Hope you like this! Comments/reviews will be appreciated but please be mindful of the warnings! [If I have mentioned any before every chapter]

…

Disclaimer: I wish I could build a universe as great as Tolkien's creation. Still, fan fiction is the next best thing.

Pairing: Thranduil[Elven King of Mirkwood] and Thorin

Genre: Romance, Angst, and Friendship

Warnings: Drama, Slash, Forced Marriage, Rape/Non-Con elements.

…

Chapter Summary: Thorin had dreaded this day to come ever since Smaug took Erebor from his people. He didn't even expect for the Elven King to carry on with this contract his grandfather himself have offered to Thranduil; knowing how grave the rift between their people have brewed for years in exile.

And now, there was no other way to get out of this god-forsaken promise of union.

.….. xXOOOXx ….

Title:

BEYOND REALMS AND KINGDOMS

.….. xXOOOXx ….

CHAPTER THREE

Balin was reading another letter an owl dropped off directly to his hands when he passed by the hallway to his quarters. The owl was a different one and its simpler insignia wounded around its other leg told Balin that the sender must have delivered this letter in secret. He was surprised receiving a second letter so soon when he hasn't even started a reply to the previous one that arrived early this afternoon during the council meeting. There was no wonder in his expression though, when he read that the scroll was addressed to him specifically. The advisor sighed and sat boneless on his armchair by the fireplace as soon as he finished reading the last words written on the parchment. A headache began its vicious attack on his head as guilt gnawed at him.

The frame of his room's entrance almost rattled off the stonewall by the fists banging on his door and Balin shot up from his chair as if the cushion burned him. The night was no longer young, considering the whole company have gone down to eat dinner later than usual and most definitely it wouldn't be Dwalin for his brother was feeling like he just committed treason against their King when he mentioned that he had threatened Bilbo to speak of the proposal with Thorin before more chaos could erupt by the time the Elven King has arrived in their halls.

There could only be one person on the other side of his door and he contemplated whether staying calm and oblivious would save him from the onslaught of accusations that he was about to absorb. Another hard thud on the door and he slid the letter carefully within his inner robes before moving to let the man enter his room. A cold expression and barely concealed look of hurt greeted him as soon as his eyes met the piercing blues of the Crown Prince. Nevertheless, it didn't stop him from interrupting the words Thorin were about to growl right on his face.

"I assume Master Baggins has delivered the news about King Thranduil's arrival." Balin said, almost casually. He didn't wait for any reaction and strode towards his desk to grab the large wine decanter before expertly pouring a generous amount of the alcohol into two gold goblets. The advisor almost hesitated approaching the still form of Thorin staring at him blankly; seething and anger seemed to have gone from his stance. The Crown Prince ignored the offered goblet and Balin became uncertain for a moment for he had surely expected Thorin to lash out and throw the goblet back to him just to see how much the wine would burn his eyes. He wouldn't dodge any attack from the younger dwarf for he was aware how much this old contract would affect his status as the rightful heir to the throne of Durin. Thorin has all the right to lose his composure and express his aggravation through violence.

Balin deposited one of the goblets on the table near his armchair and sipped some from his own before speaking. He didn't dare sit and offer one for the tension between them was too delicate.

"We have two days to prepare a welcome banquet for the arrival of the Elven King and his council. Some of his military officials will also come as our tradition dictates him to do so and he has willingly complied."

With that kind of requirement to go through for the formality of offering a proposal to another kingdom—the Dwarven Kingdom—, it was no doubt a great risk in Thranduil's part to leave Mirkwood vulnerable without his best warriors guarding his territory's gates. That vital point in Balin's statement has just increased the Elven King's integrity and willingness to put his royal house in line with securing the union with the Durins.

At this moment, Thorin had now averted his eyes towards the burning and crackling wood in the hearth. He had remained standing, unaware of the worried glances Balin kept on giving him as he carried on with explaining and reporting to him the tasks he took the liberty to distribute among the council members. His face was eerily blank but deep within his eyes several emotions swam until Balin could no longer accept the silence from his King.

"By Mahal, Thorin!" The wise dwarf finally lost his equanimity and slammed the goblet hard on the table.

Surprisingly, this got the Crown Prince's attention and he was reminded of his own purpose for coming here. He had banged on his advisor's door when rage took over him like a dark blanket strangling his very being. He came in with the intention to express how very much thwarted he was after hearing Bilbo confirm that his own kin, the closest ones to him even, have agreed to give up the last valuable thing he could claim himself his own. However, he could no longer remember a single word he was supposed to say to his most trusted advisor. All he could suddenly feel was defeat and resignation. He knew himself better than to submit easily to this kind of circumstance as a King, but then it was the contract that reminded him of the real situation. He wouldn't even be King if he didn't agree to this. Balin and the whole council, including Dain, had all agreed upon its terms. They have carefully and rightfully considered the consequences if the contract wasn't to go through. No matter what past he had endured, since the late King Thror has given half the life of this contract, he was now the one who should bear the responsibility as the promised heir. It was specifically his name that had been written on the proposal.

"Thorin…" The voice that had been calling him when his mind drifted was now gentle. Balin's aged palm carefully cradled his face like that of an older brother and he reveled in the fond memories when the wise dwarf had always been by his side ever since he was young. He sighed shakily and closed his eyes.

