This is a blog for Barduil Month 2023, which celebrates the pairing Bard the Bowman/Thranduil Oropherion from The Hobbit and will run from April 1 to April 30, 2024! See our pinned post for event details and FAQ!
Soothsayer, by @piyo-13, Urban Fantasy!AU, read on AO3
Bard Bowman, single father of three and human (and secret soothsayer), needs a job. He applies for a position at Greenwood & Co., one heâs sure he wonât getâexcept then he does. Thranduil Oropherion, elven single father and CEO of Greenwood & Co., puts out a job ad that in all honesty canât really be fulfilled. Except then the perfect candidate shows up, and Thranduil hires him without second thought.
These are the adventures of Bard Bowman, (no-longer-so-secret) soothsayer and personal assistant to Thranduil Oropherion (who is also involved in most of said adventures).
The evening had been calm: the boys had gone to bed early, the house was quiet, and for once, no drama had erupted. Bard and Thranduil were lying in their bed, the lights off, only illuminated by the moon filtering through the curtains.
Thranduil was unusually silent. He was tenderly stroking Bardâs arm, his gaze lost toward the ceiling. After a long moment, he murmured, in a low and solemn voice:
âI want to be with you⊠forever.â
He had said it with that elvish gravity that characterized him, as if pronouncing an ancient oath under the stars. His words carried all the weight of his long existence, of his fears, of his deep and sometimes clumsy love. Bard, who was half-dozing, opened his eyes. He remained silent for a second, then a small nervous laugh escaped him.
âForever?â he repeated, amused. âIs this a marriage proposal under a sacred tree with ancient chants and all the tralala?â
Thranduil stiffened slightly, offended.
âIt was a sincere declaration.â
âI know, I know!â Bard replied, smiling, still shaken by a contained laugh. âItâs just that⊠you say it with such solemnity. Itâs like youâre going to make me sign a contract in front of the Valar.â
Thranduil turned his head toward him, eyebrows furrowed.
âYouâre making fun of me.â
âA little,â Bard admitted, moving closer to kiss his shoulder. âBut itâs because I love you. And that âforeverâ with you, even if itâs a little scary⊠it suits me very well.â
Thranduil remained silent for a moment, still a little miffed. Then he sighed and slipped an arm around Bard to pull him closer.
âYouâre a real drama queen,â Bard murmured against his neck. âBut I love that.â
âKing, please,â Thranduil corrected.
âNo no, I said Queen.â
They stayed entwined in the dark. Thranduil eventually smiled despite himself, his chin resting on Bardâs hair.
âForever, then?â he asked more softly.
âForever,â Bard confirmed. âEven if we argue, even if the boys set the house on fire, even if you become unbearable with your elvish rulesâŠâ
Thranduil let out a small laugh.
âDeal.â
In the calm of the bedroom, the promise floated between them, a little awkward, a little solemn, but sincere: a perfectly imperfect âforever,â just like them.
Thanks for the challenge @monthlywritingchallenges also thanks for the reblogs @bi-widower-dads and the reviews @cherrrysthings
Bain had been observing Thranduil differently lately. He saw how Legolas shared with his father a natural elvish grace. He, Bardâs human son, sometimes felt left out. So he had an idea: to learn the elvish traditions. Archery, posture, calligraphy⊠everything that could allow him to get closer to his stepfather.
âI want to learn to shoot a bow,â he announced one morning with touching determination. âLike you, Ada.â
Thranduil was surprised, then visibly moved. He accepted. After breakfast, he took Bain into the garden, an ancient elvish bow in hand, and began to explain the posture, the breathing, the concentration. Bain, too enthusiastic, drew the bow with far too much force. The arrow went into the Greenwood forest.
âWeâll start again,â Thranduil said, stoic.
The second arrow ended up in the roof of the toolshed. The third ricocheted off a stone and came dangerously close to Bard, who was watching from the terrace.
âMaybe we should take a break,â Bard suggested, slightly worried.
But Bain refused to give up.
âNo! I can do it!â
He insisted on trying elvish calligraphy. The result: three hours of work, a bottle of ink spilled on the living room carpet, and a parchment where you could vaguely read âAdaâ provided you turned the sheet 90 degrees and squinted. Thranduil, who had spent the day patiently correcting Bainâs posture, picking up lost arrows and cleaning up the ink, was exhausted. His face remained calm, but his shoulders were tense. That evening, Bain, covered in ink and dirt, sat down at the table, looking dejected.
