Fallen: 25. Chapter Twenty-Five

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25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Returning from the borders for some rest – he never liked it. It always felt as though he was admitting he couldn’t defend himself. He knew exactly why that feeling bothered him, but he could never talk about it. Over a hundred years had passed since he had returned. As soon as he had fulfilled his promise, and sent anonymous letters to those who mourned for the missing, he had set to work on forgetting. There was no letter for his father. Merenon had gone missing too, while searching for him months after everyone else had given up. Sometimes he wondered about that, and he remembered Merenon’s green, laughing eyes, his enthusiasm for life… so like someone else that sometimes he was almost glad he didn’t have the reminder. He still refused to talk about where he had been and what had happened to him – even to his own father. And he really had tried to forget. Most of the time he succeeded. But still, helplessness was a terrible thing.

That was partly the reason he was so glad that his father hadn’t been able to lock the creature, Gollum, away. Such a sad thing it was. Legolas knew only too well what it was like to be captured by the enemy. Really, there was no wonder he was maddened and incoherent. Tonight he would rest, and when he awoke he would study himself in the mirror, trying to see if there was any indication of the scar he himself bore. He never did see it, but it was there, buried deep inside his mind. He would never be helpless again.

But now he walked with several other guards, and he lost himself in their conversation. He was well respected, well liked. Legolas was sometimes quiet but always dependable: a Prince who was a formidable archer. It didn’t matter to them the reasons for it. Prince Legolas was their pride, and their comrade. A role model for the younger generation since Daeron had retired to spend time with the King as his advisor. In turn, he genuinely enjoyed their company, and he hoped none of them would ever know loss.

“It seems Gollum has climbed a tree again, and he is refusing to come down,” remarked the elf wryly. Legolas sighed at that. Those around him shared his pity, though for different reasons. He was glad of it. There were those who took the view that Gollum should be locked up for his own safety, but Legolas was glad that those elves were few and far between.

“He will come down when he is ready to eat,” Legolas observed, and his companion nodded. Legolas smiled. “And talking of food…” he said, when he noticed the ‘Welcome Home’ preparations were already begun. The others around him grinned, and a few ran into the arms of those awaiting their return. He smiled again. Tonight would be a good night.

The patrols stayed on the borders for weeks at a time. And while for Legolas this wasn’t too much of a hardship, for some of the older Captains it was a great thing to return. They had families. Some had lovers that they missed desperately. Legolas had no one, although he wasn’t short of offers. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the welcome home just as much. Good food, good company. And of course he could catch up with his father. Yes, coming home was a good thing. But before a week had passed he would be longing to return. He enjoyed fighting a little too much. But his experience was such that the King would never forbid him to go. Besides, his strength was not in politics.




Much later, Legolas strolled in the quieter parts of his home. It had indeed been a good night. Music, dancing, wine. He had been propositioned several times, but this evening he wanted to take for himself. He had several casual lovers, who knew what they were and didn’t ask for any more than he was willing to give. But he always preferred to spend his first evening back in reflection.

None of the elves he enjoyed being with could hold a candle to a certain dream he once had. Maglor. He still thought about him. Legolas hoped that he had crossed the sea safely, and it was only on nights like this that he gave any thought to him at all. Tomorrow he would forget again, and lose himself in life. He really wasn’t unhappy.

Wandering through the woods, he came to a largish tree with a couple of guards posted beneath it, and when they realised who he was they saluted immediately. So this was where Gollum had decided to hide out. He motioned for the guards to be at ease, and looked up curiously into the branches of the tree. A muffled singsong voice could be heard. Gollum was talking to himself.

“We wants to be free, precious. Don’t we? Yes, we wants to be let go! Horrible elves’ watching us down there.” A sudden rustling and Legolas caught sight of a tormented face peering at him through the leaves. He frowned, and the face disappeared. A horrible laugh floated down, and the guards looked at each other and shivered.

“He does that a lot,” explained one of them to Legolas. “It’s really eerie if you ask me, how he talks to himself. As if there were two of him.” Legolas looked up again, but there was no movement now.

“Two of him. Yes. There is you, isn’t there, precious? And there is… me!” The disconcerting laugh again. “We is sorry!” Now the voice sounded genuinely sad. “But we wants to be free, we wants it so much, we will be hiding in this tree.” Gollum giggled at the rhyme. Legolas shook his head and made to walk on. Such a sad fate.

