19. Chapter Nineteen
Over the next few weeks, Sauron’s threat was never far from Maglor’s mind. He didn’t see the dark lord again in all that time – but he did see ‘Athân – and Maglor began to pay attention to the child, watching for another instance where the mask of innocence would slip. It didn’t happen. But Maglor didn’t relax.
Shunning company from Legolas or Mithedhel, Maglor spent long periods of time alone, staring at nothing. The little uruk didn’t understand, of course, and more than once Legolas had to scold him for bothering Maglor with his endless questions. The young one was hurt by his sudden coldness, and sometimes there was nothing Maglor wanted to do more than take Mithedhel in his arms and comfort him. But he couldn’t.
It was a lonely time. Not only for him, but also for the Prince. They hadn’t been warned away from each other, but during the day they had no privacy without Mithedhel. Their nights became sad affairs, desperately seeking warmth and understanding from each other instead of the slow lovemaking they had known before.
At first Legolas had been adamant that he would go after Mithedhel himself when it came to that. He would go to the uruk hai and bring him back. But Maglor had become distraught at his words, convinced he would lose them both and be completely alone once more, until Legolas had relented and half-heartedly promised to stay. Although he was beginning to believe that ‘Athân was not what he seemed, Maglor didn’t mention his suspicions, and now he found that a help. Maglor used him on the Prince too, asking Legolas what it would mean to the young elf if he lost his brother and father at the same time. That, at last, seemed to have an effect on Legolas, and he sighed sadly, capitulating.
But sooner or later, it had to happen, and when it did Maglor was torn between following his heart, and obeying Sauron’s orders. As usual he awoke to find Mithedhel missing. The little uruk never went missing in the daytime; he and Legolas watched him too closely for that. At first, despite knowing it was impossible, Maglor had tried to stay awake, to keep an eye on the young one. After a week or two, he began falling asleep without meaning to, and he cursed himself now for falling asleep this time.
His instincts screamed at him to find Mithedhel and bring him back. He knew the little uruk would have gone to Golrakh, and for an instant he was sorry that he had convinced Legolas not to go after him. Maglor considered waking the Prince up, but then didn’t. Maglor hoped and prayed that Mithedhel had got there safely. But what would happen when he had enough of being there too and Maglor hadn’t arrived to take him back? Would he disappear? Would Golrakh allow Mithedhel to leave them without an escort?
Questions raised themselves over and over in his mind, and his fear for Mithedhel was such that he was oblivious to everything else. But through it all he didn’t move. He knew Sauron’s threat was real – and what would it mean if he saved Mithedhel from something that might happen, only to lose him to something that would definitely happen as a result of his disobedience? He looked to ‘Athân. He seemed to be asleep, but Maglor knew he couldn’t risk it, and with a weary, worried sigh, Maglor fell back onto the pillows. At least now he wouldn’t sleep, he thought bitterly.
Looking around now that he had made the decision, he realised he wasn’t alone. A large shadow stood just inside the door watching him, and Maglor was suddenly so glad that he hadn’t moved from the bed he almost cried out.
Sauron came closer, and at a word from him, a large candle in a sconce on the wall flared to life, throwing its light over his features. He was dressed, and he came to sit on the bed beside Maglor. Sauron didn’t say a word, but Maglor could see that the dark lord knew of his internal struggle. A faint smile was on his lips, and as always he looked as though he were amused at the thought of Maglor’s suffering, but he didn’t comment on it, and for all that Maglor found himself strangely disappointed. It wasn’t as if his Master would say anything to ease him. Rather the opposite, in fact. But still, he missed the acknowledgement. Instead, Sauron gave him an order.
“Turn over.” It was impossible for Maglor to judge what kind of mood Sauron was in from his voice. Not that it would make much difference to him, anyway. He complied immediately, without question and without resentment. This was his place. Maglor didn’t even think about it anymore.
He lay face down on the bed with his face buried in his hands, waiting for what was to come next. He was aware that Sauron moved slightly, then he felt the dark lord’s hand on the back of his head. Using the palm of his hand, he slowly moved his hand down, the firm pressure and warmth moving over Maglor’s shoulders and back, over his buttocks and the back of his legs, brushing away the covers from him at the same time. He knew it should be demeaning to be touched like this. After all, he was being petted. And Sauron surely did it purposefully. But he simply couldn’t help himself. Maglor sighed. When the hand returned to his hair he moved slightly into the touch, eager to feel it again, and he heard Sauron laugh quietly.