"Thor—in…I am truly sorry." Balin was crying and he didn't try stopping the tears that began to flow from his eyes. Thorin looked at him properly and saw the enormous guilt and sadness through those dark orbs. The last time he had seen the old dwarf cry was after their attempt to reclaim Khazad Dum when there were more loss than victory.

"It's not your fault, Balin." His own voice was hoarse. Lightly squeezing the old dwarf's hand, he bent down to grab the goblet that had been offered to him and downed its contents in one gulp. His brows knitted for a second at the smooth taste. He was used to drinking dwarven ale and was surprised when the wine started to warm pleasantly in his stomach.

"If you must know, it was Bilbo who gave me this wine." Balin blurted out as if it was written on Thorin's face that he presumed the wine must have been a gift from the elves.

The dwarf 'prince' faced him and attempted a smile but failed miserably with the trembling twitch of his lips. He turned for the door and paused to speak,

"Tell Bilbo that I do not hold anything against him. He doesn't have an ounce of fault in this matter."

As soon as Thorin left Balin's quarters, he felt the weight of responsibility grow heavier on his shoulders. He knew in himself that he promised to protect his people, to offer his life for the sake of their safety and their trust in him so that he could once again establish a strong kingdom for the whole of Erebor. He was aware that it was a lifetime commitment and he would do everything in his power for it to stay that way as long as he lived. But now it seems that even within the confines of his own chambers—that he will be forced to share in the near future—wherein he could only be his own person and just being an uncle to his nephews, he will soon no longer have the luxurious opportunity freedom could offer him. His sanctuary will not be his alone in two days time.

Thorin would never admit how this thought scared him greater than the wars he had already faced.

…

The next day, Balin made it his task to inform each member of the council and Dain that Master Baggins has already spoken with Thorin about their agreement in regards to the contract with the Elven King. It was a relief as much as expected disappointment on their part when their king didn't show up at the dining hall. There was a visible tension floating around them. No matter how abundant the breakfast laid out on the table looked appetizing, they painstakingly struggled to swallow their food with the smallest amount of enthusiasm. No one broke the lingering silence. No one mentioned the absence of their hobbit companion as well. They could only tell for sure that Bilbo was now wallowing in guilt he should not blame upon himself.

Balin made sure to send his replies to the letters he received yesterday separately with two ravens before calling the start of meeting in preparation for Thranduil's official visit to Erebor. The council members filed in one by one in the room by the time they all finished with their own personal routines. The old dwarf observed the solemn faces of the dwarves. In particular, Fili and Kili's faces were masks of alarming trepidation. These two were obviously afraid how their uncle would look at them after practically participating in selling his pride to the elves.

They waited for their king to arrive, as it was his right to oversee the proceedings for the arrangements of the upcoming gathering. But no one could be sure if Thorin would actually want to partake in discussing the day his life shall be offered in order to solidify his sovereignty for Erebor.

It was Dwalin's loud sigh that perked up the heads of the other dwarves. Dain looked at the Head of the Royal Guards expectantly. The warrior stood up.

"I'll check if he's still in his room." He made a move for the door and Fili stopped him in time to volunteer to do the task himself.

"No, Master Dwalin…I—I'll go." He exchanged looks with Kili and with an encouraging nod from his younger brother, turned to exit the room.

At exact same moment the Durin heir opened the door, Thorin was about to turn the knob himself. Two sets of blue eyes—one a little darker and the other brighter—connected in that fleeting instant. Fili immediately scrambled off the way to give a path for his uncle. Thorin acknowledged him with a small nod and a straight expression. The young heir frowned at this. He wasn't bothered by being barely acknowledged but his uncle looked more tired than he has ever seen him when they were still doing odd jobs and blacksmithing in the towns of men. He could not compare this to the time they fought in the war for that was a different case altogether. Fili felt his guilt tenfold.

Once the Crown Prince reached the seat at the head of the table, one gesture and the meeting begun.

…

Two days were not enough to have prepared him for this visit to finally arrive. Two days will never be enough to give him time to clear his thoughts and just let the following events to occur without so much as a painful anticipation gripping the insides of his stomach. He couldn't breathe right. He couldn't school his expression to keep it straight and unfeeling. The gathering anticipation in his gut only added negative fuel to the purpose of today's meeting.

He didn't want to run. This wasn't him. He was bred to bear the responsibility of being a Durin ever since he knew how to read the runes of the dwarves and was able to speak a full sentence of Khuzdul, their sacred language. But now he couldn't seem to stop from fleeing from his room and treading almost blindingly through the secret passages inside their mountain towards the labyrinth of caves leading to the bustling marketplace of Erebor. It was a small mercy that he hasn't worn his royal robes to make him enormously obvious of his status; although maybe the intricate braids he was currently wearing could be the blatant indication that he was indeed, Thorin Oakenshield.

He went passed the merchants and other civilians in the busy crowd, entirely oblivious that most of them were giving him shocked expressions in recognition of his face. He wasn't aware of it. He could only pay attention to the strong determination in getting out of this part of the village he had entered, and maybe slip out of the guards' keen alertness—who definitely were trained to know him however the circumstances are—to get out of the mountain.

