by Emma Keigh

Rating: NC-17 m/m

Characters: Gandalf, Thranduil

Pairings: Gandalf (Mithrandir)/Thranduil

Summary: A previously unknown part of Gandalf's mission to Middle-earth.

Category: challenge, mpreg

Status: complete

Date: 20 March 2003

Archiving: Slashlords' Fuh-Q-Fest and where posted; elsewhere please ask first

Series: not likely


Disclaimer: The characters and melieux from The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Token and New Line Cinema (AOL). I only play with them from time to time for my own amusement and without compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit. Anything or anyone new, however, is mine (left-overs again!).

Warning: This story contains an explicit scene of sex between consenting adult males of different species, and deals with male pregnancy. Beta-read by Nikki Memmott. Thanks, merci beaucoup, tapadh leibh, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato, obrigado. You have been warned.

Author's note: The Istari (wizards) are described by Tolkien as appearing as old men, but being hale of body, which to me means underneath those robes, Gandalf is a hunk. Feedback will be cherished.


The wizard waited patiently in the dark recesses of the cave. The wind howled across the mountainside, and he knew it would not be long before his expected guest arrived. He heard the tell-tale rustle of the shrubbery and taking a crystal from his bag, he kindled a faint, bluish light. He set the glowing crystal on a protruding rock, letting its light fill the cave. The light revealed an open space two fathoms across and twice as many deep, under a high-arched ceiling that allowed the wizard to walk upright. The stone floor of the cave sloped slightly downward to a deep pool fed by a hot spring. The water spilled over the back edge of the pool, disappearing through a crevice in the rock.

To one side of the pool, a neat pile of straw cushioned the sleeping furs, and a small brazier heated a pot of stew. He crouched down and stirred the stew, then tasted it. He added a pinch of salt and a few crumbled leaves of thyme, then tasted it again. Satisfied, he stood, rubbing his lower back with one hand. Though he knew his appearance of advanced age was superficial, he sometimes felt the aches and pains that would have accompanied as many years.

Again he heard the his guest move through the shrubs that guarded the cave's mouth, and he looked up to see the Elven-king stumble through the entrance. His boots skidded on the smooth stone floor, but the tall, blond Elf kept his feet, and he looked around himself quickly, his body in a slight crouch, ready to move in any direction. His hair and cloak were wet, tiny pellets of sleet in his braids.

"Welcome, Thranduil," the wizard said. His voice was gravelly and rough from disuse, and he realized he hadn't spoken aloud in several days. "You seek shelter from the storm," he continued, "but you will find much more here, I think."

The Elven-king straightened, one hand on the hilt of his knife. His indigo blue eyes seemed to glow in the light of the crystal. "Mithrandir?" he confirmed. "It has been many years since you last came to Mirkwood."

A few steps brought the wizard face to face with Thranduil. "Yes, my friend," Mithrandir said, "it has been far too long." They greeted one another first with right hands on left shoulders, then embraced as the old friends they were.

He guided the king into the cave and bid him lay down his gear. Bow and quiver, sword and knives were laid aside, and the wet cloak hung from the knuckle of a root that pushed its way through the cave wall. Outside the sleet and freezing rain turned to silently falling snow.

"It is pleasantly warm in here, wizard," Thranduil commented. He shook the ice crystals from his hair and ran his fingers through the long, silky strands. He moved to the brazier and held his hands toward the heat.

Mithrandir pressed a cup into the king's hand. "Wine warmed with spices," he said. He watched the king drink, and sipped from his own cup.

"I thought to bathe before eating," Mithrandir said. "The water here sooths as well as warms." Using the side of each foot as a boot-jack, he pulled his feet from his boots and loosened his belt. "Will you join me?" he asked.

Wordlessly the Elf removed his clothes, carefully folding his tunic and shirt, then pulling off his boots and leggings. The bluish light gave his golden skin an ethereal glow. With his breechclout still wrapped about his loins, Thranduil dipped a toe into the water, testing its temperature, then pulled the linen from his hips and slid into the pool.

Mithrandir watched every move of the fine-boned hands as they worked the clasps and laces of the Elf's garments. The king's body was long and lean, golden skinned from head to toe, only the twin circles of his nipples marking the broad chest. The abdomen was flat but for the ridges of well-toned muscles. Lean hips led to strong thighs and rounded buttocks. Tucked tightly by the breechclout, his masculinity remained close to his groin until he unselfconsciously scratched his crotch.