âIâm uselessâŠâ he murmured. âI just wanted⊠to be a little more like you.â
Thranduil froze. He looked at this human boy, stubborn and full of good will, who was trying with all his might to fit into a mold that wasnât his. He approached and placed a hand on Bainâs shoulder.
âYou donât have to be like me, Bain. Youâre perfect as you are.â
Bain looked up, surprised.
âBut⊠I wanted to make you proud.â
âYou already make me proud,â Thranduil replied with rare softness. âEvery day.â
Bard, who was watching the scene from the kitchen, smiled softly. Bain eventually smiled too, even if his shoulders remained a little hunched.
âCan we still continue the lessons? I promise not to destroy the garden this time?â
Thranduil sighed, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
âWe can try. But I think Iâll invest in foam arrows firstâŠâ
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
The intimate life of Bard and Thranduil had taken a backseat for the past few weeks. Between classes, work, arguments, and Haldirâs invasive presence at Greenwood, they hadnât had ten minutes alone â or else they collapsed from exhaustion as soon as they lay down in bed.
That evening, the boys had gone to a party. Silence reigned in the house, so unusual it was almost unsettling. Bard joined Thranduil in bed, kissing him in a hungry, even brutal embrace. Thranduil settled on top of him, his breathing already short.
âFinallyâŠâ he murmured, leaning down to kiss his neck.
Bard let out a raw groan, his hands gripping Thranduilâs hips.
On the other side of the wall, in Legolasâs room, the console turned on with its characteristic sound, immediately followed by shouts and laughter. Bain had clearly come back with him.
âGO ON! SHOOT!â Bain yelled.
A barrage of virtual gunfire and panicked horse neighs exploded through the speakers, followed by a resounding âBOOMâ and the victorious screams of the two teenagers. Thranduil froze above Bard.
âWhat are they doing hereâŠ?â he growled.
Bard closed his eyes, frustrated.
âIgnore them.â
Thranduil tried, but he pulled out of Bard.
âWhat are you doing? Stay!â he tried to grab him by the arm.
âWait. Iâm just checking.â
He slipped on his expensive silk robe and went to knock on Legolasâs bedroom door. He entered:
âDidnât you have a party tonight?â
Bain had his mouth full of candy:
âSâall cancheled. Aragorn and Arwen got gachtroâ
Thranduil raised a perplexed eyebrow:
âOkay. Try not to make too much noise. Weâre trying to sleep.â
Legolas and Bain exchanged a knowing look, giggling as soon as the door was closed.
Just a few seconds later, as Thranduil tried to make love to Bard again, a victorious cry from Bain pierced the wall:
âI GOT HIMMMM! DID YOU SEE THAT?!â
Legolas burst out laughing, followed by a new round of gunfire and explosions. Bard let out a desperate laugh.
âThis isnât possibleâŠâ
Thranduil collapsed on top of him, his face in his neck, shaking with silent, frustrated laughter.
âEven when theyâre not in the room, theyâre in the room,â he murmured.
They persisted anyway. Their movements became more urgent, almost angry, as if to compensate for the noise coming from the neighboring rooms. But when Bain screamed âTAKE THAT!â and the game music started up again at full volume, Bard completely broke. He burst out laughing, a desperate and exhausted laugh.
Thranduil lifted his head, his cheeks red, half-frustrated, half-amused.
âWeâre cursed.â
They stayed like that for a moment, naked, entwined, laughing softly in the surrounding sound chaos. The frustration was real, but the ridiculousness of the situation was too strong.
Bard finally kissed Thranduil tenderly on the lips.
âTomorrow, weâre sending them to the Dwarves. All day. And weâre cutting the Wi-Fi.â
Thranduil smiled against his mouth.
âGood idea.â
On the other side of the wall, another victory cry rang out, followed by a dramatic âOOOOH NO!â from Legolas.
Bard and Thranduil looked at each other: the desire was still there, burning. But tonight, it would have to wait. Again.
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
By an unusual meteorological phenomenon, Greenwood woke up one beautiful morning under a thick blanket of abundant snow. As soon as he got up, Bain declared that they had to have a snowball fight. Legolas had raised an eyebrow but eventually agreed. Bard had laughed and said âwhy not?â Thranduil, for his part, had first refused with dignity and then gave in to the pleading looks of his sons (and Bardâs mocking smile).