As he walked away, a slight movement caught his eye. Legolas looked suddenly to the left of him. Orcs! How had they got here? Was it possible they had sneaked past those on watch? Legolas was never unarmed, even for a night of dancing. It was one of the things his lovers teased him about. But now he was glad of insisting on it. He fitted an arrow to his bow, and fired at the first pair of yellow eyes he caught moving in the bushes. The two guards were only a second or so behind him, and their arrows flew straight too.

There were a couple of pained grunts and sounds of falling in the brush, but then suddenly the entire woods seemed to be twinkling with shining eyes. Legolas cursed, and then he had a sudden vision of those on guard at the edges of the safe area lying dead. Outnumbered and slaughtered easily.

“Prince Legolas! We must retreat. They have come for the creature, I’m sure of it! Let us hasten to give the tidings that orcs run in the woods!” There was sense in the argument, and Legolas turned to the guards, and he saw what they did. There was no retreat – they were surrounded.

The first wave was easily despatched, but more came, and they began to crowd in on the three elves. They switched to swords when the orcs came too close for use of the bow, but the two guards were quickly overpowered. Legolas frowned. None of the orcs would challenge him. Why not? He cut a couple down where they stood, and still there were none for him to fight, but then he looked forward and he gasped. An elf walked towards him, through the ugly crowding of orcs he almost seemed to shine, and he was so very familiar. He looked just like Legolas. After all this time.

“‘Athân!” Legolas stayed still and waited as the vision came closer. Was it true? Had he come home? He found himself embraced by his own son, and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, fighter and warrior, began to cry happy tears. He hadn’t told anyone about ‘Athân. He thought he never would. But now he was home.

Adar,” ‘Athân breathed into Legolas’ ear, and then he was being kissed. It should be wrong, but it wasn’t. It shouldn’t be natural, but it was. He knew these lips, this face, this body as well as his own. A sudden hunger burned in Legolas and he kissed back with a fiery passion that his lovers’ had never known.

The orcs were forgotten, and there was only this, only them, only him. A frenzied kind of lust that needed to be sated, almost like a desperate thirst for knowledge. Legolas wasn’t sure who was where, who did what. He became confused as to who was who in the tumbling together on the ground, and the tangling of long limbs. He saw through both sets of eyes and watched himself.

A warm hand stroked against his thigh. Smooth skin beneath his palm, pale and beautiful. And as if their touches could speak, Legolas thought his words so strongly he could hear them.

*Never wanted to leave you there, not really. I had no choice.*

It was incest and narcissism perfectly combined, it was almost a blessing, almost right. His son! Taking this stranger he knew so well, making love to a reflection, it was almost a sin, almost wrong. His father! And ‘Athân answered with his hands and his kisses.

*I know. I’m sorry, Adar. So sorry.*

If there was time for tears this was surely it, but they wouldn’t come. There was only the welcoming home, and the joyful reunion.

*Please, don’t be sorry.*

Time slowed for them, and an eternity was theirs for the taking. This was different. This was real. This was hunger and satisfaction. And their words mingled too, their thoughts, their feelings.

*No, don’t regret. Love me.*

Did it matter anymore who spoke, or who thought, when their flesh was one and the same? Just to be closer, to melt together in heat. To share each other.

*Hold me. Be with me.*

They only removed enough of their clothes to carry out the act, and Legolas wasn’t sure which position he was in, or if they changed. Such burning pain. He moaned at the feel of it, and he was sorry for hurting him. It was fast but it lasted a lifetime. He saw everything he had ever done, everywhere he had ever been, and everyone he had ever known. None of it compared to this.

When it was over he looked into ‘Athân’s eyes for a long moment, touched his face with shaking hands, and his son looked back at him with his own eyes. He became aware of the orcs again, because they pulled ‘Athân away from him. ‘Athân fought against them uselessly.

Legolas stood, and then too calmly, he bent down to pick up the dropped weapons from the ground.

“No! No!” ‘Athân screamed for a second before roughened hands covered his mouth. Legolas looked at him, and his father screamed again. This time silently. Helplessly. The future was over. Legolas watched until the vision was over, then he shook his head in the manner of someone waking from a dream. His life had just begun. And it began with driving the orcs back from this part of Mirkwood. Later, Legolas would find that they had lost Gollum during the attack.




Now he looked into familiar blue eyes, but they were familiar for a different reason. Legolas’ first reaction had been absolute terror on finding himself back here. He knew so well where this was. But after some time spent panicking, he reasoned to himself he was not the same youngster who had been held here so long ago. And hadn’t he and Maglor escaped before? He began to wander the endless maze of rooms and corridors, looking for the stairs that would show the way out, but he couldn’t find them. He wondered if they were deliberately veiled from him, but then Maglor had entered the room he was in, and Legolas simply couldn’t comprehend why he was here.

