3. Chapter Three
The dark lord stood in the centre of his forest – he made a tall and imposing figure. As if he knew the woods were waiting for him to move, or to speak, he stood perfectly still and quiet, looking down on the elven Prince at his feet. Legolas was curled up unconscious on the ground beneath a giant sycamore; dry, soundless sobs making his entire body quiver. His gaze took in the deep, bleeding scratches on Legolas’ arms and legs, and then he glanced around at the wood, a cruel, amused smile on his lips.
“In another time and place, he and his kind belong to you.” Sauron’s voice was deep, powerful, and surprisingly warm. The sound of it almost robbed his words of their mockery – but not quite.
The forest processed the sentiment slowly, and then suddenly its hunger for company increased so much that it could be felt in the air. The trees loomed menacingly above the two figures in the centre of the wood. As before, not one of them seemed to move, and yet somehow they were blocking out more of the light. A hollow, empty darkness descended, and for a moment or two Sauron allowed it.
The trees crowded around their Master, each one looking as if it had always been there. There was no longer a path out, and the strange feeling of intense expectancy returned. But at that point Sauron simply raised his hand, and the vines and brambles which had started to creep silently from the cover of the trees stopped just short of his feet. The darkness and the threat passed, held in check by magic, leaving behind an ages old resentment and malignancy. But now Sauron turned his attention back to Legolas, who began to stir.
Legolas awoke to the sound of a familiar voice that filled him with dread. For a few moments he didn’t open his eyes, but then he sensed his injuries and they flew open of their own accord. The first thing he saw was Sauron’s feet, almost touching him. Legolas didn’t look up, but began to move away slowly, taking in his surroundings as he did so. A forest? His eyes widened in amazement. How did he get here? He finally looked to Sauron for an answer as he stood up, but the dark lord was simply watching him impassively, in the same way a spider might watch a fly that is close to its web.
Legolas backed away warily, keeping his eyes fixed on Sauron as the dark lord advanced on him. He felt a tree behind him, and he gasped in shock; his mind was suddenly filled with feelings and images as he remembered everything that had passed before he lost consciousness. He experienced shock at the amount of time he had been held captive again; his panicked escape; his joy on finding the forest, and then… He started away from the tree violently, turning to face this new threat, but a second later he remembered there had been nowhere to go.
He bumped into Sauron, and the dark lord’s arms closed around him possessively, warm and alive, trapping Legolas’ hands at his sides, and pressing their bodies together. He froze instinctively. There was an awful feeling of finality being in his arms like this; it was like being embraced by death, and Legolas shivered. He felt Sauron’s breath on his neck an instant before he felt lips brush softly over his skin. Legolas sighed, unable even to think of stopping it, and he felt those lips curve into a smile as Sauron continued to kiss his throat.
He could feel Sauron’s body heat through the thin material of the robes he wore, and it reminded him of his own nakedness. He felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable, all the more so because they were being watched. In spite of his discouraging stillness, Legolas was uncomfortably aware of Sauron’s growing arousal. The hardness was nudging him, rubbing against him, and all he could think was ‘no’. He said nothing though, desperately wrenching his attention away to think about the forest. Despite what it had done to him he felt a wave of sympathy and empathy for the wood. They were in the same position after all; playthings of the enemy, dominated by his will.
Sauron’s lips moved to his ear and Legolas’ breath caught in his throat. One of the hands that were holding him dropped down to his member and began to coax an erection from him. Skilful fingers, using just the right amount of pressure. Squeezing, pulling, tugging at him. It was indescribable, irresistible. The feeling was everything, and soon Legolas was moaning again, this time for his Master. He was displayed for the forest to see, and every sound he made was swallowed up by the silence like a desert devours the rain. He knew that Sauron was using him to torment the wood, and the thought made his eyes fill with tears, but he couldn’t stop it. He leaned back into the dark lord’s arms, wanting only to forget where he was, but then Sauron whispered to him.
“Everything in this world will fall to me. Did you really think your beloved woods would be any different?” The words were enough to chill his blood, but the voice was so charming, so perfectly confident. Indeed, Sauron made the nightmare sound so predictable and inevitable that Legolas turned his head away, unable to reconcile it.