The teenagers rushed outside shouting with excitement. The adults followed them, calmer â on the surface. Bard threw the first snowball, which hit Thranduil square in the chest. The Elf narrowed his eyes, picked up a handful of compact snow and aimed with frightening precision. The snowball struck Bard right in the forehead.
âItâs war!â Bain shouted, wanting to defend his father.
Legolas joined the battle with formidable grace, sending fast and precise snowballs. Bain, more chaotic, threw them any which way while laughing. Thranduil tried to maintain a certain elegance until Bard sent him a huge snowball that made him stagger back several steps.
âWatch out for the slope!â Bard shouted.
Bain, carried away by his momentum, slipped on a patch of icy snow. He tried to grab onto Legolas, who lost his balance in turn. Legolas instinctively grabbed Bardâs arm to steady himself. Everyone fell: Bain dragged Legolas, who dragged Bard, who dragged Thranduil. The four of them tumbled down the small garden slope in a shapeless pile of arms, legs, and shouts. They rolled over each other, snow flying everywhere, until they ended up in a big tangled heap at the bottom of the garden, completely covered in snow.
A stunned silence settled for two seconds.
Then Bain burst out laughing. Legolas followed, then Bard. Even Thranduil, lying on his back with snow in his hair and on his eyelashes, let out an incredulous giggle before laughing heartily, head thrown back.
They stayed like that for a long time, in a heap in the snow, laughing like children. Thranduil eventually put an arm around Bard, while Legolas leaned against Bain.
âWe should have just made a snowman,â Thranduil murmured.
âThatâs true,â Bard replied, laughing, before kissing his snow-covered temple.
In this great white mess and this collective burst of laughter, their little blended family had never been so beautiful.
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
Thrain and his son Thorin had come to Greenwood for what was supposed to be a âdiplomatic meal.â Bard had hoped it would remain civil: he was wrong.
The dinner had started rather calmly, then the conversation had drifted, as it always did between Dwarves and Elves, toward old grudges. Someone had mentioned Thror â Thrainâs father. Thranduil, who had remained silent and dignified until then, suddenly straightened up. He knew he should have stopped, that it was dangerous territory. But the old wound, the old guilt resurfaced.
âThror mocked me,â he began, his voice calm at first. âHe used my wifeâs death to hurt me.â
The table fell silent. Once started, Thranduil could no longer stop. He was lost in his memories, in his justification, in the regret he had carried for centuries.
âI had warned him that I would take revenge. I had told him I would not forget. But he was as stubborn as all you Dwarves. He preferred to make me his enemy.â
His voice grew more intense. He didnât notice that Thrain had stopped eating. He didnât see Thorinâs jaw clenching tighter and tighter.
âYou got your necklace back, didnât you? Isnât that the main thing?â Thrain cut in coldly.
The tension skyrocketed. Thranduil continued speaking, trying to explain, to justify, to make himself understood. He was completely lost in his own words, in his guilt, in his need to be understood. His usual icy control had vanished. Bard watched the scene with growing horror. He tried to catch Thranduilâs eye, to signal him to stop, but the Elf was too far gone. At the end of his patience, Thrain finally slammed his goblet on the table.
âBy Durinâs beard, are you going to keep talking much longer?â
Thranduil blinked, as if coming out of a trance. He looked around the table: everyone was staring at him. Some amused, most annoyed. Bard had his face in his hands.
âI⊠appear to have lost track of time,â Thranduil said stiffly, his ears slightly red.
Bain snickered, Thorin hid a smile behind his cup. Bard finally intervened, his voice strained with suppressed laughter:
âYes, my love. You spoke for twenty minutes straight.â
Thranduil remained seated, mortified but trying to maintain his dignity. He cleared his throat.
âA thousand apologies. Old wounds run deep.â
Thrain looked at him for a long moment, then, against all expectations, let out a low chuckle.
âStubborn Elf. At least you admit it.â
The tension eased slightly. Old grudges didnât disappear in one evening, but the dinner continued without bloodshed; between Dwarves and Elves, that was nothing short of a miracle.
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
Bain and Legolas had had a spark of brilliant inspiration.
It was soon Bardâs birthday, and they wanted to give him âthe most beautiful gift in the worldâ: a homemade fireworks display, made by themselves in the garden, with the help of Fili and Kili, who had found the ideal materials from the Dwarves.
âItâs going to be epic,â Bain had said, eyes shining.
