28. Past and Present I: Enslaved
Completely A.U. Legolas slave fic. This story was inspired by Bluegolds story "Bound", which can be found here: http://daemel.freespaces.com/authors.html#blue
I use similar plot ideas here with her permission.
Betareader: Many thanks to Surreysmum, who polished this and made it so much better! All still remaining errors are my own.
Warnings: Slash. M/m, BDSM, d/s, torture, toys, non-con and debatable consent. Very graphic descriptions.
Special warnings for this chapter: torture, rape, gang-rape; and mutilation (of Original Characters)! All in flashbacks only, but still: this chapter is very grim. I mean it!
This chapter deals with the first few weeks directly after Legolas was first enslaved, and describes how he was broken into the mindset of a slave. There is nothing pretty about it. It is grim. If you do not want to read this, I advice you to skip this chapter (or at least the flashback scenes, marked by italics), and read on with chapter XVII, "Past And Present II: Glorfindel". There it should be relatively save to read again. Please heed the warnings!
Disclaimer: Universe and characters are not mine, but Tolkien's. The idea of the spell, however, belongs to me.
Guide: In this chapter, I work with flashback scenes. Here is a Guide:
// /flashback/ //; ************Time change within a flashback***********; "speech"; 'thoughts'
For all other warnings, other disclaimers and author's notes see Story Intro.
-- Part VI: Eregion (Past And Present) --
XXVI. Past and Present I: Enslaved
It took quite some timing and much patience, but finally Aragorn found the opportunity to speak with Boromir again out of earshot of his elf.
He waited until one of the Hobbits mentioned the setting sun and raised the question when they would make camp, and promptly Legolas offered to scout ahead again to find them a good place to stay for the night. When the Elf was gone, Aragorn confronted the Gondorian about his demand. In the end, Boromir at least agreed to give Legolas another day to recover from the ritual before he had to share himself again.
Uncomfortable, but at least a little reassured, Aragorn waited for his Elf's return. The sun was close to setting when he did. Legolas had found them a inviting little grove near another brook, and moreover a little downstream the brook had filled a nice little pool with shallow water that was still deep enough to bathe. Thick copse covered the surroundings of the pool and the grove, promising privacy for anyone who would care to take a bath. In addition, there were at least a few trees in the grove big enough for an Elf to sleep in, and Aragorn suspected that this, more than anything else, had determined the Elf's choice. In any case, the place was perfect and the Hobbits started to make camp immediately.
Legolas received much praise for his find both from them and from Gandalf, and an approving nod from his master. Still, the Elf was tense and silent, and it was with much apprehension that he finally found himself approached by Aragorn.
"Legolas," his master said, "come with me. I think we both can use a bath, and I still have to wash my blanket."
Legolas swallowed hard. He had known he would probably have to pay for his attack on the Dwarf this afternoon sooner or later. Still, he feared what Aragorn would do to him. Silently and without another word, he bowed to his master, took his soap and followed Aragorn to the pool.
When they were there, Legolas undressed and neatly set his clothes to the side. He was a bit astonished when Aragorn ordered him to help him undress as well, and then commanded his help in washing the soiled blanket. Afterwards, Aragorn asked him to get into the pool with him, took the soap and covered first his slave, then himself in foam. During the entire time, he said not one harsh word. In fact he scarcely said anything at all.
Legolas was puzzled. Finally he could not stand the tension any longer.
"My Lord," he carefully began, "about today..."
Aragorn closed his eyes. He sighed.
"Shh," he said, "it is all right. I told you already that I would not punish you. In fact, if I recall correctly, I promised."
He opened his eyes again and met Legolas' gaze. His slave stared at him astonished and in wonder.
"You are not angry?" Legolas asked hesitantly.
Aragorn returned his gaze. He raised his brow.
"I am," he said, "but mostly at myself. I should have seen this coming, and taken precautions. Besides, you only defended your people. And I gave you permission to retaliate if the Dwarf attacked you. How could I reprimand you for doing what I gave you leave to do myself?"
He sighed again, then shook his head. "No, Little Leaf, I will not punish you for this. Nor will I revoke my permission to defend yourself. Just remember that you cannot afford to kill any member of the Fellowship, for whatever reason save protecting the Ring-Bearer, or me. If it should come to that, leave it to me. The cost of your doing that would be too high, and we could never keep it secret. I could not protect you."
Legolas looked at him, wide eyed and disbelieving. Nearly soundlessly, he mouthed: "Estel..."
Aragorn cocked his head at him. "I told you I would not allow the Dwarf to hurt you," he simply said.
"You... you did," Legolas agreed, still somewhat incredulous. Then suddenly he dropped to his knees, uncaring that his body was now submerged waist-deep in the water.
"Thank you!" he said, overwhelmed, "Thank you, Estel!"
Aragorn took a deep breath and dropped to his knees himself. Carefully, he enfolded the trembling Elf within his arms. Carefully and tenderly, he began to pet him, then he scooped up water with a hand and began to wash the lithe body. Finally he proceeded to the head and took care to wet the golden tresses, then to loosen the braids.
