galadriel's speech

3

Kir, Lord of Trinkets, Archfey patron of brandi’s new character 

very flamboyant, knits, has pointy teeth, 420 blaze it, collects everything imaginable, pretty much just demands his warlocks that they bring him baubles, knick knacks, and other random shit for funsies

goes from 0 to galadriel-dark-queen-speech really quick

his mantle/cloak has the ability to transform into actual butterfly wings

Enslaved by a King- [Revelations Edition]- Thranduil Fanfiction

A shadow hangs over you. It is one of guilt. Of Desire.

Galadriel’s gaze is piercing, but the King of Greenwood is not fazed. He is used to her prying at his mind like a nosy woodpecker. He takes a slow sip of wine and meets her gaze with an icy one of his own. She smiles slightly.

She clouds your thoughts. She has bewitched you.

“She is none of your business.” He says quietly. “What is it that you want? You did not come all the way to my realm just to play mind games.”

“I have had a vision. It concerns the human you’ve kept hidden in the heart of Mirkwood.”

"Greenwood.”

“You know these woods are not what they used to be.” She circles him slowly like a vulture. “I saw a great evil fester and spread, choking out the light. I saw Mirkwood overcome with darkness, your vibrant woods reduced to gnarled husks, sapped dry of life and magic. Your kingdom lost forever, your people corrupted and destroyed.”

His lips curled in a wry smile. “The Lady of Lórien brings such auspicious tidings. Doom. Devastation.”

“Death,” she murmured. “Should Mirkwood fall to darkness, no one shall be safe. All of Middle Earth shall be in grave danger.”

“And what does all this have to do with her?”

“…She shall be the spark that ignites the inferno, the one that ushers in the dark.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And you have seen this? In your vision?”

“Where she walks, she brings ruin. You know nothing of this human that you have stolen from a dragon.”

“I know enough,” He growled.

“She is tainted by dark magic, Thranduil. I can sense her presence in your halls, yet I cannot read her thoughts.”

“Then read mine. I know her. She is no danger.”

It seems as if you have allowed her into more than just your halls. Could it be she has found her way into your heart?

He slams down his glass, wine splattering about like blood. “Are you finished?”

She bows slightly. “I shall take my leave.” As she glides away, she turns back to look at him with cold, knowing eyes.

You know nothing of the woman you take to your bed, Thranduil. Darkness feeds darkness. You put us all in danger.

The black smoke runs its icy fingers through your hair, crawling up and down your scalp like a thousand ants.

“Please,” you beg. “Don’t ask this of me! I no longer serve Smaug!”

It wraps itself around you like a snake, its grip tightening around your neck. You are terrified, but it is not death that you fear. There are far worse things that can happen when one betrays the dark.

You wake abruptly, your entire body shaking. Your sheets are tangled about your legs, your nightgown hiked up your thighs. Thranduil is standing over you by your bed, a hand gripping the hilt of his sword. His face is pale, as if he has seen a ghost.

“You were murmuring Black Speech as you slept. Never has anyone uttered that tongue in these halls and lived.”

Your eyes widen and you clutch at your covers. “I am so sorry, my lord. I did not realize-”

“Galadriel came bearing ill-prophecy, and I defended you without a second thought. And now I find out that you speak the dark tongue of Mordor? How is it that one such as you speaks such a cursed tongue?”

“…Cumber taught me, my lord. I did not know it was forbidden-”

“-Cumber? Who is this Cumber?”

“He is my…” You swallow nervously. Guardian? Confidante? Companion? You feel a pang at the thought of him. Cumber would know what to do about the darkness. He always knew everything. And suddenly you realize how much you miss him, his pompous arrogance and sardonic smile. He must think you dead now, burnt to cinders by Smaug’s enchanted collar.

“…He and I both served Smaug,” you manage haltingly.  

Thranduil is studying your expression with narrowed eyes. “And what unsavory, foul creature of Mordor is he?”

You try to hide your indignance. “He is human! He is the most gentle, caring, and wonderful man.”

His eyes flash at your words. “…You seem very fond of him,” he says quietly, his expression unreadable.

“Cumber has cared for me since I was taken by Smaug. He has risked my master’s wrath time and time again to protect me-”

He presses a finger against your lips. His eyes are bright with displeasure. “I am your master,” he growls. “And I will not have you speaking of another man with such…fondness.”

You lick your lips nervously. “I’m sorry, my lord. It’s just he has been nothing but kind to me-”

In a second, he is upon you, pinning you down as a tiger pins down his prey. Blood pounds in your ears as you feel the heat radiating from his body. He is taut muscle and firm, warm flesh beneath his silver brocade, and you are at once both fear and desire. Slowly, he slips the silken strap of your nightgown off your shoulder and brushes your hair back, exposing your neck. His touch is hot against your flesh, and you are painfully aware of the sensation.

“…And have I not been kind to you?” His words are hot and breathy against your sensitive ear.

Slowly, he runs his tongue along the edge of your ear, and you gasp out loud. He kisses you roughly down your neck, soothing his love bites with flicks of his hot, wet tongue. His fingers slide under your nightgown, grasping at you and caressing your swollen tips in the palm of his hands. His stares at you, his eyes dark and demanding.

“Were you dreaming of him just now? Is that why you were murmuring in Black Speech?”

“…N-no!”

His lips curl ever the so slightly. “Good. Because if you were, I will see to it that you never sleep again.”

His eyes never leave yours as he closes his mouth over an aching tip, every flick of his tongue sends flames searing through your being. His hand finds his way to your hips, and he pulls your nightgown to your waist, exposing your flimsy undergarments. His eyes wander low, and he bites his lip slightly. His long, slender fingers trail down your trembling stomach and slides between your thighs. With slow deliberation, he grazes you through your undergarments. You mewl softly, begging him with your eyes.

“…How much do you want me?” His voice is hoarse.

“…My lord,” You whimper.

He savors your cries as he teases you through the flimsy fabric.

“I do not care that you do not find me gentle, or caring,” he murmurs, his fingers searing through the silk. “But I will not stand for you holding some other man in higher regard. No one should occupy your thoughts but me.”

He wraps an arm around you possessively as his fingers slip beneath the soaked fabric. You whimper, pawing at him desperately. He is sweet torment, his fingers barely where you need him the most.

“You are mine,” he breathes. “Say it.”

“…My lord,” You beg, grinding yourself against his fingers.

“Say it!”

The words comes from deep within you, half confession, half desperation. And he knows you mean it, with every ragged breath, with every beat of your aching heart. He loses his breath and his mouth finds yours and his tongue is sweet urgency and his fingers- Oh he is where he should have been all this while! His friction is intoxicating, smooth and pure exhilaration. He pushes you closer to oblivion with each slick, velveteen stroke into the heart of you, the source of your desires. His eyes are heavy with need as he drinks in the pleasure in yours. And suddenly you are the warmth and pleasure spreading inside you like a thousand blossoms blooming. You are the burst of starlight in his midnight eyes, the delicious groan in his mouth. He clasps you tightly against him, feeling the electricity dance through your limbs. He looks at you with eyes thick with emotion. And in that moment, you realize that you have lost your heart to him, that your soul is his as his is yours. He is the very air you breathe, the very beat of your heart.

His expression is soft, and he gazes at you as if there is nothing else in the world. “…How can this be darkness when all I feel is light?” 

At his words, a part of you crumbles and dies.

Because you know what is coming, what evil slowly spreads north from the ruins of Dol Guldur. You know, because you were the one that had wakened it. And you’ve brought it straight into the heart of Mirkwood.  

[posted 1.19.14]

[Note: This is a chapter from the series Enslaved by Kings and Dragons

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