âWeâre going to call it âThe Tribute to Bardâ,â Legolas had added.
Thranduil was away for the day, which left them free to do whatever they wanted without him on their backs. They had spent the afternoon tinkering in the garage with the rockets provided by Fili and Kili, black powder, and an adorable childlike enthusiasm. In the evening, when it was dark enough, they set everything up in the garden to test their creation. It was only a rehearsal before the real evening.
âReady?â Bain asked, lighter in hand.
âReady,â Legolas replied, slightly less confident than his brother but not showing it.
The first rocket went off, barely rose two meters before exploding in a ridiculous âpof,â sending sparks everywhere. The second was worse: it shot horizontally like a missile and crashed into the hedge, which immediately caught fire.
âShit shit shit!â Bain shouted, running with the garden hose.
Legolas tried to put out the other rockets with his feet, but one of them lit up by itself and spun off, whirling around the garden with a whistle.
At the height of the disaster, Thranduilâs car pulled into the driveway. Legolasâs father got out of the car, still in his suit, staring at his garden turned into a war zone: sparks everywhere, smoke, the hedge on fire, and his two sons running around like headless chickens.
âBut what theâŠ?!â
He dropped his briefcase and ran toward them in his expensive suit, grabbed the hose from Bainâs hands and started spraying the hedge like a firefighter in full crisis mode.
âAre you completely out of your minds?!â he yelled over the noise of the last fireworks still exploding.
Bain and Legolas froze, covered in soot and grass.
âIt was for Daâs birthdayâŠâ Legolas tried in a small voice.
Thranduil turned toward them, hair disheveled, a black smudge on his cheek, and an absolutely furious expression.
âYou nearly set the house on fire for a birthday?!â
At that moment, Bard arrived on the doorstep, alerted by the noise. He looked at the charred garden, the smoking hedge, his two sheepish sons, and Thranduil in a soaked suit, hose in hand.
He burst out laughing, genuinely, an uncontrollable fit of laughter that doubled him over. Thranduil shot him a murderous look.
âItâs not funny.â
âOh yes it is,â Bard gasped, wiping his eyes. âYouâll understand when you look in the mirror.â
Bain and Legolas, seeing that Bard was laughing, started giggling nervously too. Thranduil stood there, dripping wet, surrounded by his devastated garden, and let out a long, defeated sigh. Bard approached, still shaking with laughter, and kissed him on the temple despite the smell of smoke. Thranduil groaned as he looked at Legolas and Bain who were giggling uncontrollably:
âNext time you have a brilliant idea, warn me. Iâll lock myself in the basement.â
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
After the story of Thranduilâs giggling, Bard, still a little annoyed despite everything, decided to start a little revenge game. While Thranduil was getting ready for bed in the bathroom, he approached him from behind, slid his hands over his back, moving them slowly to reach and caress his stomach, his ribs with his fingertips, making him shiver. He kissed his shoulders, moving his hands up to his nipples which he slowly brushed. Thranduil relaxed under his fingers, already sighing with desire, but Bard stopped abruptly:
âGood night, my love,â he said with an innocent smile before leaving for the bedroom. Thranduil stared fixedly at his reflection in the mirror, frustrated. But Bard had forgotten who he was dealing with; and Thranduil was certainly not going to let it slide.
He waited until the next evening: he joined Bard in bed, slipped naked against him. He caressed him slowly, languorously, from his neck to his crotch, which he barely touched just enough to make him hard. Bard let out a moan of desire, grabbed his hand to pull him closer but Thranduil pulled back with a satisfied smile.
âGood night, my love,â he repeated Bardâs unbearable tone from the day before.
The game lasted a few days; each caress became bolder, each kiss deeper. And each time, one of them would stop just before the other lost their mind. The tension between them built up, until it became unbearable.
One evening, Thranduil pinned him against the mattress and spread his legs. Bard thought he was finally giving in. But he only rubbed against him, never penetrating.
âStop playing,â Bard begged.
âYouâre the one who started it,â Thranduil growled.
As the days passed, the game became more and more chaotic. They lost control at the same time one evening, half surprised to be on the same wavelength. They made love furiously, clumsily, desperately, both like two teenagers who couldnât wait any longer. They made the bed creak as if threatening to break it, knocked over the bedside lamp. Thranduil banged his skull hard against the headboard while changing position. They came at the same time, in a mix of moans and curses. They then stayed lying down, sweaty, pressed against each other, trying to catch their breath.
