Title: Alliances

Author: Khylea

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Thranduil/Rúmil

Warning: Lewd and completely inappropriate use of food for purposes other than consumption. And yes, I stole that scene from "Flashdance". Hey, if you're going to plagiarize one fandom, why not plagiarize two fandoms? Heh.

Timeline: Sometime between Third Age 1100 (approximately), when Sauron was called the Necromancer and was first known to live in Dol Guldur and Third Age 2941, when he returned to Mordor, and his true identity was known. (I am picturing it sometime in the middle of this time period, however, since at the time of this fic, he had enough strength to be attacking both Lórien and Mirkwood. So I would say probably around Third Age 2000-2500. The timeline isn't critical, so please don't belabor this point.) Since at this point it was not known he was Sauron, I do not name him, but when the "dark presence", the "dark one", or "the enemy" is referred to by the narration or one of the characters, that's who it's referring to.

Archive: Feel free, just drop me a URL where I can visit it please sl_chester@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and other than NOT writing eeeeeeevil Thranduil, I REALLY doubt if the person who does own these characters, the delightful J.R.R. Tolkien, would approve of anything in this fic.

Feedback: Hit me baby, one more time!

Beta: Manon the Magnificent

Summary: After years of shunning the leaders of the other elven realms, Thranduil finally agrees to discuss an Alliance. Rúmil is chosen to speak for Lórien.

Author's Notes: Written for a "Secret Santa" fic swap on LOTRAllSlash. I drew Tux, who asked for Rúmil/Thranduil, or Rúmil/Orophin/Haldir. The latter didn't speak to me, so I wrote Thranduil/Rúmil. She said fluff or angst was fine but she wanted a happy ending. Hope you like it, hon! *hugs*

Words enclosed in asterisks *Like this* are mindspeaking or private thoughts.

Taking a deep breath and smoothing down a nonexistent wrinkle in his uniform, Rúmil nodded to the guards outside the throne room, who swung open the double doors and bowed slightly, permitting him entry. Holding his head high and striding into the room quickly, Rúmil's gaze was drawn by an imposing figure at the far end of the room. Thranduil.

The king was leaning to one side, his head bent in discussion with one of his advisors, but when he heard the door open, he straightened up, piercing the young warden with his powerful gaze. It was all Rúmil could do not to shrink away from the king's stare, reminding himself that the king had agreed to meet with the representative from Lórien. As Rúmil traversed the long green rug toward the throne, Thranduil leaned back, one leg carelessly tossed over the side. If he had been forced at that moment to come up with a word for the king's posture, Rúmil would have said that he 'lounged'.

Thranduil's eyes never left Rúmil's as he finally reached the base of the throne, going down on one knee and bowing his head, laying a hand over his heart. "My Lord, I am honored you have chosen to see me. I am Rúmil of Lórien, and I bear a message from Lady Galadriel in the hopes that the rift between our two realms may be...."

"I know why you are here, Rúmil," Thranduil interrupted softly, but with an edge to his voice. "Though I must say I am rather puzzled as to why a simple border guard was given this duty. Is my allegiance so poorly desired that your Lord and Lady did not feel I warranted the attention of a trained negotiator?"

Feeling a touch of anger at the subtle insult, Rúmil glanced up at the king, his eyes narrowing. "My parents were killed by Orcs shortly after my brother Orophin was born. My two brothers and I were raised by Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. I assure you, your highness, I have been as trained in diplomacy and negotiation as any of our ambassadors."

"Is that so?" Rúmil stood as Thranduil rose from his throne, his deep green velvet robes swirling around his feet like the waters of a forest stream. He padded silently down the four steps until he was standing eye to eye with Rúmil. He made a slow circle around the warden, appreciating the long legs, broad shoulders and slim buttocks of a trained archer. Rúmil struggled not to wilt under the intense scrutiny of his host, feeling like nothing so much as a mouse caught in the strong jaws of a cat. Toying with him....that's what Thranduil was doing....toying with him, like a cat.

Slowly shaking his head to try and gather his thoughts, Rúmil waited until the king was done with his perusal before turning to face him, holding out the missive he had been instructed to deliver. "I am quite sure if you read this, my lord, you will find the terms quite acceptable and will agree that an alliance would be in both our benefits."

Thranduil barely looked at the rolled scroll and waved his hand in front of his face as if brushing away an irritating fly. "I do not discuss diplomacy before the evening meal." He motioned to two green and gold clad guards standing in the shadows, both of whom approached and bowed. "Find our....ambassador...." The term was clearly distasteful to him. "....a room. He will be joining me tonight for dinner."