Of course the guards recognized him instantly as soon as they have caught the significance of the braids of his hair. But they were careful not to encourage ruckus while being in the surrounding of too many villagers. It wouldn't do good to have to explain why the crown prince seemed to be trying to escape when there was an official visit that would be coming from the Mirkwood realm. They were now calmly tracking the position and movements of Thorin.

It will be another gate before Thorin could successfully get out of their kingdom to maybe stay at the woods uphill, west of their mountain—just about an hour on foot. He decided to change his direction, going straight for the side gates where there will be less guards and ask them casually for him to be let out. These guards may question him, not to mean disrespect but to assure his safety. The crown prince carried on with his path. He had been unaware all throughout when the officials of Mirkwood have made their entrance several minutes ago.

…

When the guard at the tower spotted the arriving assemblage of elves, his hand had instinctively moved to grab the robe to ring the bell in order to inform the sentries. Before he could do so, an owl landed firmly on his arm with a scroll tied around his left claw. Reading and instantly understanding the contents, he whistled to get the attention of one of the sentries and gestured to open the gates without blowing the horn. The only symbol they were given to trust this order was the insignia of Mirkwood stamped on the scroll and one warrior elf that had advanced before their King.

The gates opened, bellowing an impressive creak in announcement to the advent of the Eleven Court. The civilian dwarves were not fazed at the moment, still busy going on about their businesses for their own preparations to welcome the elven warriors who they were aware have helped their kingdom to survive the battle and be built to the way it was before Smaug. Not everyone would of course be inclined to participate, as some of them haven't still found in their hearts to forgive the time when these elves abandoned them. However, they have also found it in their minds that they wouldn't hold too much grudge in favor of bringing honor to their own King. The people of Erebor have been informed the news for this celebration of union between dwarves and elves and there had been no objection so far—no one daring to break the fragile peace that they've only just gained mere months ago.

Thranduil scanned the crowd in silent observation. He will not deny feeling lightly elated seeing the dwarves going over their own preparations for his arrival. He knew it was for him for several of these dwarves have made the effort to bring him gifts in his kingdom. He would also never have the thought of being against the other dwarves who haven't forgiven him for the century old decision he had to make for his own people and in rectitude of the dreadful but inevitable fate of Erebor.

Finally, he gestured for his guards to enter the gates before him and followed them. Slowly, when the dwarves have taken notice of the approaching elven officials, they parted in respect, awe, and uncertainty—all in reticence. It was written on their faces how it surprised them that the elves didn't choose to enter Erebor without so much as a grand roaring of horns to warn them of their presence.

The Elven King paid no heed to the quiet whispers that were emerging from the people they were passing by. It was no doubt simple curiosity tugging their lips to gossip as to how the proposal of alliance would go through when the two royal houses have finally gathered together. They were not informed of one important fact that this was no simple alliance in terms of arms and trade. One topic in particular caught Thranduil's notice though, and the concern that had been shyly bothering him suddenly came to light. He knew he should have acknowledged this odd but familiar feeling as soon as it emerged amongst the anxious nerves that thrummed throughout his body.

He halted and his guards immediately took notice. The Elf King guided his elk towards another direction and didn't bother to check if his officials would follow him because they will surely do. He can feel it more clearly now that he has given this feeling its rightful and proper amount of attention. It was this pull he thought he had lost forever. It was this connection he had longed for.

Amidst the continuously moving throng of dwarves, one look at the particular form he'd been familiar with for more than a century and the pull had began to be overwhelming. He wasn't expecting this drastic change in his emotions but it was very welcomed more than he could ever admit. The only factor causing him to gain as much control needed for this swell of sensations was that the dwarf prince has yet to recognize this spiritual link.

…

Thorin stilled the moment he felt the people surrounding him fall into a deafening silence. The resounding thuds of horses and armor boots were what broke the seemingly endless stillness around him. A different tone of released breath piqued him into curiosity and he turned to face whoever or whatever it was that made his people gawk in open wonder. All plans of escape were now being annexed by incursions of inevitabilities. He has no power against it.

It was not Thranduil's intention to bring forth his presence in Erebor to be that of an intimidating one. He couldn't help but wince inwardly when he noticed the small backward step of Thorin when he came face to face with his elk. His elk was the biggest of its kind, a sacred gift given by their maker, and the same one he had ridden when he had supposedly offered aid to the preservation of the dwarven kingdom. He almost felt regret by bringing his beast as his ride when it can all but trigger hatred from Thorin again, but his elk was the very symbol of his status and the right he has as the lord of one of the biggest woodlands of Middle Earth.

One smooth glide from the saddle and he now stood between his elk and Thorin.

Thorin froze minutely but there was no way he would embarrass himself in front of his own people. He straightened his stance to appear as regal as he could. He was a King, dammit! He would face this elf bearing the honor of his Durin line and as the leader of his entire race. The elf king offered an open palm to him and he looked up in confusion.

"I will oblige in carrying on with my proposal in front of your people—out in this crowd and them as your valid witnesses—right at this moment. I will not regret it. But I do believe it may not be what you wish." The words were stated without mockery. The deep voice of the elf king resonated as if he had just made a new law, his expression serious and waiting.