The argument had been forgotten long ago. All that remained was this ridiculous, clumsy, and wonderfully chaotic revenge. But neither of them wanted to complain about it.
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
The children were at a party at Elrondâs, and Bard had taken advantage of it to lure Thranduil into their bedroom in broad daylight. As soon as Thranduil had entered, Bard had thrown him onto the bed and jumped on him. Now, Thranduilâs beautiful blond hair was spread across the pillow, his breathing short, as Bard moved in and out of him slowly, one hand resting on his hip, holding him pressed against the mattress. Thranduil was moaning, almost begging; Bard felt his orgasm rising too quickly, too soon. He pulled out. Thranduil groaned in disappointment, a groan muffled by Bardâs lips.
âStop complaining.â
âCome on, get back in,â Thranduil said impatiently.
Bard rolled his eyes, tried to penetrate him again while kissing him. He bumped against Thranduilâs perineum, once, twice, three times, harder and harder, until he drew a moan of pain from him. Bard grumbled:
âMotherfucking hole.â
Thranduil froze, and let out a giggle. He tried to hold it back, but it was too late. The giggle turned into genuine laughter.
âYou just giggled?â Bard raised an eyebrow.
âItâs your fault. Do you realize what you say sometimes?â
âWhat? I couldnât get in.â
The way he said it only made Thranduil laugh even harder. Bard looked at him, amused, then decided the joke had gone on long enough. He guided his cock back into him with a smooth, firm thrust. Immediately, Thranduil moaned with pleasure.
âMuch better,â Bard growled, swallowing another giggle in a hungry, burning kiss full of passion.
But Thranduil couldnât concentrate anymore: in the middle of his moans, a new giggle or laugh would escape from time to time, despite all of Bardâs efforts to bring him back to the pleasure of the moment. After a few minutes, Bard sighed, pulled out, and dropped down beside Thranduil. The latter curled up against him, his shoulders still shaking with laughter:
âSorry, my loveâŠâ
âI should have finished earlier and too bad for you,â Bard said with a pout. âFor once we had the house all to ourselvesâŠâ
Thranduilâs long, slender fingers ran over Bardâs sweat-slicked chest, his chin resting on his shoulder, his eyes searching his face:
âItâs not that bad, weâll do it again later.â
Bard slowly turned his face toward him:
âWithout giggling this time?â
Thranduil had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face:
âPromise.â
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
Greenwood was plunged into darkness. Thranduil woke up with a start, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest as if he had run a marathon. He placed his hand on the spot next to him to feel Bardâs presence, to be reassured. But the bed was empty and cold. He frowned:
âBard?â he called out, with no answer.
He left the bed, not even bothering to get dressed, and searched for Bard. Panic crept into his veins like poison. A fast-acting poison. The house was deathly silent; he had the horrible feeling of being alone. He opened the door to Legolasâs room: empty. Bainâs room: empty. He called out to all of them: his companion, his son, his stepson. He went through every room, faster and faster. The kitchen was tidy as if no one had cooked there in weeks. The living room was spotless, with no trace of life: no shoes lying around, no open books, no blanket abandoned on the couch. He was alone. Completely alone. Thranduil felt his legs weaken. He leaned against the wall, breathing raggedly.
âNo⊠no, this isnât possibleâŠâ
He ran back upstairs to the bedroom, opened the closets: there were only his clothes. He let himself fall onto the bed, his face in his hands. The loneliness was overwhelming, suffocating. He had ruined everything. Everything.
âThranduilâŠâ
A distant, familiar voice was calling him. He followed it without hesitation.
âThranduil, wake upâŠâ
He opened his eyes with difficulty. His eyelids were so heavy. The room was plunged in darkness, just like in his dream, but this time a familiar warmth was pressed against him. Bard was there, leaning over him, looking worried, one hand resting on his cheek.
âYou had a nightmare,â Bard murmured. âYou were breathing very hard. You kept repeating my nameâŠâ
Thranduil looked at him for a long moment, as if he couldnât believe he was really there. He grabbed him abruptly and held him tightly with desperate strength, his face buried in his neck. Bard didnât ask any questions. He simply wrapped his arms around him, one hand slowly stroking his back.