Legolas sighed and closed his eyes, savouring the gentle ministrations of his master. He had no idea what had brought Estel's sudden tenderness about, but he was willing to relish every single moment of it as long as it would last.
When Estel started on his warrior braids, he made a half-hearted attempt to unbraid them himself, but found his hands gently, but firmly pushed away. "Shh, Little Leaf," his master said, "let me do this! You may assist me with washing my own hair, later."
Obediently, Legolas dropped his hands and let himself be tended as passively as his master wanted.
Aragorn applied the soap tenderly and thoroughly, taking care to soak the hair and massage the soap into it. He stole a kiss or two between his ministrations and licked and nibbled a bit at one wet ear, but he did not go further into foreplay. This was for Legolas' comfort, not for his own satiation; and he suspected that after last night the Elf would prefer simple tenderness and cuddling to carnal pleasures. Briefly he felt the urge to make Legolas squirm in unwanted pleasure, force him to his peak and drink his essence, then make him beg for more; but he shoved it away. This was not what the moment called for. So he kept the teasing down and attended to his slave as reverently as if their roles had been reversed.
When he finally rinsed the soap away, he said:
"You know, I spoke with Boromir today. He agreed to give you some more time to recover. So, tonight you may rest. Tomorrow we will start to honor the bargain."
Legolas stiffened and his eyes flew open. He had nearly drifted off into reverie, when Aragorn's words ripped him out of his comfortable drowsiness. Startled, he looked at his master in disbelief, tensing up as he saw Aragorn's expression. His master's face was unrelenting, although it held no anger.
Legolas looked at him another moment, then he bowed his head at him, but not before Aragorn had seen the hope die in his eyes. His master held him gently and kissed his brow.
"Hush!" he said, "Don't fear! Our dear Master Dwarf is out of the game after today. You will not have to worry about him."
Legolas looked up. Carefully he asked: "...Boromir?"
Aragorn placed another kiss on his brow and sighed. He stroked the back of his miserable Elf and shook his head.
"Boromir insisted," he said, "and I agreed. Don't fear, melethron! I will not allow him to hurt you."
He stroked over the golden head and sighed. "I know you cannot see it right now, but it is for your own good. You will be safer this way. I will not have you die because of me!" The last words were spoken fiercely, and there was an odd note in his voice, partly determination, partly defiance.
Legolas dared to meet his gaze again. He saw Aragorn's eyes awash with a haunted expression. For a moment he was tempted to ask what dark vision had been tormenting his master. He knew Aragorn had the gift – or curse – of foresight, albeit diluted by his human blood and not as strong as it ran in Elrond or Galadriel. But right now, he did not find it in himself to care. Aragorn would insist on sending him to the other Adan's bedding. He could not bring himself to think beyond that.
Carefully he dared to say: "Estel..." He stopped himself, swallowed and lowered his eyes again. After another moment, he continued: "I'm sorry. It is just... I do not like to share myself with others beside you, My Lord."
Aragorn saw his bleak expression with dismay. It hurt a little that Legolas was back to avoiding his gaze and calling him 'My Lord' again. Of course, given the circumstances, it was only to be expected. "I know," he whispered. "I am sorry, melethron. I hate to share you, too. Yet it is for your good. It is necessary to keep you safe."
Legolas looked down. He did not answer.
Aragorn sighed. He seized the chin of his slave, tipped it up and kissed him deeply.
"Hush!" he repeated then, "It won't be happening tonight. Tonight you will have for yourself. And I will see to it that you won't have to take one of the watches!"
Legolas merely bowed his head obediently and murmured "Thank you, My Lord." Aragorn looked at him with grief, then he gave up trying to assuage him and placed a chaste kiss on his shoulder. "Very well. Help me to wash myself. Then you may return to the camp," he said.
Legolas obeyed. Mutely, he tended to his master as he had been commanded, but his attentions, while reverent enough, held none of his usual devotion. He was simply going through the motions. His earlier enjoyment of his master's closeness had been replaced by a numb feeling of emptiness. When he was done, he waited with bowed head for another command, until his master gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the shore and ordered him to get out of the water and dress. He obeyed and dutifully helped Aragorn to put his clothes back on, too. Then he waited for another order.
Aragorn studied him a moment, then he shook his head and sighed. "Go back to the camp," he said gently. "Don't take the first or second watch. That is an order! I want you to take some rest tonight!" He reached for the damp blanket. "I will follow later," he added.
His slave gave him an obedient bow, then he turned and walked back to the camp without another word.
Aragorn watched him go. He bowed his head.
So it would take him time to regain Legolas' trust again.
Very well. After all, it was nothing more than he had expected.
__________ o ___________
Legolas made it back to the camp in bleak despair. He feared the next day, and he feared the night. He wished he had at least not been commanded to rest. He would much rather forsake sleep altogether, than have to face the dreams and memories he could feel lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for the moment when he slipped into reverie. Still, he could not take a watch. His master had given him specific orders for tonight.