"Yes my lord," they said in unison and, without another look back at Rúmil, the king quickly strode from the room, leaving the warden with no choice but to follow the guards.

He was led to sparsely decorated guest quarters, a small room carved out of the bare rock, consisting of nothing but a small bed, a table and chair, a small mirror, and an adjoining room with a plain tub. The room utterly lacked any decorations; even the floor and walls were bare. *If this is how he treats his guests, it is no wonder there have been no relations with him for several hundred years,* Rúmil thought darkly. *It surprises me there are even covers for the bed.*

"The evening meal is in two hours," one of the guards said. "Someone will come to collect you." He closed the door behind him, leaving Rúmil alone to wonder, not for the first time, the wisdom of his Lady in sending him on this mission. Though he had not lied in saying that he had been trained in diplomacy, there were others who had far more experience than him. But when he had asked Lady Galadriel why he was chosen, she had simply smiled that enigmatic smile she had and told him that she had foreseen that he was the correct choice. Rúmil felt burdened with the weight of his responsibilities.

The king was touchy and easily offended, and no one knew exactly what had been said or done all those years ago to cause him to suddenly withdraw all his delegates from the other elven realms, to lock himself in his caves, to leave unanswered the requests for an audience. But it had been even more of a mystery when he suddenly had sent a one sentence letter to Lórien, saying that ambassadors would no longer be turned away. Attacks from the dark presence that had taken up residence in the southern reaches of Mirkwood had come with increasing frequency in the last few years, and perhaps he had come to realize he could no longer defend his lands on his own. If that was so, Rúmil knew he would have to tread carefully, make no mention of Thranduil's perceived weaknesses. Rather, he knew it would be better if he were to make it sound as if Lórien was the realm that needed assistance, as if Mirkwood were the stronger and Lórien could not survive without Thranduil's help.

The task would not be so difficult were the alliance only for the king's benefit. But Lórien too had been under increasing attacks lately, the dark presence in Mirkwood using it as a base to attack both Thranduil's realm and Galadriel's. Most suspected it was one of Sauron's Nazgûl, but Rúmil had been privy to the conversations between his Lord and Lady, who suspected it was Sauron himself. If that was so, neither realm could stand against his might alone, and an alliance was even more critical.

Rúmil set his pack down next to the bed and thought briefly of his Lord and Lady, who had shown complete confidence in him by assigning him this mission. *I will not let you down, my Lady,* he thought softly.

*Of that, I have no doubt, Rumil.* The answering thought caught him by surprise for a moment before he smiled, picturing Lady Galadriel sitting regally on her throne, Lord Celeborn by her side, meting out decisions and judgements that were fair to all. He thought briefly of Thranduil, casual and indifferent, and to Rúmil's eyes, rude, comparing him unfavorably to his beloved Lord and Lady. *He has reasons for his actions, Rúmil. Do not be too quick to judge him. His wariness is all that has kept his people safe these many years, without benefit of that which myself and Lord Elrond possess.*

Rúmil blushed for a moment at the gentle rebuke in his mind, but knew his Lady was right. He was one of the few who knew of the Lady being keeper of Nenya, and fewer still knew also where Vilya resided. He wondered vaguely where the third Ring of Power was. Clearly not in Mirkwood, as the king had often made his resentment and displeasure at not having it very obvious. *As my lady wishes.* He gasped softly, feeling a gentle touch on his cheek before he felt Galadriel softly close the connection.

He removed his stained travel clothes, setting them next to the bed, and took a quick bath before dressing in his elegant dress uniform. He glanced briefly at himself in the mirror, and though the fabric was a tad wrinkled, was pleased with what he saw. The muted greys of a Galadhrim patrol uniform were replaced with a deep crimson tunic, mallorn leaves embroidered with mithril thread along the collar and down the front, swirling around the carved bone buttons. He wore snug black leggings and polished black boots and, around his waist, a black leather belt with an intricate silver buckle. His sword and bow had been replaced with a short decorative dagger in a jeweled sheath, held at his left side.

Sitting down in front of the mirror, he brushed his silver hair until it shone like mithril, then crafted a small braid near each ear, trying them together behind his head with a silken cord that matched his tunic. The rest of his hair was left loose, cascading down his back like a silvery waterfall. Once he was satisfied that he would properly represent Lórien during a formal negotiation with the king, he took out a book from his pack and sat down on the bed to read, awaiting his summons.