Sauron’s hand was still caressing him, slowly, torturously, and Legolas was glad for a moment because it stopped him from thinking. He didn’t want to think. He couldn’t imagine the Greenwood having such a fate, being under his control, being like this. Legolas moaned again, and now there was a note of protest in it.
The dark lord laughed softly at his reaction. “Yes,” he continued, and Legolas wanted to raise his hands to cover his ears, but his arms were still trapped. “All will be mine; and you, I promise, shall live to see it.” At this Sauron’s hand left Legolas’ aching hardness, and he couldn’t bite back his cry of dismay. Sauron’s fingers skimmed lightly across his belly. “You will see it, with my child in your arms.”
And there it was. Sauron’s words were irrefutable. He left Legolas with nothing to say, nothing to respond to. This was not a conversation. If he hadn’t been held, Legolas would surely have fallen – was he to spend his immortality as Sauron’s companion? His legs refused to support him anymore and his head fell back onto Sauron’s shoulder. Immediately the dark lord’s lips covered his. Legolas’ lips parted in surprise and Sauron’s tongue pushed into his mouth, probing, tasting. And he couldn’t stop that, in the same way he couldn’t stop Sauron’s hands, in the same way he couldn’t banish Sauron’s words. Persuasive, seductive, a cruel parody of comfort; they tumbled over and over in his mind, refusing to let him be.
Breaking the kiss, Sauron pulled back a little, and Legolas just looked up at him, dazed and confused. His body still screamed for Sauron’s attention, needing the contact again, and Legolas wanted to say 'don’t stop.’ But the sight of the dark lord stole the words from his mind. Something about the gloom and the dead silence suited Sauron. The limited amount of light found his dark eyes, making them glitter. The silence seemed to wait for him to speak. His black hair gleamed softly, and Legolas almost wanted to reach out and touch it. He was dangerous, and a monster, but still he was so dazzling and perfect. So…
“Beautiful,” the dark lord said, licking his lips, and with that the spell was broken.
Legolas came back to his senses when Sauron spoke, and now at last he began to fight. What kind of magic did he have, that he could make a Prince of elves desire him? It didn’t matter. He broke free of Sauron’s grip – too easily – and immediately began to run. He didn’t care that there was nowhere to run to except the forest. He didn’t care that he would more than likely be caught even if he escaped the woods. All he wanted was to get away from Sauron, and the sense of unreality the dark lord brought to his mind.
He heard Sauron speak a word behind him, and then suddenly what had been a clear path before was blocked by a solid wall of trees. He slowed down as he reached them and rested his hands on the trunks of the trees at either side of his head, almost hitting them in his frustration. He swore bitterly, and then stood still for a few moments, catching his breath, listening to his heartbeat slow down, until the terrible predicament of the wood made him want to end the contact. He lifted his hands away, almost in a gesture of peace to the forest, but then Sauron’s hands covered his, holding them in place.
Legolas jumped; he hadn’t realised that Sauron was so close to him, and the trapping of his hands was such an intimate, controlling gesture that he felt the strange desire return. Again he felt the hot breath on his neck, the dark lord’s body-heat behind him – this time they were only almost touching. Something about being close to him clouded Legolas’ thoughts, and made it difficult to be aware of anything else. Sauron tutted in mock displeasure at his attempted escape, and Legolas felt his heart miss a beat. The fear passed through the palms of his hands into the consciousness of the wood, and he was horribly aware of it enjoying his experience in some vicarious way. What was worse, on some level it was nearly natural. He didn’t know what he expected Sauron to say, but it wasn’t what came next, the words heavy with a threat he didn’t understand.
“I keep you from fading. My magic keeps you from fading. Do you understand yet what that means?” While Sauron spoke his voice changed direction as though he were looking Legolas up and down; he felt the skin prickle on his neck and back as if he could feel the dark lord’s gaze moving over him. Sauron continued, and Legolas’ fear grew.
“Do you know why elves fade?” Sauron asked rhetorically, his words full of cold delight. The hands moved away from his and Legolas let go of the bark instantly, wanting to be free of them both. Suddenly his hands were slammed back down painfully, and Legolas kept them still this time when Sauron left him.