Legolas refused to think about tomorrow.
But how was he supposed to find rest? Aragorn had not told him that. Legolas doubted he could. If only he could take one of the watches... Then he hesitated, struck by a sudden thought. Aragorn had not exactly forbidden him to take one of the watches, had he not? He had just insisted it should not be an early one. His master merely wished to prevent him from staying up all night again, deliberately failing to wake the others who should relieve him for their turns.
It was better than nothing.
So Legolas asked for and was permitted to take the third watch of the night, relieved that he would at least have some distraction later. Then he settled himself in his bedding, feeling numb and miserable. He just hoped that he would not be haunted by any memories this night.
Of course he knew there was hardly any chance of that.
___________ o __________
// / He is kneeling. His hands are bound behind his back. It is cold. The obscene, thin, loose garment they have clad him in is barely keeping warmth. It is a thin, slack gown, held together by laces at the sides and on his shoulders; easily discarded even without needing to loosen his bonds, should any of his captors wish to use his body. Still, it is better than being naked. Or so he supposes.
He shivers. The cold steel collar closed around his neck chafes against his skin. A heavy metal chain of well-wrought steel attaches it to the main pole of the small tent. It's a few paces long; his captors do not want to be uncomfortable or to hamper themselves when they wish to use him.
Despite the chain, they have posted guards outside the tent. He can hear their idle chatter from the entrance. He wonders at their presence; they are hardly necessary, for escape is impossible. Even if he weren't bound, he is under the curse, and beyond that, he would not try to flee or kill himself. For if he tried to flee, or to die, other hostages would have to pay the price for that. Elrond has said so. But the guards have been assigned to his tent, anyway. He supposes Elrond simply does not want to take a risk.
Legolas trembles, body wracked by tremors that have nothing to do with the cold. He closes his eyes. He is shivering in bleak despair. Self-loathing and fear tear at his soul. All he wishes for is to die, but death will not come, however intensely he prays for this release. It is said that an Elf will die of rape, but he has not been granted that escape. Even the Valar reject him! Biting his lips, balling his fists in defiance, he refuses the tears trying to escape his eyes. He does not know when his captors will return to force themselves on him. Whenever it is, he will not give them the satisfaction of letting them see his pain!
With growing numbness, he recalls last night. It has been just three days since he was enslaved, just three days ago that Elrond raped him in front of his own father's eyes and the assembled company of Mirkwood, and more, the whole host of Rivendell and Lothlorien. He had been nearly unconscious when they dragged him finally away. At that time he just wanted to die, and had thought himself at the end of his endurance. He nursed his injuries and cried since for all his wishes and prayers, death would not come. He thought that he was at the very bottom then, that it could not get worse.
What a fool he had been!
Even now he can feel the brutal hands of the guards who dragged him out of this little tent last night and brought him before Elrond; and he hears the malevolent voice of the Lord of Rivendell again....
The scene changes. He is in the grip of hard, brutal hands, struggling, kicking, cursing, being dragged to a big, imposing tent...
....Hard, unrelenting hands dragged him to the large tent of the Lord of Rivendell. He struggled, but to no avail. The four guards holding him were just too strong, not to mention that his hands were tightly bound. Finally, they had him in the tent. He was thrown down and scrambled to his knees. The ground was soft, covered in precious furs. Carefully he raised his eyes, casting his gaze around. He barely noticed the layout, although it registered in the back of his mind.
He noticed, though, that everything was sumptuous; intricately carved furniture was covered with richly embroidered draperies, and thick tapestries adorned the four walls of the tent. But all his conscious mind registered right then were his captors. There were five people in the tent beside the guards who held him, standing in a half-circle around him. Directly before him he could see a pair of boots, beneath a richly embroidered, heavy gown. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet the malicious and hateful gaze of the Lord of Rivendell.
Elrond! He stared at him, hatred and defiance burning in his heart. He knew it showed in his eyes, because the enemy Lord held his gaze with glittering eyes and smiled.
"Welcome, Mirkwood spawn!" Elrond greeted him. "I see you haven't learned your proper place just yet, nor do you know how to behave! Don't worry, that will change. Soon you will get accustomed to your new duties. You will be the plaything of my sons, and for that you will need to be properly trained! You will serve their pleasure and fulfill their every wish, until they tire of you. For now, however, it is time for your first lesson. Tonight I will extend the spell to them and bind you thus to the ones who will own you!"
Legolas felt himself growing pale, in spite of the hatred burning inside his soul. Elrond saw it and his smile deepened. "Of course," he continued, "exclusive ownership will only become effective after you have learned a few lessons about your new place. Until then, you will serve every one who wants to take you and to whom I give permission to enjoy you, until I give you to your new masters."
Legolas was trembling now, fear clouding his mind, drowning out the hate. Surely that Noldor-Spawn didn't mean--?
