18. Game. Set. Match.
Halls of the King :Greenwood the Great SA; Two night before the Wedding Feast.
"Off," I ordered, prodding Clara's exposed hip with my toes.
She glared. Her chin raising defiantly.
I almost relented...almost.
"That is unfair," she grumbles, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You play unfair."
"'Tis the rules," I remind her.
Lounging back on the settee, I reach for my glass of wine. I swirl the contents once before downing the dregs.
"And, I never play fair, I am royalty, I don't have too...now take off your underslip."
She growls, and I laugh. Well, this was her request. She wanted to make her 'princess lessons', as she calls them, more engaging. I merely suggested that without clothes, anything could be made more thrilling, even learning languages.
So, the game was born.
For every phrase she could accurately translate and respond fluently in return, I would remove an article of my clothing. But, for every conversational mishap she made, then I would demand she remove a piece of her clothing.
So far it had been a fairly tense game. I'd made the foolish mistake of underestimating my wife. In the early rounds I lost all of my outer garments without her losing so much as a slipper.
I upped the game fairly soon upon realising my mistake. Selecting much more intricate phrases for her to decipher. We even added more rules - for every sentence she slaughtered I got to put back on the last article I took off.
This had tipped the game in my favour, but only just. Presently I only retained my left sock and boot, and the soft, woollen leggings for under my leather, trousers. I was the under distinct impression Clara enjoyed nothing more than getting me out of my armour.
But I had her whittled down to nothing but her underslip and a pretty pink scarf, which she was using as a head band. The only reason I had not demanded it's removal was because of the view it allowed me. She had a very tempting neck.
Angling my chin into my palm, I barely contained my wicked grin as Clara lifted up the edges of the silken material pooled at her thighs. With a disgruntled huff she yanked the dress over her head and threw it on the accumulated pile by the fire. Securing her arms around her bare chest, she tucked her knees under the fur blanket, and impressively kept her cool.
"It seems that your highness has won." Clara kept her back straight and proud as she nodded toward me. "I've nothing left to remove but my dignity."
"Consider this a lesson in politics just as much as a lesson on language," I muffle my reply from behind my fingers as I artfully position the cushion on my lap. Clara raises a knowing eyebrow.
"Feeling exposed, love?" She smirks and leans forward, teasingly allowing her arms to slip from her chest just a little.
I clear my throat and meet her confident gaze with my own.
"Very."
She laughs - a flirtatious sound - and drapes her hands gently on my ankles, before drawing them up to rest on my hips.
"I guess even highborn princes have insecurities, huh?" Clara asks calmly as she carelessly snatches the cushion away.
I swallow but maintain a blank gaze. She leans closer, her body resting on mine, her eyes dancing mischievously as she rakes them over every inch of me. My lips press into a hard line. She is playing a game now. A game she is far too confident she can win. Why I want to challenge her is beyond reasoning? I would really prefer to lose. I blame my wild spirit. It won't be ruled...not even by her.
"Come on, love," Clara whispers sweetly as her lips roam down my neck to settle on my chest. "You won, you get to enjoy the prize now."
She giggles and blushes. I would have been fine if she hadn't of given me that silly little look. Her reminder that she is entirely innocent and there is barely an ounce of authority in her commands.
Those beautiful grey eyes blink up at me with complete adoration. It's so emotive, and a momentary reminder that Clara is my mate. I feel her emotions like my own. The intentions behind her thoughts weave with mine until I'm not sure if it was my idea or hers. Our bond is so young, and both of us are so inept, that it will take lifetimes before either of us understand it.
Yet, that is a beautiful thing, to know I'll spend centuries loving this elleth yet never fully know her. I'll explore every inch of her but I'll always find something new. I expect that because of what she is...how she was made...that I shall alway be lost in her light.
"Thranduil? What's wrong?" Clara murmurs as she ceases her lips exploration of my chest. "Are...um...if you're not in the mood? I-I know you are tired. I'm only playing."
Not in the mood...like that's even a remote possibility? I am a recently bonded ellon with my wife resting between my legs as she lavishes my naked chest in warm, fluttery kisses. If I was not in the mood, I'd be dead.
