil’s back. For someone who was normally taller than Bard, Thranduil’s frame felt small against him. Like there was no room for anyone else now that they were together. “Mine.”
“Yes!” Thranduil’s hips began to lose their rhythm, only held somewhat steady by Bard’s grasp. A hand braced itself on Bard’s arm, right up against the muscle Thranduil had so diligently studied on the night they met. It was clear from the shaking and the inconsistency that Thranduil was close. “Mine too- hh- aah!” Thranduil threw his head back, sending his hair cascading over Bard’s chest as he came.
His entire body shook violently where it was impaled on Bard’s cock, Thranduil’s hole flexing along Bard’s length until he coaxed out an orgasm from Bard as well. Bard knew from experience how much seed he released as a beast, the knowledge twisting him up with guilt and pleasure alike. Carefully guiding them to the ground, Bard kept Thranduil on him to plug up the mess of cum that would spill out between them. He laid Thranduil on top of him and listened to his new husband breathe.
“I told you I would like it.” Thranduil’s voice rang out several seconds later, deeper and more raw than usual from all of the sounds he had been making.
Laughing, Bard reached up and gently traced his claws over Thranduil’s arms. “Yes, you did.”