Elrond's cruel smile turned into a grin. He stepped to a little table at the side and lifted something from its surface.
Stepping closer and actually kneeling down beside his captive, he raised the crude thing in front of Legolas' eyes, close enough to see. It was a blunt, polished wooden staff, formed like an erect male member. And as if that alone were not hideous enough, there were small shards embedded in the otherwise smooth surface. Elrond looked at him maliciously, asking: "Do you know what this is?"
Legolas refused to answer. He was beaten from behind. Defiantly he finally gave a little shake of his head. Elrond smiled again. "It is a taer cant aniron(1), specially prepared for this little ritual of ours. You have already tasted it once before. Today, it will go inside you again and prepare you for us. You are to be taken by three masters, so I am afraid it will need to enter you a bit more... thoroughly, tonight."
Legolas was openly trembling now. He hated the betrayal of his body, but he could not help himself. He began desperately to struggle again, and was brutally held in place by the guards. Elrond rose abruptly and commanded coldly: "Undress him!"
The remains of the tattered clothes he had worn the day before were ripped off him, and finally, he was kneeling there completely naked, shivering in fear and shame. His hair was brutally yanked back, forcing his head into his neck. The mouthpiece of a skin was pressed against his lips. "Drink!" Elrond's voice commanded. "Three sips!"
Legolas defiantly pressed his lips together. A whip lashed down on his bare back, and he flinched, but refused to gasp. Elrond cocked his head. "If you don't drink on your own, we will force it down you. And I should warn you now, this drug is very potent. It causes need. The more you drink of it, the more badly you will need to be taken. If you do not drink it on your own, you might actually be forced to swallow... a lot."
Legolas was trembling now, but he still defiantly pressed his lips together. Dispassionately, Elrond commanded: "Narthalion!"
The Elf who held Legolas' hair within his grip closed a gloved hand over the captive's nose. Bereft of air, Legolas had to gasp. The moment he opened his mouth, the mouthpiece was forced between his lips and burning liquid ran into his throat. Soon, he found himself forced to swallow so he would not choke.
The mouthpiece was removed. So was the hand closing up his nose. Gasping and coughing, Legolas fought for air, trying to regain his breath. Finally, he managed to compose himself, and raised his eyes back to those of his tormentor.
Elrond smirked at him. "There," he said, "that was not so hard, was it?" Then his expression hardened again and he forced the mouthpiece back between his victim's lips. "Now drink again! Two more sips!" he commanded harshly.
Suddenly, from the back of the tent, another voice spoke up. "Make that three more."
Elrond turned, gazing questioningly at the speaker. "Are you sure, Glorfindel? You want to have a piece of him yourself, then?" he asked. "I could give you a slave of your own, you know." In turning, he removed the mouthpiece, and Legolas risked a look at this other Elf, and those who stood beside him.
He saw a golden headed Elf-Lord of proud bearing and noble face, who seemed to glow from the inside and give off light all of his own. Presently his face held an odd mixture of disgust and pity. The golden headed Elf shook his head.
"No, my liege. I do not wish for a slave of my own. I just think that it would be best if there was another one who could give this slave what he needs to stay alive. You know how often your sons are abroad hunting Orcs. And you, My Lord, are often held captured by your duties." He sighed. "I would be glad if I could provide you and your sons with another option to ensure this slave's survival."
Elrond looked at him for another moment quizzically, then his look turned to two other Elves standing beside the one who had spoken. Legolas followed his gaze. He saw two eerily identical faces, which bore a close resemblance to the lord of Rivendell. That must be the infamous twins then, Elrond's sons, to whom he was going to be thrown like a bone given to the dogs.
The twins shared a look and shrugged. "All right," said the one standing to the left, "if Glorfindel wants to have a share of him, he may. It is rare enough that he shows any weakness, and if he has a liking for this slave, I suppose we can grant him a share."
The other twin just nodded his agreement. "We owe Glorfy enough," he confirmed. "It is a small enough favor to occasionally share our slave with him."
The golden headed Elf visibly flinched at the disrespectful shortening of his name and the twins smirked. Elrond raised a brow and turned back to his victim.
He pressed the mouthpiece back between Legolas lips. "Very well," he callously said, "three more sips then!"
It required the help of Narthalion again, but finally a sufficient amount of the drug was forced down Legolas' throat.
The liquid burned within him, caused him to feel strange. Alarmed, he registered that Elrond was suddenly behind him, holding the hideous pleasure staff. He started to struggle wildly then, but to no avail. Elrond just pressed his hand against his neck with a strange word, and suddenly, he could not move, and there was this freezing blue light again, invading his mind. Then he felt himself breached by something hard and hurting, and he gasped. He was determined not to scream, but as the thing impaled him completely, then was pulled out and then thrust in again, and again, and again, all the while slicing him open, his resolve was swept away, and he screamed.