He did not have long to wait. He had read only a dozen pages before a loud knock came upon his door. Answering it, he saw it was one of the guards who had escorted him to his room earlier. "The King requires your presence," the guard said, turning on his heel and striding quickly down the passageway, never turning to look and see if Rúmil was following him or not. Shaking his head and closing the door behind him, Rúmil followed, wondering if he would ever grow used to the abrupt ways of the Mirkwood elves.

They wound deeper into the caves, making so many twists and turns that it was not long before Rúmil was utterly lost. They seemed to be moving away from the main living areas, and had his guide seemed at all amenable to questions, Rúmil would have asked him where they were going. But the young elf never looked back, never gave any indication that he would answer a question put to him, and Rúmil simply followed in silence.

Finally they reached a massive, ornately carved wooden door, with a royal guard on either side, dressed in gold and green formal uniforms and intricately detailed helmets, holding long spears. Without a word to the warden, the guard knocked twice on the door, then three times, then twice more, then swung the door open, disappearing down the passageway in the direction they had come.

"Enter!" a voice boomed from inside the room, and Rúmil stepped hesitantly over the threshold, squinting into the brightness from within. As his eyes adjusted from the dimly lit corridor, he was able to see innumerable candles and torches, seemingly attached to every available surface, casting their flickering light across the elaborately decorated room. As plain as Rúmil's room had been, this room was elaborate. Tapestries and furs decorated the walls, leather and velvet chairs and couches clustered around the fireplace and before the double doors leading out to a massive bathing room. The skins of several enormous stags covered the floor and, on the far wall, Rúmil spied a long sword mounted upon the wall in a place of honor. It did not take him long to recognize the sword of Oropher, apparently inherited by his son upon the elder king's death.

In the very center of the enormous room sat a massive oak table with a sumptuous feast laid out upon it. His host seemed to be nowhere to be found, but the delicious aromas from the table drew Rúmil's attention and he found his mouth watering as he stared at the delicacies laid out in front of him. After many days of nothing but lembas, dried meat and water, the feast was a virtual delight to his senses.

He quickly scanned the offerings, seeing as the centerpiece a whole roasted piglet, an apple in its mouth, sliced potatoes and carrots and greens decorating the enormous platter. Surrounding the piglet were perhaps a dozen dishes: salads and fresh fruit and steaming rolls with butter, roasted vegetables, desserts with creamy toppings, carafes of wine and miruvor and fresh spring water. More candles burned on the table on each side of the sumptuous feast and, as Rúmil recovered from his shock at the meal, took in the fact that there were only two chairs set at the table, one at either end. His heart dropped as he realized that clearly he was a private guest of the king. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he sent a silent prayer to the Valar that he would be up to the task of convincing Thranduil of the importance of the alliance.

"Is the food to your liking?" Rúmil jumped as a voice suddenly spoke close behind him and spun to face the piercing green eyes of the king. He had been so intent on examining the food that he had not heard Thranduil approach.

"Aye my lord, everything looks very good." His stomach suddenly gave a loud growl as the aroma of roasted pig suddenly hit his nostrils, causing the king to smirk.

"But then, after days of lembas and water, anything would look very good, would it not?" Thranduil asked mildly, drawing a blush to the warden's cheeks. "It has not been so long since I was a simple warrior, Rúmil. I do not forget the sense of homecoming eating my first real meal after days of traveling food." He motioned Rúmil to one of the chairs, taking the other himself, and clapped his hands twice. Out of the shadows several servants silently appeared, quickly and efficiently slicing the meat and serving heaping plates of food to the warden and the king, pouring glasses of wine and water, then just as quietly fading back into the shadows, awaiting the next command.

Though his stomach's growling was now continual, Rúmil waited until the king motioned to the food before beginning to eat. Diplomacy was not his chosen endeavor, but he did understand the subtleties of how it worked, and eating before your host showed poor manners indeed.

As the meal progressed, he was careful to sample everything on his plate. No use in offending the king by refusing to eat something that may have been one of his favorite delicacies, no matter how foreign some of the food looked and tasted. And it did look and taste foreign. The roast pig was one of the few dishes he was confident he could properly identify, and even the ones he was sure about had a different taste than what he was used to. Not unpleasant, just foreign and new.