The murmurs from the dwarves in the crowd grew louder and bolder. The very words of the elf king have given light to the truth some rumors others may have conjured when the contract of alliance had been announced a week prior to today. Thorin immediately became uncomfortable but he stood his ground. He was a bit taken aback when Thranduil gradually changed his posture in what seemed to be a position preparing himself to kneel on the ground. The dwarf king stilled for a moment but had the presence of mind to grab Thranduil's hand before he could perform his official proposal in Erebor's marketplace. No matter how much he doesn't want for this marriage to actually occur, it would be a slight to let a King such as Thranduil's caliber to have done this in front of merchants and mere civilians as witnesses. He looked around and saw the line of royal officials regarding him with what may be their own version of wonder through those reserved facade.

Thranduil tightened his grip on Thorin's hand and guided him towards his elk. He wounded an arm around his waist and effortlessly hoisted him up the front seat of the saddle without so much as giving the dwarf prince the chance to react, following soon after to hold onto the reins. With a respectful nod towards their audience, he led his soldiers towards the royal palace of Erebor.

"I will not let you fall." Thranduil murmured when he noticed the way Thorin's knuckles turned white by his death grip on the front arc of the saddle. The dwarf prince's hands twitched.

"You don't ever do that to me in front of my people." Thorin growled. The elven officials may have glanced his way but he didn't care.

"Understood." Thranduil conceded. "Not until the end of this week."

'When the day that you're officially bound to me…Not until then.'—Were the words unspoken but undeniably indisputable.

…

Thranduil had knelt down on his left knee, graceful limbs folding in one smooth motion. His crown, bearing the majestic antler-shaped branches made from the hardest wood outside of Middle Earth—the Quebracho—coiled with the former Greenwood's finest treasures, was seated upon his head as if the very jewels of the forest came to life with the elven king's existence. He was wearing a simple leather-coated mithril breastplate and armguards embossed with the royal crest; his inner garments followed his movements like the loyal wings of an eagle. From everyone's point of view, he looked every bit of the King that he was. He looked regal and almost ethereal in this impressive show of status—not to boast and intimidate but to stand equal with his intended.

Thorin's robes were similarly remarkable. He belonged to the house being asked in marriage and so it was not necessary for him to wear his armor. According to both kingdoms' ancient tradition and the cursed contract, he was the one to be joined in the royal house of Oropher. He will be the one to accept their name and to carry it together with his title as King of Erebor. It will be an enormous fissure in his pride to be called Consort to Thranduil when the marriage has been done. The only ever reason he would be willing to do this was because it would solidify his place as the rightful King Under the Mountain. And he would do it, without any doubt, for his family and his people.

Two sets of blue eyes stared at each other in what seemed to be an eternity, before the words that will firmly confirm the graveness of this promise of union, have finally been spoken by Thranduil.

…

Thorin stared blankly outside his window. He's been doing so for the past several minutes since the tailors who have assisted him with his wedding robes and light armor left his chambers. He could not feel a thing. He was numb and unaware of the frantic servants, dwarves and elves alike, trying to finalize the royal wedding preparations to its utter perfection. Even Balin and Dwalin's visit to him, offering words of comfort, assuring him of their loyalty and protection drifted like a fleeting memory.

This show of trying to make this day as excellent as any other 'real' marriages should be was pathetic. If only those oblivious dwarves and elves knew of the real reason this marriage has to take place, they wouldn't go to such lengths in order to bring forth a grand celebration.

He was too far-gone in the world of eternal vacuity that he didn't hear his heir knocking and entering his room. Fili had been nervous when he decided to visit his uncle. He and Kili had been arguing who would be best to talk with Thorin before the wedding, considering there hasn't been much opportunity for interaction with their uncle these past few days. In the end, Fili had always been the tactful one between brothers. So here he was, standing awkwardly by the door, before the thought occurred to him that he could obviously tell that Thorin didn't have his usual alertness to sense that there was already someone in his room. The blonde Durin took little, careful steps and gained a bit of confidence when he stopped just beside his uncle's seat by the window. He placed his hand lightly on the crown prince's shoulder.

The sudden weight on Thorin's shoulder couldn't stop him from flinching. A small amount of red blossomed on his cheeks and he immediately cleared his throat to drive away the embarrassment of being caught off guard. He shifted his position so that he could properly look at Fili's face. He was surprised, of course. There had been no sign from his nephews that they would be talking to him soon. Fili's presence, he realized, was a great comfort. Thorin smiled. The blonde Durin was instantly taken aback that the tears he'd been schooling not to flow unbidden were now freely pouring from his eyes.

"Uncle! Forgive me. Forgive u—us. I—we—we didn't…didn't want this to happen. We thought of every possible way for you not t…to have to go through this. But Balin said there was no other option…that he doesn't have the power to change it." Fili choked on his words but he carried on. "I—I tried, Uncle. I had asked if I could replace you. I would marry Thranduil if only it would let you rule Erebor without this contract binding you to share your life with an elf…"

Fili's hysterical apologies stopped as soon as Thorin's firm palms caressed his cheeks. He leaned into the touch and felt guilty by taking comfort in the understanding eyes his uncle was giving him. He should be the one giving comfort, not the other way around. It was not him who has to give up his freedom in order to secure the safety of Erebor.