He also screamed as some kind of paste, thick and burning, was worked inside him, and then as he felt himself filled by the hot column of flesh of the hated Elf-Lord, and was brutally raped by him. He hated himself as the other Elf came within his body, and he felt himself filled by hot, loathsome fluids. Then the malicious Elf-Lord pulled out and slipped away; but Legolas had not even time to heave a sigh of relief before he was impaled again. Another Elf was behind him, filled him, raped him, then another, and another... He tried to struggle, but to no avail. He could not move. He could not fight. But the most horrifying thing was that, to his undying shame, he suddenly felt his own body stir, react to the hated inflictions and the brutal treatment, and he felt his member rise, growing erect... felt himself craving the punishing thrusts that were ripping him apart...
He tried to die, then, tried to leave his body, but always when he just thought he could float away and leave it behind, the freezing light would capture him and haul him back. He could not escape. His mind shut down then. It was all too much. He could not say how long it lasted, when they were done, when the horribly ritual finally ended. He was barely conscious when they finally left him alone.
One thing he remembered clearly, though. Before they dragged him back to the little tent where they held him captive, Elrond spoke to him, the malicious voice dripping derision and hatred.
"Remember," Elrond said, "whatever you do will affect your fellow hostages. If you try to flee, you will be punished, but they will share your punishment in full. If you try to kill yourself, and fail, you will be tortured. So will they. If you attempt suicide and succeed, not only you will die, but ten other hostages as well. And they will be replaced immediately with other Mirkwood Elves, among them your last free siblings. You cannot escape, so do not even try it!"
Then the master of Rivendell smirked grimly, and hateful satisfaction was glowing in his eyes.
"But first, you have to learn the workings of the spell. You are bound to four masters: To me, my sons, and to Lord Glorfindel. Only we can keep you alive with our attentions, and you will crave to be taken by us above all others. I have wound the bond pretty tightly, since I know my sons like to play a bit, and they might wish to keep you in need now and again before they take you. So you'll need to be taken every month. If you are not, you will suffer, and finally die. But we won't let you die unless we tire of you. Still, to show you what the spell can do, I condemn you to be deprived of our attentions for two months. In that time, we may enjoy your body, but we will not give you what you need. Only when you are close to the brink of death, and beg for it, will you be taken by your masters. But do not worry! Until then, I will lend you to every Elf of our host who wants to taste you and whom I see fit to enjoy himself with you, and you will serve them faithfully."
Suddenly the scene changes again. Legolas finds himself back in the little tent, wrists bound behind his back and further restrained by the chain and collar.
Legolas shudders. Slowly, his mind returns from the horror of the night before. Then he starts and looks around. From the outside, he can hear two more voices, laughing and boasting. "Step aside," one of the new voices says, "we got permission from Lord Elrond to taste this slave. He seems to be a snotty little thing, this princeling! 'Tis time somebody showed him his true place! I bet, once he is tamed he will be quite sweet to savour..."
A roaring fills his ears and he tries hard to fight down his mounting fear. So it begins! He hardly hears the answer of the guard, then the flap of the tent is opened. Two dark haired Noldor enter the little tent. Legolas' trembling increases, but at the same time, he stares at them defiantly and with determination. So these two want to taste him? He will prove to them that he is not a sweet, helpless plaything at their whim! If they touch him, they will pay for it!
He refuses to let them see his apprehension. He stares at them contemptuously. It takes all his strength to remain kneeling, instead of jumping up to fight, but he is bound both at his wrists and with the chain. It would be no use. So, he simply glares at them. The enemy warriors laugh at him. "Look," one of them says, "he still has some spirit!"
The other one sneers: "Time he learned his place!" He steps close and hits Legolas twice in the face, hard. "Look down, slave! You are only to raise your eyes when it is demanded! Lord Elrond gave you to us for this night, and we plan to enjoy it! You will serve us like the good little slave you are, will you not?!"
Legolas grits his teeth. He refuses an answer and simply bows his head, as if defeated. One of the Noldor steps behind him and grabs the chain, yanking it back. Legolas has no choice but to move with the pull or be choked. The Elf behind him grabs his hair and yanks his head back into his neck. The Noldor sees Legolas' angry glare and suppressed anger, and smiles.
"Insolent slave! Still defiant, are you? It will be a pleasure to see you broken! Now, open up for us," he purrs cruelly. "Show me and my friend here what a talented little mouth you have!"
With horror, Legolas realizes what they mean to do. The Noldor standing before him has freed his member now. It is fully erect and eager. Legolas manages to give him a withering glare. He presses his lips together, tightly. Another blow hits him, this time from behind.
"Open up, slave!" the Noldor behind him snarls, "Or you will feel the whip!"
Legolas grits his teeth and stares at the erect member shoved into his face. The thought of taking that thing into his mouth is nearly enough to make him gag. But there is no help for it now. The Noldor behind him holds him immobile with both the chain around his neck and the harsh grip in his hair, and he cannot move. So, after a short moment of defiance, he obediently opens his mouth.
