Title: Shadows of Rivendell  
Author: Genesis Grey 
(helfireclub@hotmail.com)  
Pairings: Elladan/Elrohir, Elrond/Aragorn, 
Arwen/Misc.  
Rating: Overall, NC-17  
Summary: What if the Ring had never left 
Rivendell?  
Disclaimer: Own nothing. Wish I did, but 
don’t. Guess I’ll just have to settle for 
owning this piece of string instead of sexy 
elves.  
Warnings: Incest. Quasi-non-consensual 
situations. BDSM Some het content.  
Website: http://www.sexystickman.com/ren/  
Author’s Notes: Welcome to the nightmare. 
I use Rivendell rather than Imladris in this 
fic… because Shadows of Rivendell sounds 
cooler than Shadows of Imladris to me. 
This is the entire five chapters of the fic, 
including epilogue. Feedback is loved and 
cherished, be it good or bad. You will be 
my new best friend. ;) Oh, many thanks to 
Nethene and Rider for helping me beta this!  
 
 
 
Chapter 1  
 
Elrond stared at the locked drawer of his 
desk. Inside the drawer lay a locked box. 
And inside the locked box lay the One 
Ring. He sighed and looked away. He had 
been convinced to allow the Ring to stay in 
Rivendell for its protection, despite his 
objections. He had been unable to tell the 
Council that he held the ring of air, Vilya, 
and feared it might be affected and 
corrupted by the Ring’s power. He had 
sworn to Gil-galad, and again to Galadriel 
and Cirdan, that he would never reveal the 
bearers of the Three, even among their own 
kin. Though many guessed why Rivendell 
and Lothlorien remained safe and secure 
from the growing darkness. And so he had 
been forced to accept the ruling of the 
Council, though he knew it would bring only 
folly.  
 
Clasping his hands behind his back he 
walked to the window and looked out over 
the valley. The hobbits that had brought the 
Ring, a truehearted lot, had left earlier in the 
day to begin their journey back to their 
precious Shire. Bilbo and the dwarves were 
traveling with them as far as Bree. Elrond 
hoped for their safe journey. Middle-earth 
was becoming dark. In the distant east a 
dark shadow was growing, stretching ever 
toward them, demanding the return of what 
was once his. Sometimes, Elrond was sure 
he could feel the dark shadows even in 
Rivendell.  
 
A seductive voice, so much like Vilya’s, 
spoke in his mind; wrapping around him 
soothingly as it called him to take the One 
Ring for himself. Shaking his head Elrond 
waited for the comforting feel of the ring of 
air to wrap around him again, protecting him 
from the corruption that so many had fallen 
prey to.  
 
Isildur.  
 
The name came unbidden and Elrond felt a 
great deal of pity. The man had never stood 
a chance against the Ring’s voice. It was 
too alluring for any man of mortal blood to 
deny. At moments he feared for himself. 
With a last look out the window he turned 
and walked from his study. No one, save 
himself, knew where the Ring was hidden; 
and even if they guessed such a logical 
place, Vilya would strike at them from afar 
before any harm could be done. Or so 
Elrond hoped.  
 
As he left the room he noticed two elven 
maids locked in an embrace, their hands 
tearing at each other’s hair and ripping at 
the silken clothes, leaving light claw marks 
on the freshly exposed flesh. If not for the 
passionate sounds they were making Elrond 
would have thought they were brawling. He 
frowned a bit. Such things were not meant 
to be done or seen in the middle of a 
corridor, but it was late and they truly did 
not seem to be disturbing anyone. He raised 
an eyebrow as he noted that both were 
married maids known for their fidelity to 
their mates.  
 
Elrond sighed. He clasped his hands behind 
his back and turned from the sight and 
began walking through the halls. Ever since 
the Ring had been installed in Rivendell the 
elves and other creatures that dwelled there 
had been acting strangely. Even he had 
been doing things that seemed almost 
against his nature, but that somehow felt 
right to do. He trusted it was simply an 
overwhelming feeling of paranoia and 
caution that was settling over the valley and 
not the effect of the Ring.  
 
