Fallen: 8. Chapter Eight

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8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Maglor carried Legolas back to their room in his arms. When they arrived, he set Legolas down on the bed without speaking and tied him down with thick ropes. Legolas simply stared at Maglor as he went about this task, waiting for something to be asked of him. He watched as Maglor went to the small bathroom and came back with water and a cloth, then began to clean his wounds. It didn’t take long; he was already healing.

“You do not need to worry, pen neth, you are not too badly injured.” Maglor looked at him at last, and he finally seemed to register the blank look in Legolas’ eyes. He sighed. When he was finished he came to sit on the floor by the side of the bed, and rested his head on one hand, while he draped his other arm absently across Legolas’ stomach. He looked as though he was waiting for something.

Legolas watched Maglor for a while as the other elf became lost in his thoughts, and then his gaze moved restlessly. He looked at the ceiling. There was nothing there to hold his attention either, and he tested the ropes as if in boredom. Over time his mind began to drift into sleep, and he closed his eyes, only to see a picture. It was another elf, but it wasn’t Maglor. This elf looked like him, almost exactly the same. Was it him? No, the elf in his vision had sparkling green eyes. “Merenon,” he murmured, his mind providing him with the word. This was a memory. Legolas gasped in shock.

The arm over him moved away immediately, and Maglor’s gaze was upon him. Legolas looked at Maglor blindly, trying to come to terms with the memories that were rushing in on him – things he had forgotten so heartbreakingly easily. Details of people, of family, of times he shared with others. Some good, some bad, all of them conspiring to make him who he was. Who was he? And as soon as he knew to form the question the answer was coming at him.

“No!” he shouted, twisting violently in his bonds, trying to tear himself free with sheer physical force. But where could he go to escape his own mind? He felt the pain and anguish as his sense of self returned suddenly to its rightful place. “No!” He screamed this time. It was too much, it had to be too much. His eyes opened in full awareness and he looked around him wildly. He saw Maglor, and he saw a way out.

“Hurt me!” he gasped at the other elf. He could, Legolas knew he could. Maglor looked back at him with such infuriating resignation that Legolas roared at him in anger.

“I won’t.” Maglor said quietly, and Legolas wept.

“Please,” he begged, and it was not nearly enough to have to plead, not anywhere near enough. “Maglor, please, I can’t do this,” he vowed. “I don’t want it!” he cried out, turning away again. But his shouts contained an awareness of himself as ‘I’ that only seemed to encourage what he was going through, and Legolas’ moan of denial turned into a scream. He twisted again, and arched his back, but still the ropes held him down.

“I am sorry.” Maglor was backing away from the bed now, back on his feet. The expression on his face was indescribable. He looked horrified, but he didn’t seem to be able to look away.

“What’s happening to me?” Legolas demanded of him breathlessly. He craved pain; needed it like he needed air and water. He needed a reminder of what he was, and it wasn’t this. These were all lies, all these memories and thoughts! He wasn’t that… he had a place here, and it was – what was his place? “No,” he moaned bitterly. He had known… he had been at peace! Legolas screamed again until he had no breath, and then he continued to scream silently. He heard Maglor answer, and he didn’t understand it then.

“Your mind is healing. It-it happens to me too, when he –”

He looked at Maglor with pure enmity, silencing him, trying everything to get the other elf to remind him of his true place here, knowing all along that the truth was being returned to him. Legolas cried and shouted until he had no voice left. It didn’t help. Eventually the flood of memories and feelings slowed to a trickle, and he lay on the bed like a broken doll, exhausted and pale. He still cried, now soundlessly, for everything he had willingly given up, even for a space of a few hours. His eyes were dry though; he had no tears left.