The male before him grins. The one behind him lets go of his hair to give him some room to move. "Look at this!" he jeers. "Not so proud now, anymore, our little princeling! Eager, is he not?"
Legolas ignores him. Invitingly and seemingly resigned to his fate he opens his mouth and suffers the Elf before him to shove his member in. He feels the need to gag, but suppresses it with all his might. Instead, he obediently closes his lips around the invading body part, even forcing himself to swirl his tongue around the hostile flesh.
The Noldor groans, surprised at the slave's sudden compliance, then he grins. "For a beginner, you are quite talented," he sneers, a little breathlessly. "Always dreamed of doing that, did you? Now, slave, pleasure me! And make it good!"
Legolas ignores the jeering words, ignores the cruel, derisive laughter of the other Noldor, the one behind him. He even refuses the brief urge to smile. Instead, he swirls his tongue experimentally around the engorged member raping him another time - and then bites down. Hard.
Blood fills his mouth. The Noldor howls. A hard blow connects with the side of his jaw, blinding pain exploding in his head, and the chain around his neck is pulled back hard, threatening to crush his windpipe. In sudden panic he is forced to gasp for air, and thus let go. The injured rapist withdraws and stumbles back. Legolas spits the blood out of his mouth. There is a revolting piece of flesh with it, but not enough. Hard blows are raining down on him, kicks hit his sides, and the chain still threatens to choke him. He tries to struggle, but to no avail. Then the guards are there, subduing him, and the blows and kicks come from all sides now. Somebody yells for the healers. The injured Noldor huddles on the other side of the tent, screaming and howling like a wounded animal, and for a moment, Legolas rejoices in dark satisfaction. A kick hits his groin, and white pain explodes in his head. He curls around himself. The chain is yanked harshly back again and he chokes, fighting for air. More kicks attack his sides. He realizes that they are going to beat him to death.
It doesn't matter. He made them pay for what they did to him, he managed to pay them back! He is ready to die now! Then something connects with the back of his head, pain explodes within his brain, and everything goes black. / //
-- Legolas whimpered. He knew that he was dreaming, that he was reliving memories; he knew that he should wake, but as it was sometimes with nightmares, he could not. He feared what was to come, he feared to continue the memory, feared it like a very young Elfling feared to go round a dark, looming corner. But try as he might, he could not wake. He was trapped in the dream. The events of the past unraveled in his mind as they had done before. He fought for control, fought to leave the memory, but it was no use. The dream went on. He could not escape.
// /...The scene changes again.
He is still kneeling, but this time, he is naked. He is tied fast to a frame of poles, keeping him immobile, arms and legs spread apart. His whole body hurts from the severe whipping he has just received. He'd thought they would beat him to death, but they stopped just short of rendering him unconscious. Of course, they told him, this was only the start. He knows more is to come: he is tied just in front of another rack holding the instruments of torture, and a big fireplace a little to the side promises worse to come.
Somebody enters the tent, and he raises his head to face his new tormentor. It is Elrond and his torture-master, the cruel, callous, muscled Elf who delivered the whipping. With them is one of the other hostages. It is an elleth(2), wide-eyed, frightened beyond belief. She is tightly bound, but she tries to fight every inch of the way, digging in her heels, squirming. It is useless; the torturer holds her in an iron grip and drags her with him mercilessly. When she sees the rack she wails in fear.
Legolas is confused. He knows something terrible is about to happen, but he doesn't know what. It was him who did the deed they are about to punish. What do they want with the girl?
He does not know her. She is from one of the outer settlements. All he knows is that she was chosen by her community to become a hostage because she lost her beloved in battle recently, and her parents and siblings in an Orc-raid long ago. It is cruel to condemn those already struck by fate to become hostages, but it is necessary to protect the others. At least, she will not leave any loved ones behind.
Still, she is one of his people and he is bound to protect her, if he can.
But he cannot. She screams when she sees the instruments of torture, screams again when she sees Legolas' bound, bloody, naked form. The torturer slaps her cruelly, commands her to be quiet, and she subsides to avoid further punishment. He ignores Legolas' desperate shout to let her go. He drags her to the tent-pole and binds her to it, legs, waist and throat, until she cannot move. The girl is quiet now, but she looks around as frightened as a panicked horse.
The torturer steps to the side, waiting. Elrond turns to Legolas. He smiles evilly.
"I am disappointed with you, Mirkwood Spawn! Obviously, you have yet to learn your place! You committed a terrible offense, attacking one of your betters when it was your duty to pleasure him! I told you that for every misdeed not only you but also your fellow hostages would have to pay, did I not?"
The girl looks at Elrond, wide eyed, startled. Her mouth forms a terrified 'o', and she shakes her head as if in denial. Legolas looks at her pale, aghast face, then he looks back at Elrond. He defiantly presses his lips together. Elrond sees it and shrugs.