This is as close to the perfect fantasy any ellon could wish for! I was one lucky, smug, over-confident elf at this very moment. I just didn't want to lose my own game.
"Hmmm," I hum a bored sound and rest my neck on the back of the settee. Turning my head away, ignoring her nose just inches from my neck.
I feign interest in the ceiling.
"You are ignoring me!" She snaps indignantly and prods my shoulder. I barely contort my gleeful smile into a lazy smirk. "You're still playing the game," she pushes and I chance a peek at her disgruntled frown. "Well I'm not being made a fool out of for your pleasure Thranduil! You cocky ba-."
Clara heaves herself up from her sprawled position on my body, but she forgets her limitation. I am stronger. Much stronger. And sometimes I like to remind her just how much power I truly wield.
She lets out a squeak as my thighs tense around her waist, locking her in place. She barely has a moment to contemplate what she unwittingly let herself into, as I easily draw my legs up.
"Let me go!" She orders, and slaps my chest. "I'm not playing anymore!"
I give her a jolt with my knee against her hip so she lands forward and into my waiting grip. I grasp her shoulders firmly, lifting my head just enough so our lips almost meet.
"We never stop playing," I remind her and her eyes widen in alarm.
"Thranduil..." she trails off, worrying her lip, as she weakly wrestles with my grip. "It was only a silly game."
Squeezing her arms a little tighter I push her upright so she must rests on her knees. I use the leverage to sit up straight, to hold her unnerved gaze just long enough to watch the beginnings of confusion creep over her countenance.
"Do you trust me?" I ask innocently, then chuckle when she vigorously nods her head. "Good...but do I frighten you?"
There was the pause I was waiting for.
Clara doesn't respond without careful consideration. It is a perfect amount of time that allows me to tackle her to the ground with so much ease it would almost be comical.
She lets out a dazed yelp at our new predicament, however, I am not thoughtless. Cradling her head, so it never hits the stone floor, I gently rest her neck against the soft pile of clothes.
"I'm not fearful," Clara tells me, a small frown line forming between her brows. "But you aren't exactly predictable." I laugh loudly and she huffs, squaring her shoulders beneath me and raising her chin in defiance. "I don't want to play games with you, Thranduil. Not the political kind anyway."
I shake my head and snatch her wrists in my hands, pinning them above her head. She gasps in shock, but I revel in how her body arches into mine. This is very distracting! I'll never remember to finish my point now.
I give a little nod of agreement as I steadily kiss a line up her neck to her lips. Her chest heaves and her heart hammers, but she never recoils. Eru! I adore her spirit.
"No, you and I never play games with one another," I whisper into ear. She shivers and whines when I nip the tender skin of the lobe. "But, you are marrying me," I remind her, pausing directly above her and levelling with a stern eye. "In two days, before every noble in our Kingdom and the rulers of our allies, you will submit to me. My father, your king, will put a crown on your beautiful head and you will have become a player in a game of empires."
"Well, what if I don't want to play," Clara juts her chin out and cranes her neck. "What if I want to be your wife? What if I have no interest in empires?"
"There is no choice," I squeeze her wrists a little tighter, making her heartbeat quicken. "I am the heir to the North. The only elven power strong enough to deflect whatever crawls out of those barren lands. Our children...our people...they are commodities in a bigger game. If you do not play, then you hand over their lives to someone else. Someone who may not care so much for their worth, only their usefulness."
Clara swallows noisily, her eyes widening in realisation. Her lips part to say something but there is nothing to say. It's a cruel, bloody, ruthless game but it is a fact she has to learn.
"You can learn their languages," I say, then kiss her softly on the mouth. "You can memorise the names of all the nobles of our court, and those attending the wedding." I kiss her again, only a little more forcibly. "You can dress in elegant attire, be the meek and mild princess they all want to see," I loosen my grip on her hands and run my fingers over the skin of her arms. "But they will always be watching you...testing you...looking for weaknesses...ready to exploit them."
My fingers slide down her shoulders and across her collarbone, pausing by that sensitive stretch of skin that makes her weak. She groans loudly as I kiss it, her chest flushing pink.
