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The Silent Ballad

Chapter Text


“The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall.”

          -  Extract from the Song of Durin -


The mighty halls of Erebor were surrounded by a diminishing light. The only sounds that could be heard in the middle of the night were those of the guards at their respective posts walking left and right, mumbling conversations. The City was fast asleep as the stars in the blackened sky shine with the light of Old Days. The wind sneaking inside the mountain was cold, filled with the approaching winter.

It was this wind the one to caress the naked back of alabaster skin, still warm and glistening with the exhaustion of recent activities. King Thranduil shifted to one side, his eyes looking out of the window, a playful smile on his lips when he felt the rough contact of a growing beard against his shoulder.

“I can see the resistance of the Naugrim was not a mere myth,” the Elven-King held back a moan when sharp teeth imprinted their mark on his shoulder, big strong hands moving down his side to his leg sending bolts of pleasure all through his body. He felt the tug on his thigh and suddenly he was open to whatever his lover wished to do.

Thranduil was not one to beg, but the sweet torture of fingers and mouth was driving him crazy, “My Lord seems hungry today. May I ask what has caused such fire within you?”

His only response was a low growl and this time Thranduil didn’t hide the pleasure he felt. He vocalized his desire just as the one behind him entered him with the strength of his people. Thranduil’s fist closed around the bed sheets and the Elven-King found himself being taken in ways he had never felt before.

“Thorin,” he whispered to the night and the young Prince smirked marking the flawless skin under his hands and mouth while his hips worked in rhythm to their growing passion.

It took all of Thranduil’s self-control and Thorin’s stubbornness to not finish too soon. They had spent most of their night merged in their passion. Sometimes it would be Thorin the one to initiate the activities and other times it would be Thranduil the one thirsty for more. This has been a common occurrence since the Elven-King had started his new alliance with Thorin’s grandfather: Thrór.

It started…well, it started like all great passions and romances start. With curiosity.

Thranduil felt drawn to the youngest heir of Durin’s Folk, and the young Prince felt compelled by the beauty no other gemstone had ever equalized. It was beauty and fire what each of them looked into the other and it was this fire and beauty what would bring them pain and suffering.

“Say it,” Thranduil groaned at the powerful voice near his ears, he trembled when Thorin grabbed his hardness and work it with the same passion he was thrusting into him, “I want to hear you.”

Thranduil closed his eyes, panting softly, grabbing onto the bed as he tried to catch the words Thorin wanted, needed, to hear before spilling himself inside the Elf.

“Please, My King.


There was a brush of calloused thumb on top of Thranduil’s leaking length and a grunt mixed with a moan from Thorin and the both of them reached completion almost at the same time.

Both of them rested in the same position, enjoying their post-coital bliss. Thranduil feeling the now familiar embrace on his heart at feeling Thorin’s arms around him, knowing Thorin was still there nuzzling his neck and kissing his back, at feeling him deep inside him while they recovered.

The Elven-King had long accepted his fate and it was just a matter of time till he took the leap of faith necessary to obtain what his heart most desired. He had never felt such a fire in his heart, he had never giving its very beat to anyone before Thorin but now…Thranduil smiled, now his frustrating meetings with Thrór would finally be fruitful.

Thranduil closed his eyes and soon fell into a deep sleep like he hadn’t allowed himself since his younger days.

It was the laugh what surprised him the most.

It brightened his whole face showing off a spark of amusement and mischief in those blue eyes. The light he carried with him tended to be brighter and warmer and Thorin felt confused because it made him feel things he couldn’t quite name.

He observed with sharp eyes every gesture, every word, every single smile on the Elven-King’s face, fascinated at all the emotions reflecting on the usually stoic façade. Thorin felt his fascination grow and, at the same time, a fear so unlike any other grew in the deepest part of his heart.

Both, the Dwarves and the Elves had been cursed with a life of misunderstandings that went even deeper with Thranduil’s Folk. Thorin never forgot Nauglamír and Thranduil never forgot Doriath and his King.

And even, in the midst of these events the both of them found a balance to what they share. What exactly it was they shared? Thorin wouldn’t know and he didn’t dare to voice his questions for fear of their encounters stopping.