He was restored and he was truly Legolas again. When the last, excruciating feelings of guilt finally left him, he sighed wearily. He knew what had been done to him, and by whose will. His thoughts turned to the events of the last few hours. He thought of Sauron, and he wanted to hate him so much, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t know why. Instead, he remembered feeling grateful for Sauron’s approval. He felt the shadow of the feeling he had earlier, that he didn’t want the dark lord to leave him alone. He felt his pulse quicken at the thought of Sauron, and knew he still desired him.

“No,” he sobbed, knowing he would never be free after this, knowing that Sauron had stolen a piece of his soul. And although he had forgotten about Maglor the other elf hadn’t forgotten about him. He returned to Legolas finally with water and moistened his lips, encouraging him to drink a little. Legolas obliged, then looked at Maglor in a completely new light, realising now that the same thing had to have happened to him.

“I didn’t know,” he said, stunned, remembering with guilt the anger he had felt for Maglor when he had agreed to the entire scheme. Now he truly understood what it meant to have no choice, how it was that Maglor couldn’t breathe a word of protest, how it was that he could carry out the dark lord’s wishes. And it had been like this for centuries. He knew he couldn’t imagine it.

“How did you…?” Legolas shook his head. “How do…?” He couldn’t finish phrasing the question, he didn’t really know what it was. How could he still be here, after all this time? How did he survive… alone?

Maglor looked at him, and something in his eyes made Legolas feel sick and scared, even in his exhaustion. He wished he hadn’t begun to ask. “He stays with me,” Maglor’s eyes grew darker still at the memory. “To watch.”

Thoughts of what that might be like crowded into Legolas’ mind, and he ignored them all, not wanting to look. It was too horrible to contemplate. The more he heard, the less he could resent Maglor, and he came to understand how he could be Sauron’s accomplice, and yet not lie about his feelings.

“I’m so sorry,” Legolas said, knowing that nothing could erase it, but wishing he could do something to make Maglor smile at him as he had before.

Then Maglor was smiling, but it was a sad smile. He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, pen neth.” Maglor came over to the bed and began to untie him, now that the danger had passed. As he worked Legolas suddenly realised why the bonds were there. Had he not been bound he would surely have hurt himself in his desperation, perhaps even worse. The idea was alien to his kind, they didn’t even have a word for it, and Legolas shuddered knowing that they could both be driven to such a thing in this place – with him. When Maglor freed his arms, Legolas reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right. I understand now.” He wanted to take away Maglor’s guilt. He knew he didn’t really deserve to feel it. Maglor turned to face him, and Legolas didn’t hesitate.

Covering Maglor’s lips with his own, he kissed him gently. It was just as it had been between them before, undemanding and comforting. They connected with each other as before, and what passed between them left serenity in its wake. The feeling was still there, and when they drew back from each other, there were tears in Maglor’s eyes.

“What will happen to us?” Legolas asked him, feeling the first shadowy stirrings of fear for his children, and wondering what Sauron’s plans for them were, his plans for them all.

“I don’t know,” Maglor admitted. Then he looked at Legolas earnestly. “But I need you.”

Legolas tried to give voice to his nameless fears. “I’m changing, aren’t I? Like you?”

“Yes, and soon your condition will be apparent.” Legolas heard the words, and he saw Maglor’s eyes were full of fear and sympathy for him, but he knew he was alone with this. And although he forgave Maglor, he also realised something else.

“I can’t trust you, can I?” There was no resentment in the question, only a kind of desire for the truth. Maglor looked at him for a long moment before answering.

“No, pen neth, you can’t.”

For a while they sat together in silence, each alone with their own thoughts, but Legolas was glad that Maglor was there with him. He thought of the future again, but this time what it might be for him.

“I can’t go through that again, Maglor. I can’t.” And it was true, he believed it even as he believed that Sauron would not allow him to die. His mind shied away from the contradiction.

“It will not be so bad, next time.” And in a way Maglor’s words were everything he was. A comfort and a threat. Someone that made him feel safe, and scared. But it was enough for Legolas. They were friends, not enemies.