So caught up in his own thoughts, was he, 
that Elrond didn’t notice the dark haired 
elven maid running from one of the side 
rooms until she collided with him.  
 
“Oh, I’m sorry Father!” Arwen said with a 
giggle as she stepped back and smiled up at 
Elrond. He frowned slightly at the 
disheveled state of her appearance. Her 
long raven hair was messy and her skirt was 
slightly off as she pulled her dress up to 
cover her shoulders. There were dark 
marks forming on her neck that looked 
suspiciously as if they’d been made by 
teeth. She gave him a brilliant smile. 
“Father, you’re frowning.”  
 
“What have you been doing, Arwen?” he 
asked with a pointed look at her neck.  
 
Arwen smiled and cocked her head to the 
side. “Father, I know it hasn’t been that 
long,” she said, taking a step forward and 
leaning close to the elven lord. “And if it 
has, you should do something about it. I 
know mother wouldn’t mind. There are 
enough maids around here that would gladly 
take you to bed if you wished. Lords as 
well.” She grinned.  
 
“Arwen,” Elrond said warningly. He did not 
appreciate being talked to in such a way by 
his darling daughter. She was one of the 
many who had been very strange for the 
past few days, and he noticed that neither 
Erestor nor Glorfindel had been able to 
look him in the eyes recently. He also 
noticed that it was Glorfindel’s room Arwen 
had just run from.  
 
“Oh, I do love you father,” Arwen laughed 
as she leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss 
to Elrond’s lips. Something she had done 
since she was a child. But when her tongue 
flicked out and licked between his lips he 
pulled away.  
 
“What are you doing?” Elrond said in 
surprise as he stepped away.  
 
“Don’t be so prudish. I was only playing,” 
Arwen said with a shrug as she walked past 
her father before turning again. “Anyway, 
have you seen Estel? I’m afraid he’s ridden 
out with the Dunedain again and I worry 
that he’s going to get hurt.”  
 
“He has not ridden out again,” Elrond 
answered, though he gave no further 
comment.  
 
“Hmm, then I will continue to look for him. 
Thank you,” Arwen smiled seductively as 
she turned and walked down the hall, her 
hips swaying in a way that attracted 
Elrond’s eyes until he forced himself to look 
away. He was worried about the way 
Arwen was acting. It was not unusual for 
younger elves to be extremely promiscuous 
and experimental, but at her age he would 
have thought she’d past that phase. Not to 
mention her intense attraction for Estel 
should have curtailed a want for any other.  
 
With a frown Elrond turned and continued 
down the hall, walking toward his room. He 
noticed the shy way Glorfindel slunk out of 
his room and chose not to acknowledge it. 
Arwen was old enough to make her own 
decisions about lovers. Though Valar help 
the elven lord if he ever hurt Arwen.  
 
As Elrond entered his own room there was 
a rustle of movement. He shut the door and 
lit one of the nearby lanterns, throwing some 
more wood on the fire as he noticed the 
growing chill in the room. The movement 
echoed through the room again and Elrond 
looked over his shoulder at the foot of his 
bed.  
 
“Father?” Estel asked. He had moved into a 
sitting position and was now rubbing the 
sleep from his eyes. He was naked except 
for a sheet around his waist. There was the 
clink of metal as he moved to stand and 
walk toward the elven lord. The chain that 
held him to the bed went taut as he moved 
in Elrond’s direction. “Why?” he asked in 
confusion at his inability to go further. He 
shook his dark head, knowing he would get 
no answer. “How long have I been asleep?”  
 
“Most of the day, my son,” Elrond 
answered as he walked over and pulled 
Estel into a hug. He felt bad chaining his 
foster son to the bed and denying him 
clothes. But he was afraid the boy would 
run off with the Dunedain if he didn’t and he 
would not chance any of his children being 
hurt. These were dark times. And in dark 
times radical measure needed to be taken.  
 