The Prince had possessed the Elven-King’s company and body for far too long and a part of him wasn’t ready to give him up. Thranduil continued speaking, his body and face relaxed, his voice narrating different stories while Thorin found himself thinking more and more about their situation.

It had been foolish what started the wondering in Thorin’s heart. A glance shot by Thranduil’s Captain, Galion, to the Elven-King was enough to convince Thorin he hadn’t been the only one to share and taste the beauty of the Elven-King. That and the knowledge of Thranduil’s son: Legolas.

Thorin thought of the nights they had shared together. How many others had Thranduil shared his bed with? Surely, the King, after so many centuries had his preferences lined up and waiting whenever Thorin was not available. To live such a long time without giving into lust and desire was something Thorin couldn’t quite comprehend. Thorin himself was expected to have a taste of fair maidens and brave males before he settled down with the One.

“You look thoughtful tonight, Thorin,” the melodic voice of Thranduil brought Thorin back from the dark place he had just been visiting. Thorin observed Thranduil and realized there was nothing in this Elven-King that promised fidelity or happiness. It was all about the moment, to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh and fulfil a duty as a King. After all, Elves live forever while the life of Dwarves was limited by time.

“You are leaving tomorrow,” Thorin cocked his head to the side and returned his attention back to the fireplace, he never noticed the softening on Thranduil’s face, or how warm those blue eyes turned.

It was as if destiny wanted them to miss the important things happening between them. Thranduil never foresaw the growing doubts and hardness inside Thorin’s heart. And Thorin never noticed the gift given to him, the gift only Beren was given before him.

Once again, the curse fate of their races fell upon them and there was nothing Thorin or Thranduil could have done.

Thranduil leaned forward kissing the lines forming the strong jaw of the Dwarf. His hands caressed the hair and the nape of Thorin’s neck, “Then, Prince Thorin, let’s make of this night a memorable one.”

Months passed and with them the growing affair between King and Prince. But, ever since Thorin found himself wondering about them, the small seed of doubt and darkness had started growing in his heart.

It took time for the young Prince to assume what was happening inside the walls of Wooden Realm. The dangerous part was the rumble of thunder Thorin felt in his heart when his thoughts involved Thranduil and other lovers. It confused Thorin, for his moments with Thranduil were to enjoy lust and the carnal need. Nothing more, there wasn’t supposed to be emotion, there wasn’t supposed to be a promise of forever.

And so, Thorin decided it was time for him to look for alternatives to warm his bed at night.

Balin would never say Thorin was an emotionless lad. But, he certainly hadn’t been this moody since he was but a Dwarfling. Sometimes a shadow would cross the Prince’s face and Balin could only guess what calamities were filling his mind. Some others Thorin seemed cheerful which, if Balin was honest, it was scarier than the dark moods.


But, what caught Balin by surprised was the sudden discovery of lustful needs from Thorin’s part. Of course, the King and his son had been ecstatic; the both of them had thought Thorin was oddly reluctant to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. It worried them even more Thorin was more focused on his axe and fighting abilities instead of thinking about the future of the Kingdom. This new discovery could only mean the Prince was ready to advance in his education and formation as a future heir and it was time for him to settle down.

Balin was no fool, however, and Dwalin shared his same concern about this. Of course, of all of them, Balin was the only one who knew about the torrid affair between the Elven-King and the Dwarven Prince.

“You look worried,” commented Dwalin, his eyes following Thorin who had taken a young, ecstatic Dwarf behind the closest balcony.

“I am worried,” replied Balin shaking his head and drowning his thoughts in the King’s ale, “this is not Thorin, Dwalin. You know he would never go around…”

“Fucking everything he sees?” helped Dwalin when his brother trailed off; Balin winced at the crudeness but nodded his head. Dwalin caressed his chin nodding as well.

“You’re like his shadow, Balin. Do you think he…?” Dwalin lifted an eyebrow giving Balin a meaningful look. Balin remained silent thinking, evaluating his friend, trying to discover the moment this behaviour started.

But his conclusions always led him to the same person. The Elven-King seemed to have operated an enchantment Thorin himself didn’t understand and Balin wasn’t so sure he wanted to point out. 

“I think we should have a talk with him after he finishes there,” Dwalin lifted an eyebrow snorting.

“We?” Balin rolled his eyes waving his hand.