By the time Sauron had repeated the action another two or three times, Maglor was moaning for his Master’s attention. It felt so good! He couldn’t hate Sauron’s touch. And to be caressed like this didn’t feel sexual at all; it felt comforting and relaxing. When Sauron stopped Maglor almost whimpered, and he turned his head lazily as Sauron stood up. He rested his head on his arms and just watched while Sauron undressed. He didn’t move. Sauron hadn’t told him to move, and so he waited.
He looked away again when Sauron returned to the bed. This time the dark lord didn’t sit alongside him, but moved to cover the length of his body. Maglor parted his legs to give room and consciously relaxed, not expecting anything else by way of preparation, and he was right. The sudden penetration took his breath away though, as always, and as always there was still pain despite Maglor’s careful preparation with oil. He expected the feeling to fade, but it didn’t. Sauron took him in such a way that he felt the burning every time. He would pull out slowly, almost teasing, so that Maglor moaned into the pillows, then suddenly thrust in so that he cried out. Instinctively, Maglor moved forward slightly, away from the intrusion, and Sauron took hold of his shoulders firmly and pulled him back to his original place.
“Stay,” he commanded, just as he would an animal, and Maglor knew he would obey. He pushed back to meet his Master, trying not to let the strength of the thrusts push him forward on the bed. Maglor simultaneously loved and hated Sauron to take him this way. His larger form was somehow smothering like this, and it almost made Maglor feel a kind of claustrophobia. But at the same time, something about his weight was comforting. Sauron’s skin felt warm against his back, and somehow he felt less vulnerable, less exposed.
The dark lord reached forward so that he could grasp Maglor hands, and they stayed this way for a while. The rhythm settled down, and Maglor found it less uncomfortable. He wasn’t told to be quiet either, so he moaned without abandon, as always the simple act of being taken by his Master making him hard, and he felt his erection rubbing against the bedclothes in time with Sauron’s thrusts.
After a while, it didn’t seem to be enough for Sauron, and he pushed deep inside Maglor before putting an arm around his waist and pulling him up so that he was on his knees before Sauron. At least, he was nearly on his knees. The dark lord had pulled Maglor back against his chest at the same time so that he held Maglor’s weight with that one arm. He could almost take his own weight, but not quite. Maglor let his head fall back, closing his eyes, aware of his hair cascading over Sauron’s shoulder. He let his own hands drop and take hold of Sauron’s arm around his waist just as the dark lord began to take him again. With his weight like this, Maglor had no control whatsoever, and his cries were almost whimpers.
Sauron gently brushed Maglor’s hair aside with his free hand, then leaned in close, his breath hot and ragged over the sensitive skin of his neck. Sauron took hold of one of his slave’s hands and led it down so that he held his own hardness in his grip. What he wanted was obvious, and Maglor obeyed him in this too, beginning to move his hand without Sauron’s encouragement. He moaned desperately now, needing to let out what was happening to him in one way or another.
“Louder,” Sauron whispered in his ear quietly, and it was easy to comply. But then he realised that being told to make a noise was different to being allowed. It seemed that his cries only made it more difficult to hold back, and it wasn’t long before he was begging.
“P-Please… Aulendil…” He didn’t need to beg more than once. Sauron chuckled into his ear, still keeping up the fast pace for a moment longer, before he stopped and whispered.
“Anytime, mûl vain nín.” Maglor came a few seconds afterwards, somehow unable to help watching himself spill all over the bed before him. He felt strangely detached from his own orgasm, even though it was his own hand doing the work. When it was over Sauron let him down gently so that Maglor took his own weight again. Then he pushed Maglor forward and down, so that he ended up on his knees with his face pushed down into the pillows. After that Sauron began moving again, and now it was a fast, purposeful rhythm.
For the first time, Maglor truly felt he was being used. His Master was hard and merciless inside him, and Maglor’s early satisfaction only made him want to plead for Sauron to be careful. He tensed up automatically whenever Sauron brushed against the sensitive gland inside him, the stimulation feeling uncomfortable now. In response his Master hit that same spot over and over, moaning when Maglor’s body tensed up repeatedly around him. After some minutes spent using Maglor this way, Sauron came, and with that he pushed Maglor down to the bed completely so that they were in the same position they had started in.