“I’m so tired,” Estel mumbled, relaxing into 
Elrond’s arms. The elven lord pulled him 
over to sit on the bed. The manacle 
attached to Estel’s ankle clanked loudly as 
the chain became slack again. Elrond 
stroked the dark coarse hair and down the 
muscular back as he whispered calming 
words into the rounded ear.  
 
“Yes, I know you are,” Elrond said 
soothingly as he rubbed circles over the 
tanned back. “The sleeping draught I gave 
you with your dinner last night is rather 
powerful. You will feel tired for a while.”  
 
“Why?” Estel managed to ask again as he 
began to fall asleep on his foster father’s 
shoulder.  
 
“I worry about all my children and you have 
run away to hunt orc with the Dunedain 
against my wishes before and been hurt. I’ll 
not have that happen again. You will stay 
safe in Rivendell even if I must chain you 
here,” Elrond replied as Estel shut his eyes 
and let out a tired sigh, slumping into a 
restless sleep. “Good child,” he said 
affectionately as he lay the boy down on the 
bed and pulled a blanket over him. For a 
moment it occurred to him that he was over 
reacting, that it was cruel to keep Estel 
chained to the foot of his bed, naked and 
drugged. But it was the only way to keep 
the boy safe. Right?  
 
A knock on the door disturbed Elrond’s 
thoughts and he rose and walked to the 
doorway. “What is it?” he asked as he 
opened the door and found Erestor standing 
outside. The elf quickly averted his eyes to 
keep from looking into Elrond’s.  
 
“It’s your sons, my lord,” Erestor said 
nervously. “They’re brawling in the library.”  
 
“What?” Elrond hissed, already moving past 
Erestor and making his way toward the 
library. The twins had always been a bit of a 
handful, even though they’d mellowed 
considerably at their age. But they hadn’t 
fought in a way that had been called to his 
attention in over a thousand years and only 
once before that. He moved with all the 
speed his dignity would allow, pushing 
through a crowd of elves that had gathered 
in the library doorway, and found his sons 
rolling over one another. Punches were 
flying and books were falling.  
 
“Elladan! Elrohir! What in the name of the 
Valar do you think you’re doing!?”  
 
For a moment it looked as if they weren’t 
going to stop, as if they hadn’t even heard 
their father. But at last they gave him 
identical surprised looks as Elrohir rolled on 
top of Elladan, his hands firmly locked on 
his brother’s throat. “Father?” they said in 
unison.  
 
“Both of you get to your rooms!” Elrond 
ordered. They didn’t move and Elrond 
feared he would have to physically separate 
them, but after what seemed like an eternity 
Elrohir let got of his twin’s neck and stood 
up, slowly backing away. “Now!” Elrond 
snapped as the younger twin gave him a 
pitiful look and left the library, followed by 
Elladan.  
 
Elrond closed his eyes and pinched the 
bridge of his nose. He had no idea what had 
gotten into his sons. It couldn’t be the Ring, 
he decided. They were acting far too petty 
for its evil to be affecting them. At least he 
hoped it wasn’t the Ring. Vilya soft voice 
soothed such thoughts from his mind. 
Opening his eyes and turning, he frowned at 
the crowd of gathered elves still blocking 
the doorway. Most looked away and 
moved, quickly dispersing under the glare of 
the elven lord. Some looked annoyed that 
the fight had been broken up.  
 
Elrond pursed his lips. Yes, everyone in 
Rivendell was acting quite strange.  
 
 
 
Chapter 2  
 
“Now Father is angry with us!”  
 