“Maglor…?” he said uncertainly. He hadn’t seen Maglor for nearly a century, and yet he didn’t remember the other elf looking quite like this. There was something a little too cold in his gaze, a little wrong. He shivered, although it was quite warm.

“I’m not in the mood for your games, ‘Athân.” He spoke quickly. “Where is your father?” he demanded impatiently before Legolas had time for his first words to sink in.

“My father?” he said in confusion. “Thranduil…?” What did he have to do with any of this? A look of disgust and hatred flitted over Maglor’s face.

“Forget it,” he said dismissively. And then Legolas understood. He reached out to grasp Maglor’s arm.

“No!” he protested, wanting to confide in his old friend, however it was he happened to be here. “You don’t understand. It’s me…” Maglor simply stared at him. “It’s Legolas.” For a second there was something of warmth in the other elf’s eyes, but then it was gone. He pushed Legolas away from him.

“You’ve been driven mad by the idea,” he suggested, unmoved by Legolas’ look of horror, or the shaking of his head. “What’s the matter with you? You’re an elf! You don’t lose your mind – not here!” His words brought his imprisonment from before to mind so clearly that Legolas whimpered, and backed away, seeking an escape from the accusations. “Stop it! Stop trying to be him or I swear I’ll kill you!” He cringed away from the other elf’s raised hand, but the blow never fell, and Legolas unknowingly spoke his thoughts out loud.

“Ezelpathân…” whispered Legolas faintly to no one in particular. “It means Legolas!” Maglor gave him a look of pure revulsion. “You don’t believe me!” he said then, suddenly understanding exactly why. ‘Athân had been here before, and to Maglor, that is who he was. Maglor laughed harshly.

“I have to go.” Legolas didn’t have the heart to stop him. He didn’t know the words to use to convince Maglor who he was. At least, not yet. Later, he would bring their parting words to mind from so long ago, and remind Maglor of them so that they knew each other. Things would be different then.




Maglor came upon his Master in the giant bed he favoured. Sauron didn’t need to rest, but he did so because he enjoyed it. Maglor could appreciate that. He stood for a few moments, just watching the dark lord sleep. Things had indeed changed on his return. Although he was still Sauron’s slave, shaped and moulded to his will and desires in every way, he had more freedom. This place he occupied was a choice, and he found there were rewards involved. Watching his Master sleep was one of them.

Yes, things had definitely changed. One of Maglor’s greatest rewards had been a few months after his return when Sauron had showed him into a room and he found himself holding an armful of green-eyed, exuberant joy. There hadn’t been words for his delight and gratitude – but he knew not to take anything for granted, and he had become Mithedhel’s teacher at the same time as he had remained the perfect slave to his Master.

He couldn’t resist after a few minutes, and shed his clothes easily to creep beneath the covers. There was only one way to wake Sauron, something they both enjoyed. Underneath the bedclothes, Maglor took hold of his Master’s soft sex and began to lick and tease until he was hard enough for Maglor to take into his mouth. He heard Sauron moan above him as he awoke, and parted his legs so that Maglor could settle between them and dedicate himself to his task. It was so warm in here, like a secret world where all that existed was Sauron’s pleasure, and the very real sense of achievement and pride at being the one who pleased him.

There were times when Sauron used him roughly and quickly, with violence, especially his mouth, but to awaken his Master properly required finesse and attention to detail. Maglor brought to mind all the things that Sauron enjoyed and performed them for him now, actively enjoying every moan and sigh that he coaxed from Sauron’s lips. He knew Sauron so intimately by now, knew this part of him especially well. He knew that when he flicked his tongue just there that his Master would shiver deliciously, knew that when he moved up, letting Sauron’s hardness slide over the side of his face that Sauron would moan, imagining how it looked. And that when he closed his lips over the head and moved down, feeling every well-known ridge and vein, moving his tongue back and forth rhythmically that his Master would thrust into his mouth helplessly. Yes, Sauron could be made helpless by such things, and it aroused Maglor to know that.

He gave in to his own desire, drawing it out, making it last, savouring every last inch as he swallowed Sauron’s length. He used his hands too, caressing and teasing until at last Sauron came with a cry into his mouth. Maglor swallowed it all, and then enthusiastically cleaned his Master’s satiated flesh gently with his tongue like a cat. Eventually he moved up the bed and poked his head out of the covers to rest against Sauron’s chest at his encouragement.