Sauron said nothing, he just lay on Maglor, almost crushing the elf beneath him. Then he pulled out so suddenly that Maglor hissed and buried his face in the pillows again. He moved away, and Maglor was sure it was over until he felt the heat of Sauron’s palm on his hair again. Again the hand traversed the length of his body, while he shivered beneath it, realising that he was a pet of sorts to Sauron. Still, he couldn’t help but be soothed by it.
“Thank you, Herdir,” he said softly.
“Shh…” The dark lord managed to be comforting like this, and Maglor cried for his loss of self. He needed something to replace what was missing, and as always he received it. “Beautiful,” Sauron whispered, and the word made everything all right, stole away his tears. He was where he should be, and he had done well. He had pleased his Master. This was all he ever needed. The pain and discomfort were only objects on the way to this gentleness. This soft touch and quiet word that was almost kindness, and Maglor was more grateful for this than for his release.
“Tell me.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command, a demand to know what he was feeling, and where he was. Maglor answered honestly as always.
“I love.” He didn’t say ‘I love you’; it wasn’t that kind of love. This was dark, destructive, and unwholesome. There was nothing for free here, and love shouldn’t exist with him. But it did. It was different, but it was there, and it seemed to be enough for Sauron.
“Show me.” Although Maglor would always do what Sauron wanted, there were times when his orders made Maglor’s heart sing in the same way a kiss from a lover might have gladdened him before he came here. There were times when to do his will made his soul sigh in the same way that thankfulness for life and Arda gave him peace before. And this was one of those times. Without even thinking about it, Maglor grabbed at Sauron’s wrist. He turned over on the bed and looked into his Master’s eyes while he reverentially kissed his palm, and then the inside of his wrist.
“Meleth nín…” The words were sighed rather than spoken. Maglor sat up and wrapped his arms around the dark lord’s neck. Encouraged by Sauron’s silence, he buried his face in the dark lord’s hair for a moment, inhaling deeply.
“Hîr nín…” Another breath, and then with his eyes wide open, Maglor turned his head slightly and brushed their lips together. It was a brief kiss, all the more meaningful for it’s seeming innocence.
“Herdir nín,” he said at the last against the dark lord’s lips, and then pulled back a little. During this display Sauron had been silent and just watched him, allowed him to do what he would. Now for the first time he saw how coldly Sauron’s eyes glittered in the small amount of light that came from the torch on the wall, and Maglor trembled.
“Tell me,” he demanded again.
“I fear,” Maglor replied in the manner of a confession, wanting to look away from that cold glare but unable to.
“Show me.” And then Sauron was kissing him deeply. Maglor surrendered gracefully, leaning back a little and finding himself supported by Sauron’s arm. He trembled at this reminder of Sauron’s unnatural strength, and whimpered into the kiss when he felt Sauron’s other hand caress his neck as a reminder of what he could do if he wished. Maglor didn’t forget that his Master had more than one identity. Sauron plundered Maglor’s mouth for a time, seeming to enjoy his slave’s trembling and submissive behaviour. When the dark lord ended the kiss, his hand moved down over the front of Maglor’s exposed body slowly, pausing to circle a nipple with his thumb, rubbing in the seed that his skin had picked up from the sheets, and watching for his slave’s reaction. The hand moved lower still. With the fear, Maglor had become aroused again, and he gasped when Sauron’s hand closed around his erection. He pulled at Maglor’s hardened member slightly, just teasing, and looked into his eyes.
“And now?” he asked.
“I obey,” Maglor answered with no hesitation. Sauron smiled then at last, and Maglor closed his eyes to shut out the sight as the hand around him began to stroke him more vigorously.
“That’s right,” Sauron said while he continued to pleasure his slave. But this wasn’t really pleasure. It was a test. And when Maglor thought he must lose all control, he found that for as long as he didn’t have the word, release was impossible and he moaned not in pleasure, but almost in pain. Finally, Sauron’s hand stopped moving, although it didn’t leave him.