Elladan didn’t have time to react as Elrohir 
grabbed him by the front of his robe and 
threw him into his room, slamming to door 
behind them. He stumbled and fell onto the 
floor, crawling away in surprise as his 
normally docile twin advanced on him like 
an enraged orc. “Elrohir, what is wrong with 
you?” he asked, grabbing the post of his 
bed and getting to his feet. “First the fight in 
the library and now this after father told us 
to go to our rooms…”  
 
“I started the fight in the library?” Elrohir cut 
him off with a laugh as he stopped 
advancing. “You started it, Elladan! With 
this constant obsession you have with our 
mother! Can’t you think of anything else 
other than hunting orcs and revenging 
mother? I swear to the Valar! I try and have 
a conversation with you and you can’t think 
of anything else. I ask you about the 
weather and you tell me whether it’s good 
for hunting orcs or not. I ask you what 
you’re reading and you mumble something 
about mother loving to read. You can think 
about nothing but her! I haven’t deserted 
you and yet I don’t even seem to exist in 
your world. Sometimes I think you love her 
and her alone. It’s a wonder I haven’t 
raised my hands to you before with the way 
you ignore me!”  
 
“How can you talk like that?” Elladan 
yelled, taking a hostile step towards his 
twin. “She was our mother. Doesn’t she 
deserve to be revenged? Or is your heart 
cold to what those filthy creatures did to her 
in their disgusting den?”  
 
“She deserted us when we needed her, 
Elladan,” Elrohir replied as a snarl appeared 
on his face. “When Arwen needed her.” 
The snarl turned into a cruel smirk. “She 
was visiting Lorien because her and father 
weren’t getting on too well, maybe she 
enjoyed what the orcs did to her.”  
 
Elladan clenched his fists, for a moment 
unable to believe what his beloved twin had 
just said. An anger welled up inside him and 
something was indulging it, feeding it so that 
it bubbled and festered under his skin. He 
felt a growl escape his lips and visions of his 
brother lying beneath him, his body bruised 
and neck snapped, appeared uninvited in 
his mind. “Take that back,” he growled.  
 
“No,” Elrohir said coldly. “This is the most 
attention I’ve gotten from you since she 
went missing.” He took a step forward so 
that they were both within arms reach of 
one another. “What bothers you the most? 
The image of a horde of orc all over our 
mother, penetrating her in every way 
possible, and her loving every moment of it? 
Or the fact it wasn’t you?”  
 
A guttural noise erupted from Elladan’s lips 
as he blindly lunged toward his brother. 
Elrohir ducked the grasping hands and 
managed to tackle the elder twin back onto 
the bed. Straddling Elladan’s waist and 
once again asserting a grip on his throat, an 
insane glint was in Elrohir’s eyes and for a 
moment Elladan was sure he would die by 
hands that were exactly like his own.  
 
“When I said to get to your rooms I meant 
for each of you to go to your own,” an 
angry voice said from the doorway as the 
door once again was slammed closed. 
“Elrohir, get off your brother this instant!”  
 
“Father, I can explain,” Elrohir said lamely 
as he pulled away from Elladan and 
stumbled backwards off the bed. Elladan 
messaged his neck, wincing at the forming 
bruises, as he got his first glimpse of their 
father’s face and winced further. He 
couldn’t remember a time his father had 
been so angry. His face seemed almost red 
with rage.  
 
“You were on a bed throttling your own 
twin in his room,” Elrond said, as if to 
remind his son of the absurdity of the 
situation. Elrohir hung his head and stared at 
the floor, saying nothing else. “I am very 
upset with both of you,” the elven lord said 
with a sigh as Elladan got off the bed to 
stand by his brother. “You both have 
behaved in a way unbefitting your age and 
your station. I am not even sure how to deal 
with the two of you at this moment. But I 
feel that punishment is in order.”  
 
It occurred to Elladan that their father had 
never punished them before. As children 
they had been denied a lesson or glared at 
disapprovingly until they felt so guilty they 
quickly repented all wrongdoing. There had 
never been a need for real punishment. He 
didn’t know why the word turned his 
stomach so. But something in the way his 
father said it felt dark and foreboding. As if 
something that was not their father was 
threatening them with the familiar voice.  
 
“Both of you, strip down to your breeches 
and lean against that wall,” Elrond ordered. 
For a moment neither of them moved, but 
something in their father’s eyes told them it 
was in their best interest to do as he said.  
 