"Well, they already have. The whipping you received was shared by all of your fellow hostages," he says casually. "However, since you attacked one of your betters, one of my free warriors, that punishment is much too mild; it can serve only for a start." He narrows his eyes. "The one whom you attacked suffered severe injury. You did not manage to castrate him, or this would be a death sentence for you and all who were enslaved with you. But you did considerable harm."
The girl is white as snow now. Her breath comes fast. Legolas stares at Elrond. He knows, his face shows no regret, because he feels none. He is just sorry that he did not succeed in mutilating the bastard. He deserved it!
Elrond smiles. "Normally, an offense like this committed by a slave would warrant the slave's castration and further, the cutting out his tongue, rendering him mute for the rest of his days. However, since you are to be the property of my sons and they don't want you so marred, another hostage will have to pay for your offense. Another one will suffer the mutilation you deserve."
Legolas' head snaps up and he stares at Elrond, wide-eyed and in fear. He shakes his head, tries to protest. "No!" he begins to say, "No..."
Elrond sees his reaction and grins. "Unfortunately, most of the other hostages have already been given to their new masters. Their new masters do not wish them marred in a way that would render them useless. So we decided not to take your punishment out on one of the other males. Instead, we choose this female. Of course, we will have to bend the sentence since she can't lose body parts that she does not have. So instead of a castration, we will take out her eyes. Her new master is one who likes his slaves... dependent and ...quiet. He will not protest to have her thus."
The elleth screams. Legolas screams, too. He fights his bonds in despair, but they do not yield. He shakes his head in denial, uttering pleas. Pride and defiance forgotten, he pleads and begs in shame. "No! Not her! Not her! Me! Please! Don't harm her! Take me! Do it to me! It was my fault, let me pay for it! Blind me, torture me, but >b>do not harm her!"
Elrond smirks at him. "Oh, you will continue to pay, make no mistake! You will be tortured; you will have much time to think of what you did. But you will not be marred. For every offense you commit, others will have to pay. You know that, do you not?"
The torturer steps to the rack and takes a knife. He steps back to the girl, and grabs her chin, forcing her to open her mouth. She wails constantly now. Legolas continues to fight his bonds, continues to scream and plead, but he might as well be mute, since it is to no avail. The girl gurgles and wails as her tormentor takes out her tongue. Her cries are less articulate now, but pitiful. Blood pools around her mouth. She looks at Legolas, pleadingly, eyes wide in fear and pain. He looks back, in tears, feeling damned beyond damnation.
The torturer steps back to the rack and takes a long, cruel instrument, much like a stiletto. He steps back to the girl. Legolas shakes his head from side to side. His face is awash in tears. He tries to close his eyes, but he cannot. He does not deserve to look away. Something within himself forces him to look, to face what he has done.
Awash in pain he witnesses her last look at him, accusing, despairing, full of fear. He hears her scream as the tormentor plucks out her eyes, and it rends his heart. He knows now that he does not deserve to be called her prince. He never deserved to be called a prince of his people. When she is dragged away, finally, mercifully unconscious, he bows his head and cries. He has not enough curses in his heart to cast on himself, no term derisive enough to ever describe him. And he knows now that he does not deserve to die. Death would be far too merciful a punishment for this./ //
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Legolas woke, bathed in sweat, heart hammering in his chest. Helpless sobs died in his throat while he tried to get his bearings.
The night was quiet. The sky above him was full of stars. He wildly looked around, for a moment without orientation. He could see his master, not three steps away, sleeping, huddled in his coat for warmth. Everything was quiet; they were in the wilds, not in an Elven war camp. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Memory readjusted itself. Oh, yes, the Quest. All around him, he could hear the soft breathing noises of the sleeping fellowship. A little to the side he heard the inescapable snoring of the Dwarf. He opened his eyes again, carefully checking if he had woken anyone with his nightmare. Apparently not, for the only one awake besides himself was Pippin, who had the second watch.
Silently, he drew his knees to his body, closed his arms around them and curled around himself. Slowly rocking back and forth, he tried to slow his breathing and calm down. He did not stop the tears falling from his eyes, although he swallowed his sobs. He did not wish to wake the others with his nightmares again.
Eyes unseeing, he forced himself to face the memories. They held him mercilessly in their grip, would not relent.
Of course, it had not ended there. Elrond had made good his threat; they had tortured Legolas for days and within an inch of his life, tortured him until he knew nothing but pain and thought he would never know anything else again. He suffered through it without complaint, without begging for mercy. In fact, he welcomed the pain. He felt it was just what he deserved, and the least he could do to pay for what he had brought down by his actions upon that poor girl whom he was supposed to protect.
He had still hoped that he would die, that they would finally kill him, or mutilate him too; but they never did. In fact, they took care not to do him lasting harm, mindful of the wishes of his future masters. And after a few days the torture stopped and they let him recover.
Of course, this had but been the start of the real nightmare.