“Now,” he commanded expectantly, and he wasn’t disappointed. Without any further encouragement, Maglor climaxed for the second time in his Master’s hand. When he was finished, Sauron lay Maglor back down on the bed, and wiped the seed from his hand in a diagonal line over his slave’s chest and belly.
“Thank you, Herdir.” He said what was expected of him, and Sauron smirked at the sight of him, before dressing and beginning to walk away. He turned at the door.
“Sleep.” It was more than a suggestion, and Maglor stared at his Master for the last few moments of consciousness, before he fell into a deep and restful sleep.
Despite the magical sleep, Maglor awoke long before Legolas and ‘Athân, and once he had cleaned himself and the bed, he waited for the day to begin, hoping that Mithedhel would be brought back to them when Golrakh came to collect ‘Athân.
When Legolas awoke, Maglor told him of Mithedhel’s disappearance, and it was only then that he realised his mistake. Sickened with his own worry, he hadn’t even thought about how Legolas would react. Oh, he had known Legolas would be worried and upset, as much as he was, but he had been blind to exactly what it would mean.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Legolas demanded, as he paced the small room they shared. He would occasionally walk to the door, obviously considering venturing out into the fortress despite the dangers. And Maglor didn’t know how to calm him. Especially since it seemed he had made a mistake by letting him sleep.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. But you couldn’t do anything for him, Legolas.” Maglor felt frozen in place when the blond prince whirled on him and for the first time he realised that Legolas was elven royalty. There was something cold about his eyes now.
“And so you take it upon yourself to decide if I should or shouldn’t know straight away? You are mistaken, Maglor! It is my right to know.” He glared for a while longer, but then his conviction seemed to falter and his eyes filled with tears when he looked at the bed and saw only one child lying there. “He is my son,” Legolas whispered then, seemingly to himself, and fell to his knees beside the bed.
It seemed like the wrong thing to do, to watch the young one cry for his lost son, but Maglor knew his comfort would not be accepted. He had certainly made a mistake by not waking Legolas up at the first opportunity. Of course he would want to know, even if there was nothing he could do. Maglor blamed himself, but then he told himself that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Mithedhel’s disappearance was not his fault. Thinking that, Maglor silently busied himself with other things, keeping calm, still hoping that the morning would bring the young uruk back to them. He couldn’t begin to consider any other possibility.
In comparison Legolas was short-tempered all morning. His worry and his fear were never far from his face, and it showed up in his treatment of ‘Athân. He cleaned and dressed the youngster in a shorter space of time than usual after breakfast, as if he was hurrying the day along. When it came to combing ‘Athân’s hair, Legolas actually hurt the young elf, and he protested, only to be told off by his father. It was only by chance that Maglor heard the whispered insult. He had decided not to get in Legolas’ way, but the sound of Quenya caught his attention, and he looked towards them.
“Stupid elf!” It must have been ‘Athân. Legolas didn’t know Quenya, and he saw that it was indeed the child. He was stood in front of Legolas, out of sight of his father’s eyes, and the look on his face was knowing, and chilling.
“What are you looking at?” he asked Maglor, sneering. The comment had been directed at Legolas then. Probably for pulling his hair with the comb.
“How dare you speak of your father like that!” Maglor replied, giving in and speaking the old language at last. “Show more respect!” ‘Athân only smiled coldly – the inanimate smile of a doll – and Maglor suppressed a shiver as the room almost seemed to darken, throwing ‘Athân into stark contrast, as if he was the only real thing left.
“Oh, but I do respect my father.” It was impossible to mistake his meaning, and suddenly ‘Athân didn’t seem like a child at all. At least, not in spirit. With his child’s voice his next words almost didn’t make sense to Maglor. And when he did catch the meaning, he wished he hadn’t. “Not nearly as much as you do, though.”
They stared at each other. The room darkened still further, and Maglor felt power slipping away from him. Power over a child. This was ridiculous! “Be quiet!” he insisted sternly, but ‘Athân wasn’t even nearly done.