"I am unpredictable for a reason," I say once I've finished with her neck. I lift myself up onto my elbows and press our noses together. "I never want a single soul to feel like they have ever won me over. I don't want them to feel safe in my presence. I am in control. I always win."
"Not a single soul?" Clara tilts her head to the side. "You always win?" I grin. "You're always in control? Nothing can weaken you?"
I would have said yes with absolute assurance. I would have been overbearingly confident, but I forgot one very important thing...I was in the presence of my greatest weakness.
Caught in her dazzling yet innocent stare, I'd completely missed how one of her hands had crept down my stomach. Her widespread fingers sliding under the loosened waistband of my leggings.
It is my turn to groan. My lips falling open in a weak attempt to say something smart in retaliation, but my thoughts seemed to have escaped me.
I lean forward to kiss her, because I've had quite enough with 'lessons' for today. I want to claim my prize. After all, I did win that game. But I find my face caught in her slender fingers as she keeps us parted a little longer. I would have argued but I am suddenly aware of a pressure against my groin. Clara has wedged her knee in the most threatening of angles.
"Oh you smart little vixen," I commend, albeit in a far more anxious and breathless tone than I would have liked.
"I'm only learning my lesson," she smirks, grinning victoriously. "Isn't that what you wanted? For me to understand the importance of knowing ones weaknesses? A princess must always be a step ahead if she is to keep her people, and husband, safe."
"I am taking full credit for your exceptionally quick learning." I gasp excitedly when she releases her grip on my face and quickly joins her other hand to untie my leggings.
"You are so full of yourself," Clara sniggers, and wraps her legs around my hips as I wrestle with removing the last of my clothing.
"Uh huh," I nod, more interested in her lips as they meet mine.
"But I love you despite of it," she tells me, giggling when I lose patience with my boot stuck on my left foot. "Just leave it on," she suggests and tugs me close to her, "I like it when your impatient."
"Oh, you have no idea," I mutter in exasperation, before giving up on the clothing and feeling lucky that my wife likes my impatience, because when it comes to her I cannot wait.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Oh...WHAT NOW?
"Sorry to disturb your majesties, but the lady Clara has a dress fitting."
Shoving myself upright I glare between Clara and the door. She winces, her expression settling somewhere between annoyed and remorseful.
"Oh, and the Prince is required in the throne room...we have Lorien guests to receive."
"Aradan!" I bark at the door, whilst Clara and I clamber over each other, looking for matching clothes. "Ten minutes...give me ten minutes!"
"Of course," his voice sounds irritatingly smug, "am I interrupting anything important?"
"No,no not at all," Clara squeaks as she wrestles with the ties of her bodice. I reluctantly reach to help her. Grumbling as I retie the knots...but they were so much fun to remove.
"May I come in?" He asks.
"No!" We both shriek in unison, and from beyond the door comes fits of his undignified laughter.
"I hate him," I snarl as I shove my foot in my other boot and reach for my tunic.
"No you don't, you love him," Clara laughs gently as she holds out my leather jerkin for me. "He is only the messenger, don't hit him, please. He can't have a black eye for the wedding."
"Well, I need to hit something," I grunt, fastening the leather belts and buttons of my leather trousers, before doing a complete circle to scan the room. "Clara...where did my sword go?"
"Now, you hardly need a sword to greet our wedding guests," she catches my forearm and squeezes it.
"Unpredictable...remember?" I answer, a smirk playing on my lips as I lower them to hers.
BANG!
Both of us leap apart as I snarl a tirade of curses at the door.
"Clara! Dress fitting. Now!" There is a heartbeat of silence as the new feminine voice settles on our ears. "If you are not out here in two minutes I'm coming in...your schedules do not accommodate overindulgence in personal time...let's move!"
"Ollie?" Clara balks and stares in horror at the state of our room.
"Yes, who else," Oliel sighs and slaps the door again. "Hurry up, we are already over an hour behind. Oh, Thranduil did you take Legolas to the tailor."
What in Mandos does that elleth think I do all day? Stamp wax seals and sign edicts?