During the meal, Rúmil tried once to bring up the topic of the alliance, but by the hard stare Thranduil gave him, it was quickly clear that diplomacy was not to be discussed at the table. Once he was finished with his meal, he paid more attention to the king, who had his head tilted back and was leisurely dropping olives into his mouth. Though he gave no indication he knew he was being watched, once the olives were gone, he slouched further back in his chair, lifting one leg over the arm. As Rúmil watched, he picked up a leg of some type of crustacean that had been on the menu, and started slowly sucking the sweet meat out the open end.

Rúmil had not intended on staring at his host, but the way the king's tongue curled around the leg, licking off every tiny bit of juice, pushing inside the fat end of the leg to pull out the last little bits of the meat, made his very act of eating look sensual, almost lewd. And when he continued what he was doing, but lifted his eyes to meet Rúmil's, the warden felt a rush of heat go straight to his groin, and was suddenly almost achingly hard.

He wanted Thranduil....badly. His earlier thoughts of how he felt the king was far too casual no longer seemed important. He vaguely remembered whispered rumors from before Thranduil closed his realm to outsiders about how he was said to possess such powers of seduction that he could have anyone he wanted; he had only to turn his charms on them and they would be helpless to resist him.

Thranduil looked down, then back up, and the spell was broken. Rúmil still felt an ache in his groin, but the desperate need of earlier was gone. Surprisingly, he missed it.

The king clapped his hands once again and once more several servants appeared from the shadows, cleaning away the remnants of the meal, replacing the wine with another one, and two clean glasses. The wine was poured and one of the female servants turned toward Thranduil with a deep curtsey.

"Will his majesty have further need of us this eve?"

"No Losille, thank you, but you may retire for the evening."

"As my lord wishes," she said with a quiet voice and another deep curtsey.

Thranduil filled both glasses and, picking up his own and the bottle, indicated the plush sofa in front of the roaring fire. "Join me please....I understand we have an alliance to discuss."

The sudden change in demeanor so shook Rúmil that it took him a moment to regain his composure. "I....um....yes, yes your highness. An alliance, of course." Cursing softly at his clumsy words, he took a seat on the other end of the sofa. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the formal scroll, secured with the Lady's seal, and offered it to the king. Thranduil shook his head and refused to take it.

"I care nothing for the reason some stuffy diplomat has for an alliance, Rúmil. That is precisely why I insisted your Lady send a warden to negotiate with me. A diplomat or scholar who spends his days behind a desk has no feel for his lands, no feel for how much of a threat the enemy is. Reading a report of an attack on the borders is not the same as actually fending off the same attack. The soldiers who are involved in the battle will see certain subtleties that one who is not there would not, certain battle tactics and ways of fighting that would not make it into the report, but are important."

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before continuing. "So you tell me, in your own words, as a warden of Lórien, why you think our two realms should be allied." He watched Rúmil closely while the warden gathered his thoughts, trying to decide on the appropriate words.

"Lórien has come under increasing attacks the last few years from the dark one that has taken up residence in your southern forest. It has stretched our reserves close to the breaking point; other areas of our border have been left under-guarded as we attempt to shore up the defenses in the hardest hit areas. This has caused problems with incursions on other stretches of the border. We also have heard that you have suffered many attacks from the south, with the enemy using the cover of the forest as a method of attack. If we were to unite our forces, perhaps we would have enough strength to drive out the enemy from your forests or, if not drive him out, at least beat him back enough that he is no longer a threat to either of us."

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully, taking a long sip of his wine and poking at the fire with a long metal rod. "And your Galadhrim would be agreeable to working with my elves?"

"If they understood how the alliance would benefit us both, I am certain there would be little, if any, resistance." He paused for a moment, vaguely wondering at the king's earlier rude, disdainful treatment of him, but decided it must have been a test. A test to see if he was worthy, to see if he would back down, be cowed by Thranduil's powerful presence. And by how the negotiations were progressing, clearly he had passed. "Do you believe your elves would be willing?"

"As you said, if they understood how it would benefit both our realms, there would be no argument."

"Then we are in agreement?" Rúmil asked, starting to stand.

"One moment," the king said, taking Rúmil's hand and pulling him back down. "Just because we are confident that our warriors would work together does not mean that *I* have agreed to this arrangement."

"Of course, forgive my impudence," Rúmil said softly, bowing his head slightly. "And what other information does his majesty require before making his decision?"

"Well...." Thranduil said softly, reaching across the sofa to trail a hand down Rúmil's arm. "For one, I would have to understand exactly what....quality of elf I would be allying with....and I would need to be assured that were I called to send my trusted warriors into battle for Lórien, I would be asking them to die for an ally of worth." He watched the trail of his fingertips down the warden's arm, then looked up into his eyes, and once again, Rúmil felt such an intense need for the king he could barely keep from leaping into his lap.