“Good, mûl nín,” he sighed in satisfaction with his eyes closed. “Always so good. You always know what I want.” Maglor didn’t contradict his Master. He spoke the truth. He was aware that he had been made this way over millennia, and that he probably shouldn’t enjoy his role so much. But then he had to wonder. Sauron had given him the capacity to enjoy his enslavement too. He smiled happily, not caring one iota that Sauron had fashioned and shaped his desires. He was at peace here.

“Thank you, Herdir,” he replied quietly and respectfully. His own hardness rested against Sauron’s thigh, and his eyes slid half-closed when Sauron moved a little to gather Maglor fully into his warm embrace, rubbing his leg against his slave’s arousal too teasingly for it to be accidental. Maglor moaned wantonly, longing to rub himself against his Master, but knowing he mustn’t. Instead he took a deep breath in to compose himself and then began to speak. “I came to tell you that the orcs have brought news. Gollum has been retrieved from Mirkwood.”

“Excellent!” Maglor looked up sharply. The news wasn’t that good. He smiled.

“Legolas is back too,” he observed innocently, the smile still on his lips. Sauron looked at him and smiled back in confirmation.

“Yes, it has been a while,” he said, giving nothing away. Maglor rested his head against Sauron’s chest again for a while, and then after a few minutes, he spoke again.

“Will ‘Athân be able to help you… outside?” He was well aware by now of ‘Athân’s fate, but he hadn’t known when it was to happen. And still, he didn’t know what Sauron’s precise plans for him were. All he knew was that ‘Athân did not just look like Legolas, he was a perfect copy in every way, and Sauron had taught the child everything he would need to know to take his father’s place. He wondered how it had happened? What had Legolas thought when he saw himself? Sauron had mentioned to him once that there would be magic involved when they met, as ‘Athân would need to share some of Legolas’ memories.

“No,” Sauron replied, and Maglor was even more puzzled. “His time isn’t now. If everything went as it should then he doesn’t even remember being here. Simply put, he is his father. He may even fight against me, if he so wishes.” Maglor gasped at that. “But when he sails, I can take him over. Legolas will stay here, where I can keep an eye on his soul. The Valar undoubtedly know what I have done, but they cannot interfere. However, it wouldn’t do for Legolas’ family to find out the truth.” Maglor spent several minutes processing this information. Sauron’s plans took his breath away, they were so perfect, and he was in awe of his Master all over again. Then a very wicked thought occurred to him, and he smiled up at Sauron mischievously.

“Can I have him, Herdir?” Sauron finally took hold of his slave’s neglected arousal and began to caress him. Maglor’s eyes closed, and he willed himself to relax while Sauron played with him, turning his body and his pleasure over to his Master, to do what he would.

“If you want, mûl vain nín,” he said against Maglor’s hair while his hand continued to move up and down, over him again and again, making him tremble like a leaf in a rainstorm. “I can refuse you nothing.” Maglor moaned when the hand speeded up, and he turned his head away, only to moan again when he felt Sauron’s teeth graze his neck. “He will fade though,” Sauron said seriously against his throat, making his skin vibrate deliciously. “There is nothing to keep his body here, and my magic will not be enough this time.” Maglor writhed beneath Sauron’s attentions, but he was under control. It was something Sauron had always demanded from him.

“But there is,” he argued, managing to open his eyes and turn his head to share a secret smile with Sauron. “First,” Maglor said quietly, “he has to make me believe it’s him.” He was surprised when the hand stopped torturing him, and Sauron looked shocked for a moment. But then he laughed delightedly, pulling Maglor close to dominate his mouth with a hard and hungry kiss. Maglor submitted to that as he did to everything else.

“Oh, mûl vain nín,” he said at last, rolling over to trap Maglor beneath him, letting him feel how aroused he was, again. “You are perfect!” Sauron held Maglor’s arms against the bed, and ground his hips against his slave so that they both sighed together. Lust called to him, but Maglor continued, loving that he was pleasing Sauron like this.

“Then, he will try to save me.” He threw a quick, accusing glance up above him to indicate his trapped arms before wrapping his long legs around Sauron’s waist in clear invitation. Sauron grinned.

“I think I may have taught you too well,” he said, still laughing a little. “But save you from what, exactly?” He got an evil look that Maglor didn’t trust. “Would you like to play a game?” he asked suggestively, and Maglor felt fear instantly race up his spine like an icy finger. Still, the fear made his desire burn brighter, and he wanted Sauron more than ever.

“No,” he said truthfully.

“I didn’t think so…” And Maglor was sure that whatever game they were playing, it had already begun.


~ finis ~

To be continued in a sequel…

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: pippychick

Status: General

Completion: Complete

Era: 3rd Age - The Stewards

Genre: Drama

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 11/01/06

Original Post: 10/18/06

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