He stayed in his place, desperate to look around, but unwilling to. He expected Sauron to touch him again with every passing moment, and the sense of tension continued to build with every second it didn’t happen. When Sauron did return he was still unprepared for it, and he cried out when he felt the touch of the dark lord’s hands on his shoulders. The hands moved over the taut muscles of his back firmly, almost seeming to stroke him, and he shook in fear.
Sauron hushed him, and one hand continued to move reassuringly over his back, while the other moved lower. Sauron pushed one of his fingers into Legolas ruthlessly, and he cried out again, this time in pain. Sauron ignored him, and before long there were two fingers inside him, stretching him.
“Please, no…” Legolas murmured automatically, aware that the forest too would enjoy his pain when the dark lord took him. Already he could sense the gathering dark, the disturbing feeling of being watched.
He cried out suddenly, and Sauron chuckled, having found the part of him that made him moan. He played with Legolas for a while, and just before the point where Legolas would have found an end, Sauron’s other hand reached around and gripped the base of Legolas’ hard member firmly. His fingers continued to massage that place inside him, over and over again, drawing pleasure from him the way a vampire draws blood.
“When you shiver and tremble like this; when you beg for me to stop,” Sauron paused for a moment. Legolas hardly heeded the words; he was far past the point where he should have found release. His eyes rolled back in his head, he breathed only to voice his pain every time Sauron’s fingers moved inside him. Rhythmic, relentless, matching his heartbeat. His entire existence was centred on the unbearable sensation – only later did he recall the next dark whisper.
“You make me want to hurt you.”
Then Sauron’s fingers were gone, but in the next instant his hardness was pushing into Legolas, forcing tears to his eyes. In one long, painful push Sauron was completely inside him, only then did he release his cruel hold on the base of Legolas’ member.
The force of his orgasm took Legolas’ breath away, and he almost blacked out. But with every spasm he felt Sauron inside him, dominating, claiming his body. Through his hands he heard all the voices of the forest in his mind, all shouting at once, craving his experience. We have been so hungry, yes… Feel more… Such a memory means life… Give it to us… A part of his soul belonged to the wood, even to this one, and their yearning only intensified what he was feeling. It didn’t matter to them what it was, all that mattered was the pain and the pleasure. Legolas couldn’t deny them, whether he wanted to or not, and he felt every single sensation so keenly that he screamed. It was too much, but not enough. Their voices clamoured for more, and for a second longer he forgot about Sauron, existing for them. After that the voices dimmed in his mind, and he finally felt his longed-for release draw to a close.
He was weak and dizzy. His eyes closed as his hands fell from their place and his head dropped down. He couldn’t support himself; only Sauron’s hands on his hips held him up. He was almost unaware of it when Sauron began to thrust in and out of him brutally. The vital, burning pain of the assault was removed somehow, as if it were happening to someone else. His shoulder was pushed into the trunk of the tree over and over again, jarring him, and the soft skin of his cheek was being grazed and scraped by the bark, but it didn’t even register. Legolas was as relaxed as a rag doll. After some minutes of using Legolas this way Sauron came, deep inside him, and at that Legolas finally gave voice to a long, low moan.
When Sauron left him, Legolas crumpled into a heap, wanting only to lose consciousness. His hands curled around the cool grass, but there was no comfort. He was surrounded by strangers, who had enjoyed his pain as surely as Sauron. Once more he felt betrayed, hadn’t he given them everything? Then a hand was pulling savagely at his hair, forcing him back to his feet. He stood and faced Sauron wordlessly with a quiet, defiant dignity. He looked into Sauron’s eyes, and he wanted to die. But the dark lord’s voice came again, to take away his hope.
“You will not fade,” he said, as if reading Legolas’ thoughts, “and yet neither will your mind break as a man’s would. For you there are no escapes, and no limits.” Now he did cover his ears, he couldn’t bear to hear the truth spoken, and yet still he was so enamoured by the rich, deep, musical sound of Sauron’s voice, that when the dark lord moved his hands away he was almost glad.
“You will never leave me; you are mine. Tomorrow all of this will be but a memory, and you will awaken unharmed again, ready for me,” he said, almost wonderingly, reaching out to touch Legolas’ bruised and bleeding cheek. Legolas caught the tone, and his soul shrank away from the pure, sadistic glee in his tormentor’s eyes; it made his next quiet words all the more terrifying. “Legolas…” he said, savouring the sound of his name. “When Middle-Earth has forgotten all about the lost elf Prince of the Greenwood, you will still remember, and desire your freedom as much as you desire me.”