“Okay, me. I’m having a talk to him.”

“Good luck then.”

Legolas understood too late the happiness in his father’s face.

He thought it derived for the new alliance he was forging with the Dwarves. Although, why would Thranduil be happy to form an alliance with them was beyond the Prince’s mind. But Legolas thought it could be to how long the quarrel between their species has lasted. It would mean a good opportunity of trade and better protection from the growing darkness in the forest.

Whatever the reason was, Legolas couldn’t help but laugh along with his father, enjoying the moments the both of them shared during hunting or excursions in the forest. Indeed, the power of the Elven-King of Mirkwood wasn’t as great as that of the Lady of Lothlórien or even Lord Elrond in Imladris but it was enough to bring light to places where darkness had taken refuge.

Thranduil fired the arrow with the precision and the force of an expert, the arrow flew whistling in the wind until it reached its mark. There was a horrifying scream and the rest of the Elves moved forward to exterminate the last of the Orcs that had dared to enter the Elven-King’s domain.

“You look energetic today, Father,” Legolas tilted his head narrowing his eyes at the easy smile appearing on Thranduil’s face, “in fact, you look unusually cheerful lately.”

“Is it a bad thing for your father and King to be on a good mood?” Legolas smiled shaking his head.

“No, it is strange though. Your smile…I didn’t remember it this bright,” Thranduil snorted turning around to hide the warm of his cheeks.

“Do not get cheeky with me boy for I am still a King. Bright smile or not.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Father,” Legolas frowned when he saw the Captain approaching them, “perhaps, later you can tell me what has you in such a good mood?”

“Perhaps,” replied Thranduil getting off his mount and walking towards the Elf Captain.

“For now, I do feel uneasiness towards this open attack from the orcs,” Thranduil stood watching as the other elves dragged the bodies’ together ready to start a fire.

“It is not the first time they’ve done this,” commented Legolas following his father’s stare. Thranduil said nothing and indicated to his Captain he could start talking about his discoveries.

Winter was approaching again.

This time Thranduil had been invited to share some festivities of the season with King Thrór and his Kingdom. Legolas had gotten used to these strange visits to the DwarvenKingdom, it was something the Prince didn’t quite understand for he had always know of his father resentment towards the Dwarves. But something in the last two years had changed. Could it be that Thrór and Thráin were nothing like his forefathers? Legolas snorted not such a chance, he knew the both of them well enough to know greed and arrogance filled the King and ignorance and prejudice governed Thráin.

But perhaps, his father has seen something Legolas hadn’t had the chance to yet. And the young Prince would forever trust in his father’s judgment.

The Halls of Erebor had been decorated with gold and silver, there were opals and emeralds and all forms of fine jewellery enriching the Hall Room. As always, Thrór received Thranduil with the greatest honours announcing their growing alliance and friendship as he presented the Elven-King and his companions with a fine entertainment.

Thranduil felt, with a certain amount of embarrassment, how eager his eyes searched for the heir of Thrór and Thráin. He sat with a straight back and a mask of disinterest while sitting to the right of the King. But, as much as he searched for him, Thranduil never got to see Thorin.

“I know Elves like music,” Thrór commented after the celebrations had started, the Dwarven King leaned closer to Thranduil, “perhaps this is different from the ones you’re used to hear but I am sure it is going to be of your liking.”

The Elven-King said nothing; he merely inclined his head with his blue eyes wandering once in a while around the room. As the music filled the halls and the echo brought powerful notes, Thranduil realized the closest companions of Thorin were already there. The only one of the group who returned his stare was Balin, son of Fundin. The Dwarf looked at him long and thoughtful before inclining his head. Thranduil realized he returned the gesture and to hide his eagerness went back to the main event.

Two hours passed and it was obvious for Thranduil Thorin would not be coming to the celebration. The Elven-King felt a shadow of disappointment in his heart and this only made him feel uneasy.

About an hour later, Thranduil couldn’t hold back his question anymore. He turned to Thrór and leaned forward so the King was the only one listening to him.

“I couldn’t help but notice your grandson, Prince Thorin, is not here,” Thranduil remained impassive when Thrór turned to shoot him a curious glance, “I expect he is doing well? I have been hearing of some kind of sickness affecting Dwarves and Men in Esgaroth and thought…”

“Humph, Thorin is stronger than the lads that got sick,” replied Thrór slightly offended, Thranduil held back the roll of his eyes but indicated the King to continue. The King’s face changed and Thranduil felt his heart dropped at the leer Thrór sent his way.