As soon as he had been recovered enough, they had started to use him as they wished, use him as Elrond had threatened. He shuddered when he thought back to it, and he was glad that at least his memories of that time were less than clear. An endless stream of warriors, both of Rivendell and Lothlorien, got leave to use his body as they pleased, as long as they did not do him lasting harm. Some days it had been three or four who came to the little tent to use him. At first they'd put a ring into his mouth when they wished to force themselves on him that way to hinder him from biting. Later, when the first stages of need kicked in and they were sure that he was broken, they ceased to use that toy. In fact, they would not have needed to bother. He never again tried to fight or to refuse to pleasure one of his abusers. He learned his lesson.
There were others who would have to pay for that. And he could not afford to bring harm upon them.
During that time, he lost count of those who came to him. He did not care. He was caught in self-hatred and despair. The only thing he truly loathed more than himself were the times when he was forced to serve Elrond. The Lord of Rivendell would use him for his pleasure every other day, always in the evenings, always using his mouth, never giving him relief by feeding the spell. Sometimes he would share him with Erestor, his advisor. Legolas loathed these times, loathed Elrond, but he never tried to fight. He would not bring another punishment upon his fellow hostages again.
He thought he could not sink deeper, that there was nothing left of his pride or self-respect, nothing he had to lose. He was wrong. The most horrifying thing, that ripped him out of his acquired numbness, had been when the need and withdrawal set in and his body began to react to his abusers, his mind began to crave the abuse and rape. At this point he thought he would go mad. And he would surely not have survived this time with his mind intact if not for Glorfindel. The Noldor lord visited him often, never using him for his pleasure, but holding him, reassuring him, consoling him, explaining to him the reactions of his body and the workings of the spell. It was due to him that Legolas understood, and regained some respect for himself. Still, he was nearly on the brink of madness, pitifully begging to be taken, tormented by need and the poisoning of his own, treacherous body, when Elrond finally allowed his sons to relieve him and feed the spell.
Afterwards he was given to the twins, and things became a little better. Elladan and Elrohir were cruel in their own way, and they liked cruel games; but at least they did not share him with others anymore. And while they treated him just as their pet, even called him thus, at least they did not treat him as a thing. They even allowed him to walk around freely and talked with him to their own amusement when they were in private. Slowly, very slowly, he learned to think again.
It was torture to face the other hostages, even though, to his surprise, he found that they did not all hate him. Still, it was painful beyond measure to see the mutilated girl again, stumbling over things to the amusement of her cruel master, who deliberately put them in her way.
He was glad when both the cruel Elf who owned the elleth and the girl herself accidentally died in a landslide in the Misty Mountains on their way to Rivendell. At least, in Mandos she would find peace and hopefully be whole again.
But it was not until Rivendell that Legolas found hope and a reason to appreciate life again in the grey eyes of an eleven-year-old, human boy.
-- Legolas shook his head, with effort banishing the memories away. He briefly looked over to Aragorn, debating whether he should try to snuggle up to him. Estel would probably be willing to hold him close and give him comfort without asking questions, as he had done so many nights before.
Then he recalled the bargain Aragorn had struck and what had happened the other night, and he dismissed the thought. He was not sure if he could stand the touch of his master right now. Instead, he stood, gathered his weapons and went to relieve Pippin of the watch. He knew he would not find any more sleep this night.
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-- TBC --
(1)taer cant aniron – Sindarin: literally "straight shape (of) desire" – a kind of dildo.
(2)elleth – Sindarin: Elf woman
a) about the time frame of the story:
In this part of the story I am diverging from both Book-and Movie-canon concerning the time frame. Bookverse, the Fellowship left Rivendell on December the 25th, reached Eregion (or Hollin) on January the 8th, the Pass of Caradhras three days later on January the 11th and the Walls of Moria at January the 12th. They were traveling for twenty days until they reached the mines. Movieverse, the time frame is the same, only happening two month earlier. But for my purposes, I need the Fellowship a few days longer in Eregion until they try to pass Caradhras. So they are abroad at least 25 days until they reach the mines. Please bear with me!
b) about the entire time of Legolas' enslavement:
One of my reviewers brought to my attention that I have been less than clear about how long exactly Legolas has been enslaved. I hope this will become clearer in this chapter, but for the record, here goes: in this story, Legolas was first enslaved shortly after the Battle of the Five Armies; this means he was enslaved TA December 2941 or January 2942, probably the latter. The exact date is unclear; but it must have happened after Gandalf and Bilbo had arrived in Beorn's Halls on December the 30th TA 2941 on their return route from Erebor and Mirkwood, and stayed there for the winter, because Bilbo was not aware of anything amiss when he arrived in Rivendell again in Mai TA 2942, and had not heard the tale. Legolas came to Rivendell probably in March TA 2942. At this point in time, Aragorn, then called Estel (born March the 1th in TA 2931) was just eleven years old. Legolas was given to Aragorn as his slave nine years later, when Aragorn came of age in March TA 2951. At the time of this story (TA 3018), Legolas has been enslaved for 76 years and he has been in Aragorn's exclusive possession for 67 of these. I apologize for the confusion!
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.