"So you have taken up living as a hermit?" the king asked Mithrandir as the water lapped at his chin. His hair floated about his head, a corona of sliver blond hair around his face.

"For the time being," Mithrandir answered cryptically. The wizard pulled the grey mantle over his head and dropped it to the ground. He wore no small clothes beneath the robe, and he quickly lowered himself into the hot water. For all the years his bearded face and gnarled hands implied, his form was neither bent nor frail. His body was more like that of the Elf, strong and well formed, the skin smooth and unmarked. He pulled his long hair to the back, letting it fall on the stony edge of the pool, then resting his head upon the heaped strands.

"You know you are welcome in my realm," the king continued, "but I prefer to know of your visits."

"I do not always know myself where I will end up, my friend." He stretched his legs under the water's surface, feeling his joints pop before the muscles relaxed, but he kept his ice blue eyes on the Elven-king. Physical desire was not new to the wizard, but he was unprepared for the strength of the attraction he felt for Thranduil. He wanted to learn every inch of his body, its textures and scents, its needs and responses. He wanted to trace his fingers along the lean flanks and watch the arch of the back, to watch the chest heave for breath, to feel the clench of muscle as the slim hips thrust in passion. Just as much as he wished to pleasure the Elven-king, he hoped for the same touch of the long fingers, the moist heat of the pouting lips, the press of one body next to another.

His toes encountered Thranduil's leg, and he drew his foot along the limb. Encouraged when the king did not withdraw from his touch, he moved closer. He raised his fingers to the surface of the water, moving aside the floating hair. His own hair fell into the water, the grey strands mingling with the blond.

The Elf gently stroked Mithrandir's cheek, twining his fingers in the long, coarse beard. "I have never been kissed by a bearded man."

"I have never kissed a king," the wizard countered. He lightly touched Thranduil's face, then brought their lips together. The brief kiss held the flavor of honey and herbs and brought a low moan from deep in the wizard's throat. Long fingers combed into his beard and tugged, and the two pairs of lips met again. Their bodies met also, molding together in the water.

Mithrandir welcomed the Elf's questing tongue, giving the hot, silky intruder access to all parts of his mouth. He let Thranduil take the lead, hands moving to cup each side of his face, one leg hooking around his own. The king's hands moved back into Mithrandir's hair, holding his head close, then skimmed down over his shoulders and back.

"By the Valar," he cried, pulling his head back from the kiss, "I am driven!" He tightened his embrace. "Your wine is potent, indeed."

Kissing along Thranduil's cheek and jaw, Mithrandir made no mention of the special herbs he'd added to the wine. He ran the tip of his tongue down the taut neck tendon to the water level, then pulled away. He looked at the king, his eyes so dark a blue they seemed black, framed by dark lashes and brows. The heat of the water flushed the golden skin and the rosy lips were swollen and full.

Thranduil heaved himself out of the pool and sat on the rim, his feet still in the hot water. His rigid sex rose from his groin, its smooth length topped with a rosy crown. The water sheeted from his body, leaving it glistening. He spread this knees apart and leaned back on his hands. "Now," he said, sliding his hips to the very edge of the pool.

Before he could say more, Mithrandir positioned himself between the strong thighs. He slid his arms under the muscled limbs, snaking up and around the slim hips. After kissing the droplets of water off the column of flesh, he took the shaft into his mouth. The organ was hot and throbbing against his tongue, and tasted of spice and honey. He felt a shudder pass through Thranduil's body, and slowly he released the king's hardness. Tenderly he kissed the smooth skin of the Elf's abdomen, letting his beard trail across the inside of Thranduil's thighs, groin, and the sensitive tip of his sex. He raised himself out of the water, reaching to kiss the kings' lips.

"More," the Elf whispered against the wizard's mouth. "Don't stop."

Mithrandir hefted himself to sit on the rim of the pool, then rose to his feet. He offered a hand to the king, a smile on his face. "A stone floor is no place for passion," he said, and Thranduil took his hand and stood beside him.

The Elf-king stood a hand's breadth taller than the wizard, his lips at the level of Mithrandir's brow. Still holding the gnarled hand of the wizard, Thranduil stepped closer, bringing their bodies together from knee to shoulder. "You excite me, Mithrandir," he said. "I would have much more of you."