The door opened silently, and a weak shaft of light fell over the figures sleeping on the bed. In his malcontent and fury, Sauron glared at them. He always came here when he was angry, when the search seemed hopeless, when all his plans seemed to be coming to nothing. His desires were fiery and all-consuming; and everything became tangled up in his mind when he was frustrated. Maglor’s screams and sobs were always desperate enough and sweet enough to make him forget. They looked perfect together, nestled in each other’s arms, and Sauron smiled coldly. They would not remain so for long.

Breathing the words of sleep over the two elves, he advanced on the bed. When he was certain that neither of them could be woken, he began his work. Gently, he moved Legolas away from Maglor, so that he was sleeping on the other side of the bed. He had already ascertained that the child was fine, and now he examined Legolas’ injuries. He would require a couple of days to heal completely, but no lasting damage had been done to him. At least, nothing one could actually see…

A shame he wouldn’t be here forever, Sauron thought. Legolas’ desperate submission earlier was tempting enough to make Sauron want to keep him. He dismissed the notion from his mind. No, Legolas was still beloved of the Valar – he would never belong to the darkness – over time he would only become mindless and obedient, and he knew he would grow bored of that. Maglor was different. Sauron sat down on the edge of the bed to study his favourite.

How many centuries had it been? Still, he never grew tired of this one. He was a work of art, like a fine painting. He looked at Maglor, and saw a dependency for his particular brand of cruelty and violence that he had bestowed. He still looked like an elf; so deceptively fragile, so beautiful. Every day he awoke unmarked, unmarred… and every time Sauron ached to spoil that perfection. But it was only skin deep, his mind and his soul were a different territory. His fingers reached out to touch the soft skin of Maglor’s cheek. There really were no limits to what he endured. He had changed Maglor over the years, reformed him with carefully planned brutality, with a million subtle mind games; refined his desires with a mixture of cruelty and kindness – and he enjoyed it all. Patience was something he had, and he realised that in a way he came here to remind himself of it. Calm and order began to return to his mind.

Briefly, he wondered whether the Valar still considered him one of theirs at all. Probably not, he realised with a smile. But then, they hadn’t wanted him anymore anyway. They were blind to his potential, saw it as an imperfection of his soul. Melkor wouldn’t have thought so… Sauron knew that Maglor still grieved for the loss of his place in life and death on Arda; knew that he considered his being here a fitting punishment for his ‘crimes’. But such loyalty to cold, unmoving Gods couldn’t last forever. One day Maglor would change his mind, encouraged by the severity of his suffering at Sauron’s hands; and then he would have not only a willing slave, but a companion too.

Carefully, he arranged Maglor’s pale limbs in the darkness, holding back the violence that wanted to tear open the flesh with his bare hands and his teeth. Just to feel the last, fading heat of his dying blood, to bury his face in Maglor’s inner warmth and consume him, to finally taste the ultimate in submission. His willing death, the very thing he begged Sauron for, too many times now to count. But no, death was not what he wanted from Maglor. He brought his dangerous lust under control easily; he was used to doing it. He had other prisoners for that, and a part of him wondered absently if he had any left with red hair…

The first seconds were always the best. Burying himself in his elf’s heat and tight embrace. He was always ready to be used, even in his sleep. Something else that Sauron had accustomed him to. Were he ever to let Maglor go, which was of course impossible, the elf would probably still prepare himself every day. Sauron smirked at the thought. He drove into Maglor’s passive body fiercely, enjoying the fact that there was no response when he was so deeply asleep. No quickened breathing, no cries, no answering spasms from the body beneath him. Only the heat and the sweet friction as Sauron took what he wanted. He looked into the open blue eyes that held no awareness of him, and couldn’t suppress a lustful moan. It was like stealing from the dead, and how he wanted to steal from Maglor, exactly like this. So delicious! Already he was nearly there, but he didn’t want to finish yet. He stopped moving and rested his entire weight on the sleeping elf until he had recovered himself a little.