They stripped off their robes and loose 
shirts and moved over toward the wall, 
eyeing each other and their father warily. He 
gestured for them to turn and face the walls, 
putting their hands against it for support. 
Elladan felt a cold feeling welling up within 
him as he waited for what was about to 
come. For a moment the image of his father 
dead appealed to him before he pushed it 
away. He didn’t want to see anyone in his 
family dead and it sickened him that he kept 
imaging it.  
 
“I’m sorry,” Elrond said from behind. There 
was a strange tone in his voice as if he were 
warring within himself over what to do. “But 
this is for your own good.”  
 
Elladan heard the distinct sound of a belt 
being undone and realized what was 
happening seconds before the leather struck 
his back. He let out a pained grunt that was 
quickly echoed by his brother as the broad 
leather belt came down on his back. Elladan 
barely managed to suck in a breath before 
the belt struck him again. Idly he realized it 
had to be his father’s sword belt, and he 
wondered what the Lord of Rivendell had 
been doing just wearing it around.  
 
The belt came down again and again on 
their backs, giving the twins matching sets of 
lacing welts over their once smooth skin. It 
seemed to go on forever and Elladan was 
acutely aware of how glad he was to have 
the wall in front of him. He would have 
fallen after the first few strikes without it. 
Sometimes he forgot how strong his father 
was. That those healers hands had once 
dealt out a great deal of death at Gil-galad’s 
side.  
 
Finally, letting out a choked sound, Elrohir 
slumped to his knees with his head and 
hands still pressed against the wall. The 
blows stopped and the room was silent 
except the sounds of Elrond panting in 
exertion. He dropped the belt to the floor as 
he spoke. “I want you both to think and 
reflect upon what you have done to deserve 
this,” he said, a tone of disgust at his own 
actions in his voice. “When you are ready 
come and I will treat the wounds.”  
 
Neither of them turned to look as Elrond 
left the room. When the door clicked shut 
once more Elladan fell to his knees as well. 
“I can’t believe father did that,” he moaned, 
wincing at the pain in his back as he 
shrugged his shoulders. He could not 
remember his father ever raising a hand in 
anger, let alone whipping any of his children 
with a belt.  
 
He looked over at Elrohir worriedly, 
remembering that his brother had fallen to 
his knees with an odd sound of pain 
escaping his lips. He looked at his younger 
brother and a cruel smirk curved his lips as 
he took in the sight of Elrohir half-naked, 
covered in sweat, red welts running up and 
down his back and sides, panting heavily, 
and a bulge between his legs begging to be 
freed.  
 
“Enjoyed that, did you? It was supposed to 
be a punishment,” Elladan laughed as 
Elrohir turned his head and gave him a dirty 
look. “Like it rough and painful? Perhaps I 
should send you off to an orc den.”  
 
“At least then maybe I’d get some 
attention,” Elrohir mumbled, turning away to 
rest his head on the wall once more. 
“Probably be a lot more pleasurable than 
being with you anyway.”  
 
Elladan’s eyes narrowed as he got to his 
feet. “You think it’d be pleasurable,” he 
mumbled as his eyes focused on the belt 
their father had dropped. He slowly picked 
it up. “Since you seem to like this sort of 
thing I think I’ll show you just how 
pleasurable I can make your life.” He 
brought the belt down hard against Elrohir’s 
back. The twin let out a cry as he threw his 
head back and then collapsed to the floor, 
whimpering. “But I think your back has 
taken enough for one day. I know my own 
is sore. And there are so many other parts 
of the body.”  
 
He lay the belt aside for a moment as he 
tore a strip of fabric from the sheets on his 
bed. Then he grabbed Elrohir’s dark hair, 
pulling his brother to his feet and shoved 
him against the wall. “Put your hands up 
over your head,” he ordered. Elrohir did 
nothing, giving him only a disdainful silence. 
Elladan trailed his free hand over his 
brother’s back and along his side, fingers 
gently stroking over one of the welts before 
pressing into them with short nails and 
eliciting a painful scream. “Now, Elrohir!” 
he ordered again over the scream. This time 
his brother obeyed, raising trembling hands 
along the wall until they were over head.  
 