"No Oliel," I gripe, hurrying behind Clara to tidy our mess.
"Why not?" She indignantly demands as I yank the door open and give her my best threatening smile.
"Because, my dearest friend," I hiss between gritted teeth. "I have spent the last night and day ensuring the borders of this kingdom remain protected, as well as welcoming guests, and adhering to your ludicrous preparation schedule."
"Mmhmm." Oliel cocks an eyebrow and peers around me. "And evidently you found some time to indulge in extra activities...tie up your tunic Thranduil...you've a bruise that looks a lot like a bite on your chest."
Immediately I drop my chin and fidget with the last of ties of my green tunic. Meanwhile Oliel shoves her way into my room to retrieve Clara, and I'm left staring at a smug Aradan. He waggles his eyebrows and I scowl, infuriated by his, and Oliel's, intrusion.
Does no one respect royals anymore? Since when did servants get to breeze into my quarters and take my things without my permission? I twist around and crane my neck, about ready to give Oliel a piece of my mind, only to find she and Clara embracing and sharing some kind of girlish secret. Frowning, I come to the conclusion that I have been ousted again, in favour of talk wedding talk.
I hate weddings.
"You do not know how lucky you are that I've misplaced my sword," I snap at an unsuspecting Aradan whilst fixing him with a warning glower.
"Oh give it a rest Thranduil," Aradan rolls his eyes and gestures for me to follow. "Trust me, you are getting off lightly. Do you even know how busy Oliel has kept your little wife? Do you even appreciate the lengths that she is pushing her?"
I narrow my eyes and slowly shake my head. He makes all this sound so ominous. How bad can it be? It's only dress fittings. It's hardly life or death.
"You are astoundingly sheltered, do you know that?" Aradan snorts and slaps my shoulder in brotherly affection.
"I do not recall this much of fuss the first time I was wed," I remind him with a pointed look.
"With all due respect," Aradan wraps his arm around my shoulder, his fist curling around the fabric of my tunic. "Nobody was happy the first time you were wed, not even you, and especially not the bride. It was more like a funeral. In fact, I do recall that you refused to crack a smile the whole day."
"Aha-ha Aradan, thank you for that wonderful memorial," I pull a face and shove him away, he sniggers, returning to lean his weight against me.
"Oh, mellon nin, stop trying to pretend you are in foul mood." Aradan rests his head against my shoulder and grins up at me with the most ridiculous look.
I make a disgusted sound and look away. He titters and yanks my chin. I resist the urge to punch him. Clara is right...I don't want him ruining the setting with a black eye...it would be most uncouth.
"You're in love," he practically whines in the most irritating voice. "You want to smile...I know you do...you love every minute of this." Aradan elbows my ribs and I chew the inside of my cheek to stop a smile. 'Do not lie to me. This is the greatest victory you have ever achieved. An actual elleth voluntarily agreed to marry you, and shockingly, loves you just as much in return."
"Aradan, careful," I warn, but the smirk has spread its way across my lips and is teetering dangerously on the verge of an actual smile.
"Wait...wait.." he scurries around to stand in front of me, "you haven't heard the best part."
"What?" I roll my eyes...this ought to be good.
"You get to show all those haughty, good-for-nothing, Noldor lords, with their Sindar puppets, that they were all wrong." This time Aradan smirks, a wicked but proud look that has my interest piqued. "You, Prince Thranduil, are not a walking disaster. You make your decisions apart from their interference. They shall never control your rule or your people by political gains or an advantageous marriage. You are not your father and you will never be controlled...does that not feel glorious?"
That smile stretches wide across my face. Suddenly the prospect of greeting our Noldor guests doesn't seem so laborious. Suddenly the past several decades seem unimportant and nothing but a bad dream. I am free. They lay no claim to my wife. Oh...didn't they completely underestimate the wrong elf prince.
Roughly I clasp Aradan's forearm and he does the same. Both of us sharing a look of solidarity, for he lived through the embarrassment with me, and knows the importance of this moment.
The game is on.
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A/N - Media: Supermassive Blackhole - Muse...because if there was ever a song to describe a young Thranduil that would be it XD
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