He could stop here, he knew. He didn’t always wake Maglor for this. Usually, it was all the more delightful when he took what he wanted and then left without ever waking him. But tonight he needed something else, something more.

“Wake up, mûl vain nín.” Sauron released Maglor from the spell he had cast – enough so that awareness began to stir in his eyes – and then claimed him.

He heard and felt Maglor cry out as he captured the first moment of sleepy protest with his lips, filling his elf’s mouth and throat with his tongue even as he filled him up below, stealing his very breath. He felt the body beneath him awaken and clench around him. Sauron moaned, as always surprised and pleasured by Maglor’s instinctive resistance to the violation. No, he would not get this from Legolas; for an elf he was barely more than a youngster, and his mind was too malleable for Sauron’s purposes.

He held Maglor still when he began to struggle, smothering him with his body weight, held down his prisoner’s arms with his hands, and drew back from the kiss to look deeply into his eyes as he took him. There was still the resentment at being disturbed like this, even after all this time. Sauron stopped, feeling a kind of glee, and moved his head close again to whisper into Maglor’s ear.

“You always feel so good, mûl nín, so warm and welcoming… and you know you can’t help but excite me when you resist.”

To prove his point, Sauron pushed powerfully deeper inside Maglor, until the elf had taken all of his length inside, easily overcoming his body’s futile attempts to stop the invasion. Maglor cried out in pain or pleasure, perhaps a mixture. Sauron smiled again secretly; usually it was both. He sighed in contentment and held still for a moment, enjoying the feel of Maglor’s flesh surrounding him, the involuntary contractions of his muscles.

He felt Maglor relax in defeat as he came more fully awake, remembering his submission, and it was all he needed. He used his property more roughly now, pulling Maglor’s legs to rest on his shoulders, and taking hold of his hips, pulling him down to meet every savage thrust. Maglor cried, and it just incited him more to see his helpless tears. Sauron realised just how much he was looking forward to eternity. He found his release quickly, letting go of every one of the problems that plagued him at the same time.

Letting his weight rest on Maglor again, he kissed his slave’s lips while Maglor sobbed a broken ‘thank you’ for using him, licked at a delicately sensitive ear so that Maglor sighed through the last of his tears. He found himself nuzzling Maglor’s neck, sweeping his lips over the pulse, listening to the thundering sound of his blood as it raced through his veins. It was such a perfect place to be, and Maglor quietened down, becoming still beneath him in awed dread and desire. Sauron breathed in deliberately and deeply. Like the wolf, he could smell the scent of Maglor’s fear and arousal. It was as if the elf was just waiting for him to bite into the fragrant skin and taste what moved under the surface. He wanted to, and he would… but just as he felt the change taking hold of him, he stopped. Something was digging insistently into his stomach.

Raising his head he looked at Maglor, and grinned. Maglor just stared back at him, not comprehending for a moment, but then he did and he closed his eyes as if in pain. Sauron couldn’t help but laugh at that, his elf knew very well what happened when he didn’t find his own pleasure early enough.

He rested his weight on his hands and slowly moved down, feeling his softened sex slip from his slave’s body as he let his teeth scrape lightly over the skin of his neck, his shoulder, then his chest. He bit at one of Maglor’s nipples, hard enough to hurt. Oh… so very close to finally taking him. He growled instinctively, low in his throat, and Maglor trembled as if he knew, but Sauron held back. It was a torment he couldn’t resist inflicting on himself.

Getting up to sit beside him, he took hold of Maglor’s erection and moved his thumb over the top, smearing the clear fluid that was leaking from him over the head of it, brushing against the sensitive glans so that Maglor moaned. Unhurriedly, he began to squeeze the shaft in his hand rhythmically at the same time, until Maglor was trembling with want. After a few moments of this Sauron let go to put his hand to Maglor’s mouth, and his plaything obeyed the silent instruction, well known by now, licking at his palm, making it wet and slick with his saliva. When he returned his hand to Maglor’s hardness, he began to stroke him slowly in earnest, and with purpose. Maglor cried out and arched his back, pushing himself into Sauron’s grip. He made Maglor look at him, and quickened his hand, hiding the smile when he saw how close his elf was already.

