It was not often that Galathil came to Greenwood. He preferred to vacation in his brother’s realm of Lothlorien, but as his sister-in-law was expecting, and per letter from his brother was quite the ornery elleth, he declined invitation and instead accepted the one extended to him by his second cousin twice removed on his mother’s uncle’s brother’s daughter’s side of the family. Thus, here he was, wandering the endless caverns of the palace and wondering whether or not he would find it back to his rooms before Spring.
He had actually been hoping that his cousin might show him around, as there were many new tunnels since last he had been, creating quite a maze. Alas, Galathil had gone for hours without finding hide or hair of his cousin, Prince Thranduil, anywhere in the palace.
His stomach began to make decisions for him, and he strolled here and there, letting his nose take the lead. It was obvious that he was getting closer and closer to the kitchens, for the delightful smell of pies set to cool and roasted meats left from lunch (which poor Galathil had missed due to not being able to find the dining hall- again) wafted into the hall and became more intense the closer he came. He was about to turn the corner when he heard a combination of giggles and laughter coming from within the room.
Peeking just around, he held back his gasp to see his cousin and what looked like one of the kitchen maids, chasing each other around a table. Actually, it appeared that only Thranduil was doing the chasing, and that the elleth was not exactly trying too hard to escape the hands that pinched her posterior whenever he came too close.
They were truly a sight, beyond the obvious, for they were both drenched. Suds from the sink, billions of tiny bubbles, clung to their wet skin and clothing, flying here and spattering there as they skidded around the table, knocking chairs out of their way. Galathil knew that the proper thing would be to leave quietly, but instead he continued to watch and listen.
“Come here, my saucy little serving wench,” growled Thranduil playfully, nearly catching hold of her dress. He stopped at the end of the table, and she stopped at her end. With a gleam in his eye, he leaped up onto the table, and after steadying his slippery feet, walked over the top of it. The serving wench let out a little squeak as she scurried away from the table and to the pantry door, struggling to open it with her wet hands.
Thranduil had reached her in an instant and turned her around, pinning her against the door with her wrists held firm by one of his hands. A knee forced her legs apart and his other hand pulled down the skirt she was wearing. It fell to the floor in a wet, sloppy heap as Thranduil’s mouth crushed against hers. Galathil bit his hand when he noticed that the elleth was wearing no undergarments.
Quickly, Thranduil’s leggings were in a soppy pile around his ankles and he was taking full advantage of the current situation. Even through the first moans of delight to the cries of ecstasy at the end of the coupling, Galathil did not take his eyes from them.
No longer was his stomach a bother to him, for he found he had a hunger of another kind. Creeping away before he was discovered, he finally managed to push his pride aside and ask one of the many elves he was constantly passing for directions back to his rooms.
At dinner that evening, he came early. Galathil had every intention of giving the ‘saucy server’ a knowing smirk, and perhaps even inquiring with his cousin whether or not she had a sister. When the elleth sat down at the table, Galathil’s eyes were nearly as wide as the tea saucers. “Cousin,” said Thranduil, taking hold of the elleth’s hand, “I do not believe I have ever introduced you, though I have made mention of her in letters. My wife,” he said, kissing her hand gently.
As Galathil stumbled over the words, “Pleased to meet you, princess,” Thranduil’s wife turned to him with a sigh and said, “I TOLD you he was watching us!”
-End-