"Thank you. I am truly honored that you have fought for me. But it is my responsibility alone. I have to accept it."

Without any thought, Thorin bent forward and pressed his lips on his nephew's forehead. He was aware that this was never part of his character to show such vulnerability even towards his family. It was also not the way dwarves show their affections but he could clearly remember the way his own mother would kiss him on his temple so tenderly that the harsh memories of his nightmare would magically dissipate. Fili's eyes widened for a second but melted to the gesture in acceptance. He put his arms around his Uncle, careful not to put creases on his wedding robes and whispered,

"May I? I mean…may I do your braids?" Fili offered hesitantly as there might be a reason why his Uncle did not let the servants from earlier braid his hair. After a moment's breath, Thorin nodded with a smile.

It would be Fili's first time doing these elaborate braiding patterns symbolizing the house of Durin. He learned how to do it as his mother wanted him to do so when he'll be taking his own Consort in the future. (It always made him wonder why his mother insisted that he must be the one to braid his wife's hair.)

There were two kinds of this braiding system; the simpler one serving for engagement and other royal celebration—which Thorin had worn the day Thranduil made his formal proposal—and the more complicated one would be exclusive and duly for weddings. As the male heir to the throne of Durin, Thorin was not supposed to receive this process of braiding. But since he was to join the house of King Thranduil—considering that the Royal Oropherion Family was much older and held a bigger part of land in Middle Earth than the line of Durins, it would only be right to partake with this tradition in their family.

Thorin suddenly wished that his sister, Dís, was already here.

…

By the end of the Elder Elf's proclamation, telling them to seal their spoken vows of marriage, Thorin had not been expecting to be brought up to his toes and feel a gentle hand at the back of his neck guiding his lips toward the elven king's. He had not been expecting to be maneuvered so easily when he had decided to firmly plant his feet on the polished stone floor of the throne room the moment the Elder Elf indicated that it was time for them to show every elf and dwarf that their marriage was finally official.

Nevertheless, the kiss was well founded and sure. The touch of lips against lips was unusual on Thorin's part and Thranduil's startling brush of his tongue on his lips made him quietly gasp in bewilderment. As embarrassing as it was to admit, this might be Thorin's first time to be kissed. He has no idea what the Elven King was trying to do but as soon as he let his mouth open in that short instance of uncertainty, Thranduil had slipped his tongue inside and caressed every part he could touch. Thorin couldn't find it in him to follow through with the action for it was not in his element to know how to reciprocate in this particular situation. An unpredicted sound akin to a moan came from his throat without permission. It felt like a solid kick in the gut to fathom what their audience must have concluded regarding this slip.

There had been other surprised reactions from the audience, most definitely coming from Fili and Kili's side on the seats where his council also sat and Thorin had the impulsive need to stop letting this Elven King show his dominance over him. He was definitely much shorter in height but he was also a King in his own right and there would be no way he'll be presented as someone lesser than this race of elves.

He was not panicking nor was he desperate. However, the frantic way he had clutched onto Thranduil's royal overcoat to push him away made him look as if he was simply trying to hold on tighter. He tried to turn his head but this attempt only became a suggestion to make Thranduil follow his motion. It was devastatingly humiliating to have acted helplessly like that. To add salt to the wound, the Elven Court had applauded for what appeared to be an affectionate display between the two Kings. He pushed on the elf's chest harder, growling a curse in Khuzdul under the shortening pull of breath.

Before he could further pound his pride to the ground, it was like a signal by the gods that Thranduil finally released his lips and satisfyingly set him back on the ground. The kiss had only lasted for a minute but it felt like more time had passed on. A swift steadying hand held his waist when he appeared to lose a bit of his footing. Fiery blue orbs sharply held the elf king's eyes in that instant.

"You cursed elf! You da—!"

"Uncle!" Kili's brown eyes pronounced a very dark glare directed at Thranduil. His deep voice cutting through what was supposed to be Thorin's speech of curses and profanities towards the elf king. If his nephew was unaware of this when he called him, his timing was a great blessing from Mahal for making him stop losing his composure completely when the wedding have all but finished mere seconds ago. It also wouldn't do good to let his disagreement about this whole charade be known to his kingdom.

Thorin heaved a huge breath and closed his eyes. Uncertain fingers touched his hand and he almost violently shoved it away.

"I—I'm sorry…" Kili murmured, shocked by the furious reaction of his Uncle. Thorin, in turn, faced him with wide eyes. He had thought it was Thranduil. Enormous regret clouded his expression.

"No. Forgive me—I thought…I…" His voice cracked.

Catching that tired look from his Uncle's face, Kili instantly understood why Thorin had responded the way he did. A smile appeared on the youngest Durin's face.

"I'll lead you to your seat. Fili and I are seated near you." He offered and it was only then that Thorin realized Thranduil was already positioned on one of the royal chairs and was already engaged in a conversation with some of his council members.

…

A small hand placed a firm grip on his wrist by the time he was gesturing for a servant for his eleventh mug of what must be an elven wine. The dwarven ale had began giving him odd warmth within his stomach to the point of being a bit uncomfortable that it made him decide to take the lighter taste of red wine. He had taken the liberty of doing so when Thranduil had left his side after finally taking the hint that he'd never speak a word with him like a truly and newly married partner in front of his people. The lightheaded sensation the wine provided him elated his mood along with the elf king's absence.