“Not yet,” he warned. “Wait – and be silent,” Sauron commanded his slave coldly, loving the way his eyes darkened and his breathing became shallow as he tried desperately to obey the order to hold back and be quiet, knowing he must. Sauron never stopped his movements, if anything he gripped just a little tighter, moved his hand up and down slightly faster, listening to the intriguing sound of skin on skin.

“Do you love me?” He asked suddenly, playing a game Maglor was used to, knowing the answer, holding him right on the very edge with the warning in his eyes.

“Yes!” Maglor gasped as he breathed out, daring to voice a needy moan after the word, because having to speak encouraged it. Sauron smiled openly at that, and waited another agonising moment before asking the next question.

“Desire me?” He wondered if Maglor knew that he had ceased to use magic to control him years ago. He no longer needed to, and he wondered how rewarding it would be to tell him.

“Yes!” Maglor must be in pain now; it had taken a long time to make his body this obedient, now it was entertaining to watch him as he struggled. He knew the price for losing control of himself. Sauron wanted to see him lose, and he tried harder to make him, adding a slight twist to the movement of his hand.

“And will you do anything I want?” he asked finally, cruelly seductive.

“Yes!” He felt Maglor grow harder still in his grip, and he narrowed his eyes at his prisoner in pretended annoyance. But the threat was very real, and Maglor whimpered.

“Then you know what I want to hear, Maglor. Say it.”

“Aulendil… Please…” Yes. Now it was personal. It was the only time he allowed Maglor to address him this way, when he was begging to be allowed to find release at his touch. He considered denying him. Sometimes he did, Maglor belonged to him, as did his body and any pleasure it could give him. Oh, but his intensity was wondrous! His need was so exquisite, Sauron could almost feel it. To have such control over him… He leaned closer…

“Now,” Sauron said, and Maglor obeyed before he had even finished uttering the word. Sauron watched him intently, and encouraged him, squeezing the milky fluid from him expertly until it was over, while Maglor unknowingly called out his name again and again.

Sauron trailed his fingers through the seed on Maglor’s stomach and smeared it over his elf’s face and neck while he tried to recover his breath.

“Thank you, Herdir.” He laughed softly when Maglor once more obeyed the silent command to lick at his hand like an animal. He whispered a word to his elf slave, something that made him shiver, and then kissed him gently, almost lovingly. He licked delicately at Maglor’s lips with the tip of his tongue, tasting traces of his essence there. Maglor gasped in surprised pleasure at the tenderness, and Sauron smiled. It was an unusual gift he gave.

“For your devotion,” he whispered against Maglor’s lips, and then he left as silently as he had entered.




When Maglor had cleaned himself, he returned to the bed, and after a moment or two of thought he brought Legolas back into his arms. The Prince sighed and murmured a little in his sleep. Maglor kissed his forehead softly, not wishing to wake him, only to express his gratitude that Legolas didn’t hate him for the part he played in Sauron’s games, the willing part he played. Even asleep in his arms, he was a comfort to Maglor, and he held him close until he slept again. The night passed, and in the morning, they looked as if they had never been disturbed.


Translations:

pen neth – young one
Herdir – Master
mûl nín – my slave
mûl vain nín – my beautiful slave

Note on Sauron’s name: Aulendil is listed as one of Sauron’s names, and means ‘devotee of Aulë.’ Since Sauron is a Maiar who was once uncorrupted, and belonged to the people of Aulë, I like to imagine that this might well be his original name. As for him making Maglor use it, I don’t think he would want to hear Maglor beg him using the name Sauron, which means ‘abhorred one.’ ;)

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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