"And....how exactly do I show you what quality of elf my comrades are?" he whispered, unconsciously moving closer on the sofa.

"I can make a decent assumption about the rest of Lórien based on you, my dear Rúmil," the king said softly, shifting closer and breathing into Rúmil's ear.

Rúmil moaned softly and leaned towards Thranduil. "Your highness, I...."

"You what, Rumil? Do you have a bonded mate back home?" he whispered, licking around the rim of Rúmil's ear.

"No, but...." he managed between gasps.

"Is there someone you have your eye on? Someone you pledged to keep yourself for?" he asked, sucking gently on Rúmil's earlobe.

"No, but...."

"Then I fail to understand the problem. I saw you watching me at dinner; I know you want me...." Rúmil was too stunned to respond. "But you were so intent on watching me that you did not notice me watching you." The gentle sucks became firmer, changing to soft bites on the pointy tip of Rúmil's ear. "I want you too, Rúmil. You are beautiful, but more than that, you are brave...." His tongue soothed the area he had just bitten. "I know how I am talked about. I am likened to the Dark Lord himself, I am considered evil and greedy and uncaring about others. But you were brave, brave enough to ignore that malicious gossip and come here to discuss a mutually beneficial alliance. How can I not want one who is such a delicious mixture of beauty and strength?" He nipped Rúmil's ear again, and the Lórien elf could not help but moan softly at the waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

"I....I want....want you...." he said softly, too embarrassed to meet Thranduil's eyes.

The king smiled and slid closer, until their hips were touching on the sofa and, taking Rúmil's chin in his hand, gently tipped his face up. "Then you may have me," he whispered, letting his hands travel lower, working on the carved bone buttons on Rúmil's tunic. "Or I may have you, whichever you would prefer...." He flicked his tongue from Rúmil's ear down the side of his neck, drawing a hard shiver from his partner. Unconsciously, Rúmil spread his legs, trying to ease the pressure on his aching shaft. "Which do you prefer, sweet one? To take, or to be taken?"

"I....I like both," Rúmil gasped out, tipping his chin to the side and moaning softly when Thranduil sucked on his neck hard enough to leave a mark.

"Of course you do....most do....but surely you have at least some preference for one or the other."

"I...." Rúmil blushed, his color matching the deep crimson of his tunic. "I like being taken."

"Then taken you shall be, my dear Rúmil," Thranduil said softly, shifting onto Rúmil's lap and kissing him deeply, before letting his mouth trail lower, down the center of his chest. Rúmil moaned and arched up into his touch, gasping slightly when the king flicked his tongue across one hard pebbled nipple, then took it into his mouth, sucking firmly. After a moment, he switched sides, until both nubs were achingly hard and throbbing with sensation.

Sliding down between Rúmil's legs, he made a slow track down his stomach before reaching the waistband of his leggings. Ignoring the buckle for the moment, he rubbed his face against the hard flesh which strained against the snug fabric. He moaned softly, the musky scent of his partner's arousal driving him to an even higher plane of desire.

Rúmil groaned and arched his hips up into the king's touch. "Please....touch me...."

Thranduil nodded and unfastened the buckle, sliding Rúmil's leggings down and off. "As you wish...." Gently holding Rúmil's erection with one hand, he relaxed the muscles of his throat and lowered his mouth over the hot flesh, taking all of it within his mouth and throat. Rúmil nearly screamed in ecstasy, arching off the sofa so hard his buttocks came up off the fabric.

"Elbereth, yes! Valar that feels so good!" he moaned, throwing his head back and gasping at the sensations racing through his body with each stroke of the king's exceptionally talented mouth.

After a moment, Thranduil withdrew and started long, slow strokes up and down each side of the hard flesh. Rúmil lifted his head, and almost lost his control right then when the king suddenly wrapped his tongue nearly the entire way around his shaft, licking it as he had the crustacean leg during their meal.

"Your highness, please....I need you, please...."

Thranduil nodded, reaching for a vial of warmed oil near the fire. Pouring a bit of it on his hands, he reached for his partner, slipping one finger inside his tight passage, then a second and a third when the pressure quickly relaxed. Once Rúmil was moaning and gasping up into his touch, he deemed him ready.