Could it be he noticed?

“Oh, no, he isn’t sick but he is probably enjoying some young lass or lad behind his doors,” Thranduil felt numb, suddenly the warm room turned cold and the Elven-King inclined his head to stare around before returning his attention to Thrór.

“I don’t think I understand…” Thranduil’s face set on a stoic, yet infuriating gesture as Thrór laughed hard calling some people’s attention.

“Oh, I bet you do, Elven-King!” Thrór leaned forward as if sharing a great secret, “Thorin has taken some interest in taking those he fancies with him. I have heard my grandson seems quite skilful and well-endowed for someone his age. But, then again, he is heir of the line of Durin. Of course he would be adept and well-endowed.”

Thranduil hung his head to hide his feelings; he grabbed the armrest of his chair tightly and decided the King must be mistaken. That perhaps…

“You mean it is common for you to invite several partners into your bed?” Thrór sent another curious stare at Thranduil but he soon dismissed his thoughts in favour to answer the question.

“Yes, it is pretty common until we find our designed one,” Thrór caressed his beard as he kept on talking never noticing the sudden changed in the Elven-King’s mood, “It is actually a good time to practice and fool around. What is youth, after all, than a stage to train ourselves for the future? But, I guess Elves practice this differently, long lives can give them a different sight of things.”

“Where were you?” Thorin arched an eyebrow at the agitation in Balin’s voice. The young Prince smirked and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I was with some fine company, Balin,” Balin rolled his eyes looking at both sides of the Hall making sure there was no one nearby.

“You may want to rethink these encounters of yours, Thorin. For you have an honoured guest waiting for you on the main Hall.”

Balin gauged his friend’s reaction; he saw the slightly twitched in those eyes, the gleaming and the tug of lips. Then, as soon as the expression had tried to take form on the Prince’s face it disappeared. Thorin turned, proud and defiant, towards his best friend.

“And, what of it?” retorted Thorin icily, “it is not as if I pledge fidelity to the Elf and I am probably doing just as he does in his own home.”

“Thorin, you cannot keep this up. I wasn’t happy when you told me about these encounters with the Elven-King,” Thorin remained immovable staring at the far wall with Balin speaking in rush whispers, “but then, I saw the changes in you and thought it could benefit you. Love…”


“Who said anything about love?” Thorin snorted, but it was the anger and disgust when he pronounced the word what caught Balin totally by surprise.


“Do not mistake lust and pleasurable times for anything involving feelings,” Thorin leaned his back against the wall evading Balin’s eyes, “what I had with Thranduil was nothing more than a little experiment I hope to never repeat. It was fun to have one of the proud race of the Elves submit to my every wish.”

Seeing the doubtful stare on Balin’s face Thorin huffed hanging his head, “did you really think I would feel anything but lust and despise the embodiment of my people’s enemy?”

“He is not our enemy, Thorin. He recently became our ally,” Thorin looked away and shrugged.

“It does not matter to me. I remember the stories. You should as well.”

“It’s been ages, Thorin,” replied Balin who suddenly seemed uncomfortable, “you really never had…”

“Feelings for the Elf?” Balin nodded and Thorin snickered.

“No, never have and never will,” Thorin ignored the beating of his heart, the painful oppression on his chest as he said those words, “although, I have to admit, time has given Elves the opportunity to practice things we can only imagine.”

“Please, I do not need that image in my head,” Thorin patted Balin’s back laughing.

“Do not worry my friend. I decided a few months back this game with the Elven-King should end,” Thorin smiled easily at Balin the lies only reflecting in his eyes. Balin took note of this but closed his mouth to any other comment or reply. With time and ale Thorin would finally be honest, if not with himself, at least with his friend.

“Besides, I think the Elven-King has been enjoying this as much as I do. Do you really think a King would deny himself for so long?”

Thorin and Balin resumed they walk their voices moving far away from the place they had stood moments ago. If they had taken the path to their left they would had find another corridor and there, with his back against the cold wall was Thranduil, Elven-King of Mirkwood.