âIâm here,â he whispered. âIâm here, my love. Itâs nothing. It was just a nightmare.â
Thranduil remained silent, his body still trembling. He could feel Bardâs heart beating against his own, real, alive. He had been stranded in that nightmare, in that empty and cold life he had almost built. Bard had just brought him back. They stayed entwined for a long time in the dark, until Thranduilâs breathing became calm again.
The nightmare had dissipated.
However, the fear of ruining everything remained lurking deep in his gut. So Thranduil closed his eyes and held Bard a little tighter, so as not to let him disappear again.
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
As always, the social evening in Lorien was sumptuous and lavish: crystal, soft lights, elegant music and hushed conversations set the tone. Thranduil had been invited for business reasons, Bard had not been very enthusiastic about the idea of coming, but his companion had insisted.
Thranduil had been monopolized from the moment he arrived and an Elf named Calen, counselor to Celeborn, had literally pounced on Bard and wouldnât let go. Tall, with brown hair and a charming smile, he had complimented Bard on his âso refreshing human charismaâ and then moved on to more direct remarks: the beauty of the green in his eyes, his lips, the strength of his shoulders. Bard, polite but uncomfortable, didnât dare send him away for fear of offending the relations between Greenwood and Lorien. He was awkwardly trying to maintain a courteous distance. Thranduil, at the other end of the room, was no longer listening to what his interlocutors were saying to him: he was narrowing his eyes at the sight of his companion being openly flirted with. The minutes passed: Bard wasnât reacting, Thranduilâs jaw was clenching tighter and tighter, and the flame of jealousy was growing in his chest. When Calen placed his hand on Bardâs biceps while laughing, he excused himself and crossed the room, wrapped a possessive arm around Bard and said in an icy voice:
âMy love. Will you introduce me to your new friend?â
Calen withdrew his hand. Bard was already sighing as he introduced them to each other.
âThe famous Thranduil,â Calen replied, not impressed in the slightest. âIâve heard a lot about you.â
âI can imagine,â Thranduil retorted, looking down at him. âItâs not mutual.â
Calen burst out laughing, which Thranduil couldnât interpret: amusement? Insolence? Several pairs of eyes turned toward them. Thranduil looked at Bard, and suddenly kissed him, with obvious possessiveness, right in front of Calen. When he pulled back, Calen was still smiling. He nodded, wished Bard a good evening and walked away.
âGood⊠goodbye,â Bard stammered before turning to Thranduil. âWhat was that? Are you going to piss on me next time to mark your territory?â
Thranduil, still red with anger and embarrassment, crossed his arms.
âHe was touching you.â
âHe was touching my arm.â
âHe had no business touching you at all.â
Bard sighed:
âYouâre jealous.â
âIâm not jealous,â Thranduil growled.
âYouâre very jealous.â
Thranduil shot him a dark look, but couldnât help blushing slightly.
âLetâs go home, so I can show you who you belong to.â
Bard let out an incredulous laugh that faded as he realized Thranduil was not joking at all.
âI belong only to myself. Jealousy is not love, Thran. Youâre right, I want to go home. Thank you for ruining the evening.â
They left the party under the amused and curious looks of several guests. Thranduil walked with a stiff gait, annoyed by his companionâs reaction, while Bardâs face was closed and worried. Neither of them would have thought the evening would end so badly.
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
It was late at night, and Thranduil couldnât sleep. Beside him, Bardâs calm and soothing breathing should have soothed him, but instead it irritated him. He slipped out of bed, paced through the silent, quiet house. He didnât even need to turn on the lights: the moon illuminated the rooms as if it were daytime.
With a sigh, he settled in the living room, looking at the moon shining in the sky. It was one of those nights when regrets tortured him so much that he could think of nothing else: his reaction following his wifeâs death. Legolas had been so small at the time. He had never spoken to him about her. He had been incapable of it. The pain he had felt at her death had been so violent, so overwhelming, that he had locked away every feeling, every memory, every word, every image of her. Talking about her would have been like reopening a wound that had never truly healed. Naively, he had believed that silence would protect his son, that it would spare him the same suffering by never speaking of her. He had even thought that Legolas would eventually forget her. But, quite the opposite, it was between them that an immense void had grown over the years. Legolas had grown up without ever hearing stories about his mother: without knowing how she laughed, how she sang, how she looked at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Thranduil had given him rules, discipline, distance, but no memories. Now, years later, he regretted it with an almost physical intensity.
He heard light footsteps behind him, arms wrapping around him.
âAre you thinking about her?â Bard murmured against his back.