He was leaning his temple heavily on one unsteady palm and turned to face the owner of the hand who interrupted him. There was a small upward twitch of his lips the moment he saw those green orbs concentrating on him.

"I have thought…you'dnever come…" He slurred, eyes glazed with ambiguous focus.

"Thorin. You've taken too much ale and wine. Maybe you should stop or slow down a bit." Bilbo whispered. He had successfully laid down the dwarf king's palm back on the table. A small shift and he gestured a dwarf for a glass of water. He handed it to Thorin as soon as it was delivered.

"Here. "

Thorin took a subtle sniff on the glass and creased his brows in confusion.

"'Tis not wine." He almost sounded like whining.

"It's not but it will help ease some of that buzz from your head."

Thorin complied and took more careful gulps when Bilbo held back the whole glass of water he was about to spill all over his robes. The hobbit put it down on the table right after he had consumed all the liquid. He was supplied with a handkerchief to wipe off the excess droplets that damped his short beard. Nodding in thanks, once again he was centered in Bilbo's focus. The pull of the hobbit's seriousness in his eyes was strong and he found himself looking back with a passable amount of acknowledgement this time as the cool freshness of water provided him with some clarity in his surroundings.

"Thorin I just wanted to tell you—"

"I believe it is time for us to retire to our chambers." Thranduil's deep tone impeded whatever Bilbo was about to say to the dwarf king. It was not in his intention to interrupt but it didn't seem to pose as a valid excuse to his untimely return from the way the hobbit scowled at him. Bilbo couldn't help but huff in annoyance, his reaction deliberately ignored.

The elf king had been drinking lots of wine himself. He even welcomed the more bitter taste of dwarven ale but it had not been enough to give him the convenient buzz of drunkenness. No strong alcohol has ever really been that potent to affect his senses as how other normal beings would have been pissed about. It was a trait in his elven blood he usually does not take advantage of but tonight was a complicated type of circumstance. One glance at Thorin's hunched form, flushed cheeks and the radiance of alcohol-heated skin, Thranduil had the sudden impulse to shake him to alertness. Underneath the agitated visage though, long hidden desire rippled through his veins like the blazing fires in Orodruin.

He was a bit surprised when those blue orbs he have compared to the great seas of Aman were now looking at him with a flash of fervor that could not be categorized the same way as he was feeling.

As unbelievable as it may seem to appear (to the dwarves who witnessed Smaug's terror and to the Crown Prince's company), Thranduil can perfectly understand why there was this kind of hatred that grew as a great barrier in his relationship with Thorin. Abandonment during the direst of times was a huge message of betrayal. At that point in their young history, there was really nothing Thranduil could have done to stop the horrific desolation of Smaug. If he had charged his warriors into a futile battle—not much preparation they were able to accomplish on their side—that destruction would have ended three of the great nations in this part of Middle Earth; the Men, the Dwarves, and Elves. Thranduil would never have forgiven himself if the last he would be able to offer Thorin was the annihilation of his own kingdom. He knew he had chosen the right decision back then, no matter how much life had to end for them to finally arrive in this moment. It had not been his choice to make. But from now on, he had sworn it would be. He had fulfilled his bargain with the gods that have blessed their contract and if they shall grant their word of promise to him, everything that has been sacrificed will be worth this hatred he'll have to endure from Thorin…even if the dwarf king's love would never be part of it.

As long as Thorin lived.

As long as he stayed by his side till the end of their days.

…

"Do not touch me, you filthy elf!" Thorin growled. The walk from the dining hall towards the royal chambers had given him time to ease the cloudiness of his mind. His vision slowly became clearer, enough for him to track his movements correctly while he navigated through the winding corridors.

He's had enough of the elf king's unwelcome existence and his pretentious concern when he stumbled twice over a crooked stone block on the floor. He was a bit proud of himself when he had only waved an arm to ward off Thranduil's offer of assistance rather than blatantly shoving him until he heard a satisfying sound of muscle and bones hitting the hard wall. It was a violent thought but the dwarf wished he would actually be given the chance to do it anytime soon.

They have just entered the chambers and Thranduil didn't hesitate in grabbing his arm to guide him towards the enormous bed. Thorin seethed at this boldness.

"You do not control me. You do not own me!" He stood up. His anger rising every second the elf king returned his irate words with nothing but a straight expression and blue eyes that showed a different emotion altogether. Profanities and vile insults in Khuzdul freely escaped his mouth and he was surprised when the elf finally found his voice to speak to him after he had stayed silent all throughout their trek to this room. It may be because that now they were alone from the gaging eyes of both their people. Or it would be purely because no audience would be witnessing the true color of the Elf King that he has decided to let go of the mask.

"You are now mine, Thorin Durin Oropherion. You are married to me. From this day forth, you carry my name before any other titles you have gained. Erebor is no longer yours to rule alone. It was King Thror who had offered you to achieve this solid alliance. The birthright that you claim to have is all but useless without my very existence. If you really are the Durin prince that you insist to be, then—!"