"You shall," Mithrandir assured him, nuzzling the angle of shoulder and throat. They moved as though dancing from the edge of the pool to the low pallet that made the wizard's bed. The straw-filled mattress was covered with softly-tanned pelts of several animals, the furs lush and inviting. He bade the king lie on the furs, and fetched more of the spiced wine.

Leaning on one elbow, Thranduil drank deeply of the wine, and closed his eyes as he swallowed. "I have never tasted such flavors."

Mithrandir sipped and set his cup aside, wanting to keep his head clear, not needing the extra arousal the secret herbs imparted. He lowered himself to Thranduil's side and kissed him. The demanding, passion-filled kiss bore the king to his back, and his arms embraced the wizard. Sliding his body to cover the Elf's, he continued to explore the king's mouth with his questing tongue, moving his hips to slide their erections together.

Gasping for air, Thranduil pulled away from the kiss, then made wordless sounds of pleasure as Mithrandir trailed kissed down his throat to his chest. He licked and nipped at each nipple in turn, then teased them both with his fingers as he kissed and tasted more of the golden skin. His tongue swirled around and into the dimpled navel, and sipped away the drips of pearly fluid.

Thranduil raised his hips, thrusting his throbbing sex against the bearded chin. Mithrandir kissed along the length of the shaft, and lifted the soft-skinned sac in his hand. Gently he caressed the heavy globes inside with both his fingers and mouth, then felt the king's body tense. The slim hips bucked as Thranduil's seed spurted forth.

"Take me, Wizard," the king gasped, his chest still heaving, then pulled his knees up and apart.

Scooping the thick fluid from Thranduil's belly, Mithrandir anointed the king's exposed entrance and his own erection. He prepared the opening, easing first one finger inside, then another and another, finding the secret spot deep within. Each touch brought another gasp from the king, punctuated by encouraging words and moans of pleasure. The wizard stroked his own organ as he readied the king, bringing himself to such hardness that he sheathed his full length with a single thrust. He pulled back and thrust again into the hot, tight channel, settling into a rhythm that kept them both gasping.

The wizard's pale skin glowed in the crystal light, and as he lost himself in the waves of pleasure, the golden aura extended beyond his physical being, shimmering and pulsing, gaining in brilliance as the passion between them soared. They tumbled from the precipice of their ardor as one, and as the wizard poured his essence into Thranduil's body the bright light that surrounded him was drawn into the Elf. It pulsed within him, suffusing the golden form with its glow, then dimmed., leaving only a glowing warmth in his belly.

They lay in each other's arms, the smaller form of the wizard nestled in the Elf-king's embrace. Mithrandir raised his face to Thranduil's, softly kissing the still-swollen lips. His hand slid over the Elf's body, coming to rest on the warm skin below the navel.

"What have you done to me?" the king asked, covering Mithrandir's hand with his own.

He slipped his hand out from under the king's and pressed the Elf's hand to the skin. "It is a gift sent from the Valar themselves, Thranduil," Mithrandir answered. "Already you carry new life within you."

The Elf closed his blue eyes and sighed, "This cannot be."

"You would deny the will of the Valar?" Mithrandir sat up and looked down on the Elf. The light at the mouth of the cave caught his eye, and he realized the storm had passed. "Doubt if you will, but when your time comes to be delivered, bring the midwife here for the birth. Bathe in the pool after the child is swaddled, and you will be healed." He stood and offered a hand to the recumbent king. Once they stood face to face he kissed the taller Elf once more, then picked up his discarded robe and donned it.

"So be it, then." The king gathered up his own clothing. Once more he pressed a hand to his belly, then closed his eyes and smiled.

"There is a prophecy, is there not?" Mithrandir asked as Thranduil dressed. "About a child born of an Elven-king," he continued.

"Yes," the king confirmed as he fastened the clasps of his shirt. "The child will be fairest of all the First Born, it is said. He will bring together all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, and will be the last to return to Valinor."

The wizard grasped the king by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "You are that Elven-king, Thranduil. The child you bear will fulfill the prophecy."

Thranduil stepped closer and into Mithrandir's embrace. "Our child," he whispered.

Gently kissing the smooth forehead, the wizard sighed and smiled. "You will name him after the leaves of the forest," he instructed. "He will be called Legolas."

The End

© 2003 Emma Keigh