Legolas listened in growing horror to the future Sauron described, unaware of the tears that were now flowing freely down his face. Sauron brushed them away gently with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact. “That is beautiful,” he whispered fervently. “Now do you understand?”
And still there were no words. Trembling, Legolas reached out to touch the black hair that gleamed so in the darkness, and Sauron smiled. A beautiful smile he had, it almost robbed his words of their cruelty – but not quite.
Legolas closed his eyes and licked his lips; a part of him screamed out in revolt at what he was about to do, but he ignored it. He opened his eyes again to find Sauron watching him. He moved closer, inclining his head to press his lips against the dark lord’s. Everything in the world seemed to hold its breath; the darkness intensified until the part of the forest they were standing in was as black as night. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but there was something to be had in encouraging the madness, something he knew about but had forgotten. Hands came to tangle in his hair as Sauron took control of the kiss. It wasn’t sweet or soothing, even in his gentleness Legolas could almost taste Sauron’s cruelty and viciousness. But Sauron was beautiful, he was desirable, and as he let himself fall under the spell again, inviting it, Legolas finally found what he sought. Oblivion.
“Your life before, and everything you are has fallen,” Sauron mused when he broke the kiss. Legolas began to shake his head, but then Sauron kissed him again and he devoted himself to it with the same single-minded desire for oblivion as before, moaning as Sauron plundered his mouth intimately. He wound his arms around Sauron’s neck, standing on tiptoe to do so, and Sauron’s lips left his to brush over his jaw softly.
“We are defined by our relationships, Legolas,” he whispered between more of the tender kisses. “Who you were – that Legolas is gone.” He still couldn’t help but respond to Sauron, and yet with every word and every touch of his lips, it felt as though his life was being stolen away. And it had been stolen from him. Quietly, while he slept, everything that mattered to him had gone, and he had awoken as someone else.
“The son, the brother, the Prince… these things do not matter anymore.” It was the most hurtful thing, to have all of his thoughts – all of his existence – put into so few eloquent words. Because who was he without the things that defined him? Here, he was even far from the forest of his home, and while he might have said before that he would retain his sense of self, it was rapidly becoming apparent that he didn’t have the strength of character he supposed – not when everything he knew was gone. Here, even something so simple as sunlight was denied him.
“Why?” he asked brokenly as Sauron licked at his neck seductively, making him shiver in arousal even after everything he had been through. “Why did you let me wake up?”
Suddenly the dark lord grinned, and his fingers skimmed over Legolas’ cheek, gathering the tears so that he could rub them between his fingers. “Do you really need to ask?” Legolas shook his head slowly at the delight in his tormentor’s eyes and shuddered. “Besides, I dislike being forced to kill my own soldiers. Admittedly, he took longer to die than he did to create…” Sauron’s voice trailed off, as if he were thinking. “They were elves once, the uruk-hai. Did you know that?” Legolas closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the horror that thought inspired in him.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, but Sauron carried on mercilessly.
“He probably saw what he had lost in you,” the dark lord reflected, seemingly to himself, while Legolas shivered in terrible comprehension. “A monster who is aware of his pain.” Sauron smirked. “That’s really quite poetic.”
At last, Legolas saw how truly vicious and cold the dark lord was, and he staggered backwards, a hand to his lips, remembering how he had invited the madness upon him. He would have fallen, but he found his arms were gripped by two of the uruk-hai. He cried out in alarm, and yet as they took him back, he found himself scrutinising them. They didn’t look at him, just carried out their commands efficiently and with as little fuss as possible. Was it really true? Was there a soul in there somewhere, aware and sentient of what Sauron had stolen? He shivered again, and tried to ignore the thought – it was too hideous, and yet it seemed fitting from what he knew of Sauron…
The dark lord stood alone in the centre of his forest, once more dressed and immaculate. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cool air deeply. The silence did indeed suit him. He let out the breath in an audible sigh of contentment. When he opened his eyes he looked around at the wood. That same amused smile was back, and he hesitated for a moment as if debating whether or not to speak. The world waited. Then, with a mocking bow, and a flurry of black robes he walked away, out of the wood, leaving the trees to their lifeless torment once more.
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.