One wrong turn of the head and Thranduil might have already lost his right eye if he had moved a millisecond later. The glaring sharp tip of the dagger Thorin had lunged directly at his face was able to leave a clean cut slightly above his cheekbone. The dwarf's assault didn't end at that point though as another slash diagonally aiming for his bicep resulted to a broad rip on the left arm of his leather armguard extending through the blue robes underneath, just barely sparing his skin and flesh a painful laceration. He could feel the threatening breath of the dagger crawling upon the exposed limb and the tingling danger created goose bumps on his skin. It made him think if removing his mithril armor earlier had been a wrong decision.

A fist ramming on the side of his torso caught him off guard and the surprise along with the impact caused him to stumble gracelessly against the corner of a table. Various items clattered on the floor and a decent size carafe that contained either ale or wine spilled its blood red liquid, reaching up and staining a ghastly pattern on the spread of fur near the bed.

"I am King Under the Mountain! I'm no longer the prince you have seen just standing by the side of the throne. For the century that my people and I have lived in exile, I have served them more than what a King like you would ever have done. You who lack honor! You could not even take the risk of trying to save my people! You are a coward."

The elf king was half standing when Thorin charged forward again and Thranduil was now perfectly prepared to counter it. He seized the dwarf's wrist before the deadly tip of his weapon reached his jugular. The bruising grip he has on Thorin lightly weakened the strike of his elbow that moved straight to the other side of the elf's waist. Thranduil accepted the blow and took the opportunity to trap the arm without the dagger between their chests.

"You do not know what you speak of, young one." Thranduil hissed while they continued to struggle between their strengths. "You have not yet lived long enough to know everything about being a King. I have sacrificed things that you would never even consider imagining. I had to give up people I have treasured more than my own life in this world." The unexpected shift of emotion in his eyes didn't go unnoticed as the fury that filled Thorin's eyes made way for a hint of ambiguity.

"There is only one thing I treasure…that I would never give up. Aside from my kingdom. Aside from my people. Not in any lifetime."

Thorin pulled a sharp intake of breath in realization. One powerful shove and he has freed himself from Thranduil's arms. The elf's hands fell boneless on the floor. Thorin couldn't understand the change in his demeanor.

"Do not fight me, Thorin. I was never your enemy. I will accept the hatred you found in my faults." The Elf King moved and knelt on his knee. One fisted hand rested on the ground while the other lay firm on his bent leg. His head was tilted downwards in a half bow—the bow of a High Lord. It was the formal stance that symbolized the ultimate dedication of a King to his consort. A gesture that would show a King's submission to lay down his life completely without qualms for the person he's been bound to live with. The torn royal garment did not make him any less regal even in this vulnerable posture.

"Give me the chance to prove myself to you. Amin naa tualle."

It was no doubt that the King of Mirkwood was sincere when he had spoken these words to Thorin. The dwarf king, however, received it in an entirely different light. Thranduil raised his head only to land upon the look of revulsion the dwarf directed at him. Right then and there, he knew that Thorin would not give himself a chance to reciprocate the elf's feelings.

"You disgust me. What makes you think that I will accept your affections…yo—your love?" Thorin spat the last word as if the very taste of it was as vile as the dark blood of Smaug. He was now looming over the elf, dagger still held with intention.

"I will not accede to the declarations of the Elf who abandoned my people, who betrayed us without a second thought."

Thranduil could feel his heart slowly being torn apart—felt like the very muscle of his life source was being sliced deliberately and repeatedly with a blunt knife. Behind all the thoughts and onslaught of insults he was sure he would receive, there had always been that tiny part that contained his hope. The forbidden flaw in his composure was starting to burn out a bigger hole.

"If I knew that I would be bound to you, I would have chosen to die in the hands of Azog."

And that assertion was a very big mistake.

The last bit of control had instantly taken away Thranduil's self-possession as soon as those abominable words came out of Thorin's mouth. He was not aware how he snatched the dagger from the dwarf's death grip but he heard the loud sound of metal connecting on hardwood. He had slammed the blade so hard on the table that it buried to the hilt and caused the slab to almost break in half.

Thorin had taken a step back with this show of strength but he didn't have the opportunity to dodge the strong grasp of the elf king. A burst of white filled his vision the moment he'd been thrown and his head met the carved stone of the bed's headboard. He vaguely heard a loud knock suddenly rattling the doors of the chamber.

Thranduil had growled towards the intruder and spoke a few elven words to open the door. The one who entered was tall and that little clue had given answer to Thorin that it was an elf who had knocked and not one of his guards. The elf guard sounded calm but his words were hurried, bordering an anxious tone. Thranduil hissed a few Sindarin to him and the elf made a stiff bow before exiting the room. There was the sound of lock clicking back firmly.

Within the haze of the recent impact, he saw that Thranduil had already removed his remaining armor as he approached him. Thorin immediately made a grab at the nearest item he could reach on the bedside counter and threw it. The elf king caught it effortlessly and crushed the glass chalice with his bare hand, totally indifferent of the thick shards that caused blood to trickle down his wrist. Thorin's eyes widened and fear began to coil in his gut. He scampered off to slide away from the fur cushions but the elf had already seized one his legs. The pull was harsh and unforgiving. His back collided with Thranduil's hard chest after he has been trapped within the confines of the elf's arms. He was almost squeezing him that breathing became hard.