Standing up, he began slowly unbuttoning his formal robe, and Rúmil's eyes widened as more and more flesh was exposed. He felt another hard throb in his groin as he realized the king had been completely naked under his robes during the entire meal, wearing no tunic, no leggings, not even undergarments.

He unclasped all the buttons, but left the robe dangling off his shoulders, and Rúmil could not help but gasp at the look of the hard muscled warrior's body displayed to him. Thranduil had broad shoulders, a well muscled chest, and powerful legs, which tapered to a slim waist. His skin, unlike most elves, held a light bronze cast to it, and nearly glowed in the firelight. Rúmil had seen his share of naked elven bodies, both in the baths and his pleasure partners in his bed, but could never remember seeing such an utterly flawless body. Even the few small scars that marked the king as a warrior in days gone by did not detract, in Rúmil's opinion. Rather they distinguished him as an elf who was willing to fight for those he cared about, whose beauty came from his unselfishness, his willingness to risk injury or death to protect his home, his people, those he loved.

The king smiled and obligingly opened his robe further, allowing Rúmil to peruse his naked form. He had to admit, he found the scrutiny arousing, and the more Rúmil looked, the needier he became. Finally he could hold back his need no more and, pouring more oil into Rúmil's hand, pulled it toward his shaft, encouraging him to rub it on.

He tipped his head back and moaned softly as strong archer's hands squeezed and rubbed on his aching flesh, driving his desire ever higher. Finally, he could take no more and batted Rúmil's hands away. Grasping his partner's legs, he lifted them onto his shoulders and slowly slid inside, giving Rúmil time to adjust to his girth.

At first, the penetration was more than he expected, the king being better endowed than most of his other partners, and Rúmil closed his eyes, waiting for the stinging pain to diminish. Once he began to feel himself relax, he met the king's eyes and nodded, telling him it was okay to move.

Thranduil nodded as well, starting with slow, shallow thrusts, only progressing deeper as Rúmil cried out and arched up off the sofa. Repositioning the muscled archer's body underneath him, he smiled in triumph as Rúmil suddenly screamed and dug his fingernails into the king's back. Thranduil's thrusts became faster and deeper, brushing against Rúmil's pleasure gland with each stroke. He reached one hand between their bodies and fisted Rúmil's erection in time with his thrusts.

Release came quickly for them both, Rúmil reaching his first, screaming in pleasure as thick jets of semen shot from his shaft, coating his stomach and the king's hand. Thranduil was only a few strokes behind, burying his face in Rúmil's neck and stilling his body while the Lórien elf's clenching passageway milked him dry.

They lay together gasping for a long while before Thranduil finally withdrew, gently placing Rúmil's feet back on the ground, and sliding off his lap. He gathered the archer into his arms, pulling a blanket from the arm of the sofa, wrapping it around them both to ward off the night's chill.

For several minutes, nothing was said as they both gasped, regaining their breath. Finally the king spoke, softly, as if afraid to ruin the tender moment. "I have made my decision on the alliance."

Rúmil was nearly dozing, but instantly came awake, looking up into the king's face. Thranduil's expression was neutral, not betraying anything he might be thinking. "Oh? And what is your decision, your majesty?"

"You may tell your Lady that I will agree to the alliance on one condition."

Rúmil's heart sank. Thranduil was a demanding negotiator. The condition could not be good. "What condition, your highness?"

"That you be allowed to stay here for the next year, helping my elves learn to work with your Galadhrim, and that once that year is up, you will be the one and only official messenger between our realms, and will be required to stay here at least one month out of every year."

For several seconds, Rúmil said nothing, but then as he realized what the king was saying, a slow smile spread over his face. The king wanted to see him again....and he wanted to see Thranduil again. "I do believe my Lady would be agreeable to your terms, your highness."

Thranduil nodded, picking up both glasses and handing one to Rúmil. Clinking them gently together, they each took a drink. "An alliance then....an alliance of strength, to show the enemy we can and will defeat him."

Rúmil nodded. "An alliance." He drained the last of his wine, seeing the king do the same and, setting his glass on the table, he leaned back, snuggling close and laying his head on Thranduil's shoulder. The king set his own glass aside and wrapped an arm around Rúmil's shoulders, kissing the top of his head.

"Rest, my beautiful warden," he whispered. "Tomorrow we will craft an acceptance document that will please even your stodgy scholars that all the appropriate diplomatic channels were taken in reaching it."

Rúmil laughed softly and looked up at the king's face. "You mean, you do not think this method of negotiation would be acceptable?"

Thranduil grinned. "I doubt it, young one....I doubt it very much."

END