The humourless grin was still there, as if ‘Athân was a puppet of sorts, but his next words put paid to that idea. ‘Athân asked the questions with a clear and sincere desire for knowledge. But these were not really a child’s questions. “Slave. What does it feel like? Do you really like it?” Maglor involuntarily took a step backwards. He shook his head, as if the action would make ‘Athân’s words go away. Surely the child was not conspiring with Sauron in this? But he was. “He lets me stay awake sometimes. You know… so that I can watch? He’s right about you, too. You’re very obedient.” Now Maglor did shiver. Something about all this was so very wrong, and disturbing. It was an insult to the form of the elf child who stood before him.
“What are you?” he breathed. The question being the only reply he could give. ‘Athân laughed – and his laugh was as innocent and childlike as ever.
“I’m an elf!” But something in his eyes still wasn’t right. Something in there seemed to know too much, was too old.
“You know what I mean!” Maglor almost shouted it, desperate to make all this stop. It had seemed up until now that the rest of the world had ceased to exist, and there were only ‘Athân and himself still here, and still talking. Now everything else came back with a rush and Maglor found himself bewildered by the light and the noise.
“What is it?” Legolas demanded impatiently. “What are you both talking about?” He looked to Maglor, and maybe he saw the fear, or maybe he just saw someone he still didn’t want to talk to. Maglor stared back at Legolas helplessly and shook his head.
“He…” Maglor gestured to the child. “He’s not what you think, Legolas!” he managed to gasp out. He continued to look at the Prince, but he was horribly conscious of the little mouth curving upwards in a cold, cruel smile. His gaze was drawn back down to ‘Athân and he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to see any more, but it seemed it wasn’t over yet.
“What am I?” ‘Athân whispered, still speaking Quenya. “I am a reminder. I am a watcher. Be careful, mólinya.” And Maglor could see Sauron’s dark presence staring out of those blue eyes as clearly as if he was in the room. The sheer insult of using the child this way made him uncharacteristically angry.
“Stop it!” he shouted. “I don’t believe this! It’s not real!” ‘Athân laughed silently, and then turned toward Legolas, burying his face in the other elf’s chest, still shaking with his laughter in an uncanny imitation of tears.
“What did you say to him?” Legolas asked in suspicion at ‘Athân seeming upset. He held his child close, and Maglor didn’t know how to say it.
“Me?” he said disbelievingly, certain that Legolas couldn’t have failed to feel the menace and sheer evil in the room, even if he didn’t understand the words. “You don’t understand, Legolas…” Something occurred to Maglor then, and it was a thought that made him shudder. When he spoke the words he had the feeling there was something else he was trying to say, something he would understand if he knew more, if he had a clearer view. “He is his father’s son.”
Legolas stared at him and then sighed and shook his head. “Leave us alone.”
Leave him alone? With that? Maglor faced his fear and drew nearer, reaching past the hateful child to take hold of Legolas’ hand. “Please! Don’t be like this. Don’t push me away. Not now.” He should have put a stop to it before this. He should have heeded his intuition much earlier, and stopped the unnatural closeness between Legolas and ‘Athân, because Maglor suddenly saw that it could be nothing but bad for the young one. What would it do to him when he did see what ‘Athân really was?
“I don’t want to talk to you.” Legolas said, and he looked hurt then. “It’s not me who has been doing the pushing away.” Maglor felt hurt too, remembering their days that had turned so silent and coldly real. Legolas continued. “I have wanted you, when I was lonely. But I was wrong.”
How could he say such a thing? Maglor had been keeping them all safe. It had been for their sake. “Please, Legolas,” he began in a low voice, almost unwilling to talk of such things in front of ‘Athân, although it was obvious now he understood too much. “You know why I have to –”
“Yes!” Legolas snapped, and then for a moment Maglor saw compassion in his eyes. But he also saw disbelief. Legolas thought he was losing his hold on reality. He watched as the Prince tightened his embrace around ‘Athân, rocking him slightly, and he had to hold back from tearing the child from Legolas’ arms to show him. Maglor had a strong feeling that such an action would only prove Legolas right. He couldn’t win here. He never won. It was a lesson he had learnt more than once, but it was bitter to see it applied to others; when there was more at stake than just himself. “Just leave us alone,” Legolas said quietly but firmly. “You’ve done enough.”
Herdir – Master
Hîr nín – my Lord
Mûl (vain) nín – my (beautiful) slave
Meleth nín, Hîr nín, Herdir nín – my Love, my Lord, my Master
mólinya – my slave (Quenya)