"Take back those words. Tell me that you would not rather be killed by that beast." Thranduil snarled in his ear. He sounded incensed but at the same time, pleading.

Thorin continued to struggle fruitlessly.

"I would choose the deadly blow of his mace than be with yo—!" The elf king has buried his teeth at the side of Thorin's neck, drawing blood. His tongue snaked all over the wounded skin and breathed in the expanse of flesh that was not covered with beard. He put his knee heavily on the back of the dwarf, effectively pinning him to the bed.

The ripping sound of silk and the scratchy rattling of chainmail torn out a sound that triggered something in Thorin. He felt the cold breeze of the night coming from the open window touch his newly exposed skin and froze at the impending punishment he was about to experience.

"Do not touch me! I'll break all the bones in your bod—Ah..!"

One long finger entered him without caution. The invasion was unwelcome and his body responded violently in the sudden sting. The finger moved with purpose, making him writhe but only causing a foreign burning in his insides. Thorin clutched onto the sheets and held onto them to try and haul himself away from the intruding touch.

"I saved you from the poison of that mace not to hear you wish you have died from it." A brutal curve of his finger and the dwarf choked in a pained gasp. He added another finger and Thorin was now clawing on his arm and robes that still clung on his body. He maneuvered him easily onto his back so that he could stare at those blue eyes. Blacks dilated in distress with the inconsiderate twist of his body while fingers remained moving inside him.

"I—I'll kill you…! I'll kill you…" The dwarf weakly cursed, followed by words in Khuzdul Thranduil would not spare a single thought to while rage still bubbled up within him. Being aware of how much Thranduil could overpower him was a horrendous torture to Thorin.

The elf leaned forward and gave a small mercy by slowly withdrawing his fingers. He ripped his own breeches and shifted further down to position himself directly at Thorin's entrance. The dwarf realized his intention as soon as the blunt tip of Thranduil's shaft grazed him. The strength of his struggles increased with new vigor as the panic settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

"NO!" —Was the desperate cry that escaped his mouth when the elf king drove into him. The thrust was difficult and dry. The oil that he was supposed to use to ease his way in did not cross his mind by the time his awareness of control totally slipped away. But with the whole of his length already buried deep inside the dwarf, there would be no turning back.

Thorin's tightness was a pleasant irresistible sensation. The desire Thranduil had been keeping for years and years now came rushing in, releasing mad lust from the very pores of his skin. It was exhilarating—this freedom of emotion, this letting go. He would not have been cruel with his taking but the remorseless words that Thorin had spoken were a great acid to the barriers of his heart.

He pulled back a little and pushed back in with a force. A rush of warm moisture licked around his length and that small part of him knew that he had ripped something inside the dwarf. He could not let himself stop. This was a lesson. This pain had to be inflicted so that Thorin could understand how being alive truly meant. That with his life almost taken away from the battle, it was granted back to him; every loss, every sacrifice, every success, every challenge, and every emotion—every meaning of it should come to light with the right understanding. The entire existence of an individual never revolved in one single axis. One life will always affect another, no matter how big or small.

Tears blurred Thranduil's eyes as he continued to thrust inside Thorin, incoherent sounds coming out of the dwarf the very indication that he was feeling every movement through his body. With every sharp pull of breath and each solid shove pronounced the proof that he was aware of all this.

"Accept this pain." A thrust. "Feel it, Thorin. Feel me moving inside you." A sound above a whisper. "Know that you are alive, A'maelamin." A silent growl, a secret plea.

And the flood of elven endearments spilled from his lips whilst he wept and kissed every inch of Thorin's skin. His tongue traced the dip of his back. Trembling mouth explored and worshipped the pale thighs, sliding to the sides of the torso, and up to the now bared shoulders as his fingers laced through the silken dark locks to trap them in his grasp. He claimed those open lips to muffle the moan and the embrace of warm breath made him shiver.

"No one will ever touch you intimately the way I caress you… No one will take you away from me or they will die in my hands." He kissed the sweat-glistened temple tenderly. "You will not leave my side. Not again. Not ever. I will not permit it."

…

Five times he had let go of his seed inside of Thorin and the flow of tears never stopped. He didn't know if it was the guilt of taking the dwarf's last bit of pride by forcing this consummation on him. But there would be not a single ounce of regret; he knew it in his core.

Thorin had fortunately lost consciousness by the end of Thranduil's fifth release. His muscles began to relax when the throbbing rawness he felt all over his body exhausted the last reserves of his energy. His form gradually turned pliant on the elf's arms.

He was no longer aware when the elf's seed, along with a bit of his blood, trickled down between his bruised legs. He was no longer aware when a clean blanket was draped carefully over his body. He was already succumbed to the dark comfort of sleep when Thranduil had asked for forgiveness.

Not only for taking him brutally.

Not only for the destruction of Smaug.

But most importantly, for being the sole person in Middle Earth to have taught the Elf King's heart how love can truly and utterly melt even the hardest of stones.

BTW everyone, I also have an account in Ao3 (I am called: MahalsBeard; yep please don't laugh =D) so if you guys prefer to read this story through there, I would appreciate it all the same. But I'm not giving up on my account here so chapter updates will still be posted. (Though, might take a little later than updates from Ao3)

Danke Schon Jeder! 3 (Thank you, everyone!)