Bard knew. He always knew. Thranduil nodded slowly, discreetly.
âI was never able to talk to Legolas about her,â Thranduil murmured, his voice hoarse. âEvery time I tried, it felt like something was being torn out of me. It hurt too much. So I kept everything to myself. Itâs as if I killed her a second time.â
Bard tightened his embrace with a sigh.
âYou werenât ready. You had just lost her. You were just trying to survive.â
âI was his father. I should have found the strength. He deserved to know who she was; that she loved him more than anything, that she was funny, gentle, stubborn⊠that he looks so much more like her than he does like me.â
Bard remained silent for a long moment, then turned him around to look him in the eyes.
âItâs not too late to tell him all that. Itâs going to be difficult, but he needs to hear it. And you need to say it.â
âIâm afraid heâll hate me even more for waiting so long.â
âHe wonât hate you,â Bard murmured, gently stroking his cheeks. âHeâll understand that you were hurting, that you were lost like he was.â
Thranduil pressed his forehead against Bardâs, breathing slowly. The regrets were still there, heavy, painful. Maybe one day he would finally find the courage to talk to Legolas about her, to share a common past.
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
Thranduilâs day had been punctuated by meetings and mishaps: a problem with the photocopier, an internet outage, basically hell. The end of his workday was approaching and he had only one wish: to finally go home. In his office, finally at peace, he sent a message to Bard. He typed quickly:
âAnother horrible day⊠I hope yours was much betterâŠ. So I thought about youâŠ. A lotâŠ. About what I want to do to you tonightâŠ. I was hesitating between the kitchen, the living room or the bedroom⊠do you have a preference? Or maybe⊠we share the placesâŠ. You give me one of your sublime blowjobs in the kitchen, and I take you on the bed? You on top of me, like you like? That way I can caress you everywhere⊠your chest⊠your armsâŠ. Your stomachâŠ. Your assâŠ. Your cockâŠ..â
He sighed while looking at the hands of the clock on his office wall moving much too slowly; maybe it was broken⊠He continued his message:
âJust thinking about it, Iâm hard. See you soon. I love you more than anything.â
He sighed again, with anticipation and impatience, and pressed âsendâ. A few seconds later, he wanted to look at a somewhat similar message Bard had sent him a few days earlier. His blood ran cold: the message he had just sent did not appear in the history of their conversation. He swallowed, prayed for a bug. He closed the app, reopened it. Same result. But the family group chat, which included Legolas and Bain, showed a new message: his. Thranduil remained frozen, eyes glued to the screen, his stomach in his throat:
âNo⊠no no noâŠ.â
He tried to delete the message, but it was already too late: it had been seen, read.
At Greenwood, Bard was preparing dinner when his phone vibrated. He glanced at it distractedly but, after a few seconds, he was completely absorbed by reading the message. His hand stirring the sauce stopped, resumed, stopped again. He chuckled at the end, not to mock, but because he loved this liberated side of Thranduil that he only showed to him. He took his phone and was about to reply when he realized that Thranduil had sent it to the group chat.
âShit,â he cursed, and at the same moment, he heard the cries of surprise and bursts of laughter from their sons. He ran up the stairs four at a time: the door to Legolasâs room was open. Bain and he were collapsed in laughter on Legolasâs bed.
âGuys⊠did you read?âŠâ
âRead? Read what?â Legolas wiped the tears beading at the corners of his eyes. âAdaâs magnificent declaration? No, not at all.â
He exchanged a look with Bain and burst out laughing again.
âYou guys are such kids,â Bard shook his head, pretending to be dismayed but struggling not to laugh too.
âAt least we donât think weâre porn stars,â Bain said between two stifled little cries. âThe shame! Seriously!!â
âWellâŠ. Not a word when Thranduil gets home, okay? He must already feel bad enoughâŠâ
âHe can!â
In his office, Thranduil was living a moment of pure existential panic. He had already sent three private messages to Bard:
âDelete the message.
Delete it.
BARD.â
After minutes that seemed endless, he finally received a reply:
âToo lateâŠ. SorryâŠ. But the evening program works for me đđâ
Thranduil placed his phone on his desk and ran a hand over his face, mortified. He could have replied, but he didnât have the courage.
When he got home an hour later, Bain and Legolas were settled in the living room and stared at him as soon as he walked in, with smiles that were far too wide.
âDid you have a good day, Ada?â Legolas asked in an innocent tone.
Thranduil glared at him. Bard, from the kitchen, simply rolled his eyes and smiled.
âLeave him alone, boys.â
Thranduil walked past them without a word, went straight up to the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Bard joined him a few minutes later. He found him sitting on the edge of the bed, mortified, resigned. He sat down next to him, put an arm around him, and pressed his lips to his temple:
âItâs going to be okayâŠ. Itâs not that badâŠâ
âYouâre joking, right? Itâs a catastropheâŠ.â
Bard grimaced.
âTheyâll forget eventually.â
âYou want to bet? May I remind you that my son and I are immortal,â Thranduil let out a little groan of despair. Bard had to bite his lip not to burst out laughing.
âI promise itâll be fine. Promise,â he kissed him again.
Thranduil remained silent for a moment, then murmured:
âThe next time I want to send you a dirty message⊠Iâll do it by hand, on paper. And Iâll give it to you in person.â
Legolas and Bain were at a party with their friends. The house was strangely quiet. In the kitchen, leaning against the counter, Bard was watching Thranduilâs lips. Words were coming out of his mouth, apparently very serious given the Elfâs expression, but Bard couldnât bring himself to pay attention. They were alone. It was quite unusual these days. Thranduil realized that his words were literally falling on deaf ears.
âAre you listening to me?â Thranduil narrowed his eyes.
âNo,â Bard replied insolently, with a crooked smile to boot.
Thranduil rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but Bard shoved his tongue into it to finally shut him up. He caressed Thranduilâs tongue with his own for a long moment, letting him breathe only to claim his mouth again immediately. His body reacted to the kiss as much as his mind. He was ready to take him right there, on the counter, to lay him down on it and fuck him until he begged for mercy.
It was at that exact moment that the front door burst open.
âLEGOLAS! Are you here?!!!!â
Gimliâs booming voice echoed throughout the entire house. Bard and Thranduil froze in place, lips still pressed together. It was far too late to separate discreetly. Thorin entered first, followed closely by Kili and Fili. Gimli closed the door behind them, already laughing.
Thranduil slowly straightened up, his cheeks slightly flushed â a rare occurrence. He adjusted his shirt with a sharp gesture. Bard, for his part, simply ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, a sheepish smile on his lips.
The four Dwarves were now staring at them, with more than knowing grins.
âDidnât your parents teach you to knock on doors?â Thranduil asked icily, looking down at them.
âWe didnât want to disturb you,â Kili said with a wide, predatory smile.
Fili whistled between his teeth.
âLooks like we arrived just in time before the show turned into a visual nightmare.â
Thranduil crossed his arms, trying as best he could to regain his usual haughty air.
âWhat are you doing here anyway? I thought Legolas and Bain were with you.â
Gimli burst out laughing.
âWe must have missed them then. But we heard suspicious noises from the entrance. We thought you might be getting murdered, Lord Thranduil.â
Thranduil clenched his jaw hard enough to break it at the insolence of this Dwarf.
âBy whom?â he growled.
âBy him,â Kili replied, pointing at Bard with his chin. âHe looks dangerous.â
Bard raised his hands in surrender, still amused by the legendary animosity between Elves and Dwarves.
âOuch. Busted.â
Thorin, who hadnât said a word yet, observed the scene with a small smirk. He eventually shook his head.
âWe didnât want to⊠interrupt anything. Letâs go. Weâll find Legolas and Bain. They must already be at Rivendell.â
The Dwarves began backing toward the exit, but not without throwing in a few jabs on their way out.
âHave a good rest of the day!â Kili called out, and all the Dwarves snickered like⊠teenagers.
The door finally closed behind them, leaving behind a Thranduil who looked ready to disappear into the floor. Bard turned to him, unable to hold back his laughter any longer.
âSo⊠shall we pick up where we left off?â
Thranduil shot him a dark look, but his lips were already trembling.
âYouâre all red. Itâs cute. It turns me on.â
Thranduil gave his shoulder a half-hearted slap, unable to stop himself from smiling in turn.
âNext time, we lock the door.â
âOr we go to a hotel,â Bard suggested, pulling him back against him.
Thranduil sighed, but let himself be kissed.
âThat way we wonât have to clean up afterward.â
Outside, the Dwarvesâ laughter could still be heard fading into the distance. Thranduil sighed:
âIdiot Dwarves.â
Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges @bi-widower-dads @cherrrysthings