Elladan let go of the dark hair and welt, 
using the press of his own body to hold his 
twin against the wall, and tied the shaking 
hands together with the torn bit of sheet. 
“There’s a ledge up here,” he said, curling 
the tied hands over the decorative edge. 
There was a small whimper and Elladan felt 
the fingers clutch the ledge under his hands. 
For a moment he couldn’t help but wonder 
what he was doing and why the recently 
defiant Elrohir seemed to be allowing it. But 
then the urge to dominate and control filled 
him, the need to teach his beloved twin a 
dark and painful lesson.  
 
He stepped back, letting Elrohir sag against 
the wall under his own power as he unlaced 
his brother’s breeches and let them drop to 
the floor. It was an arousing sight. His 
brother naked and leaning submissively 
against the wall; his milky white skin smooth 
and perfect except for the recently inflicted 
markings, his hands bound above his head 
and his fingers turning white as they 
desperately held the ledge.  
 
A shiver ran through Elrohir’s body and 
Elladan grinned, stepping forward and 
pressing against his brother, forcing 
Elrohir’s already hard member painfully 
against the wall. Elladan’s own hardness, 
still confined in his breeches, rubbed against 
his twin’s buttocks. He kissed the tip of his 
brother’s ear as his hand trailed down over 
Elrohir’s arm, over his chest, down his side, 
moving around to touch the firm stomach. 
“What brought on this obedient change? I 
hope it lasts for your sake, dear brother. I 
would hate to have to get too rough,” his 
fingers curled and he pressed the nails into 
the smooth white flesh, drawing blood from 
crescent shaped indents. Elrohir gasped and 
tensed in pain.  
 
Elladan pulled away; for a moment reeling in 
revulsion at the sight of his brother’s blood 
on his fingers. A panic filled him at the 
realization of the pain he was planning to 
inflict upon his own flesh and blood. He was 
virtually plotting the torture and rape of his 
own brother, his twin. But as his eyes 
looked back at Elrohir, waiting so meekly 
against the wall, trembling in anticipation 
and maybe a little fear. A voice in Elladan’s 
head fed on the image, enhancing the want, 
the need; delighting in the complete control 
his beautiful brother appeared to be giving 
him. All revulsion and panic left him, leaving 
only a driving desire as he picked up his 
father’s belt.  
 
The belt came down on Elrohir’s backside, 
forming a red line. Elladan waited for a 
moment as he watched the red mark rise 
into a brilliant welt. A smile twisted on his 
lips as he brought the belt down again and 
again on Elrohir’s rear, forming 
crisscrossing lines, some thin and pale white 
and some a broad and dark red as the skin 
broke and miniscule amounts of blood 
began to flow.  
 
Sucking in a breath Elladan looked lower, 
at the thighs, deciding the round flesh of his 
brother’s backside had taken enough 
damage. Elrohir was trembling. His knees 
were weak and there was a tinge of blood 
flowing from where he held the ledge. He 
was making small whimpering and moaning 
noises that only served to arose Elladan to 
heights he’d never thought possible.  
 
Elladan raised the belt again as he imagined 
how delectable the creamy white thighs 
would look marked in red. He struck the 
left thigh. The right thigh. Then slashed 
across both in unison. Then repeated the 
action. Once. Twice. Three times. As the 
leather snapped across the right thigh, 
crossing a bloody welt, Elrohir let out a 
scream. His hands released the ridge and he 
slumped to the floor, sobbing in pain even 
as his erection throbbed.  
 
“Such a little pain slut, aren’t you little 
brother?” Elladan asked as he tossed the 
belt across the room and knelt beside his 
twin. His hand stroked through Elrohir’s 
dark hair, momentarily closing his eyes and 
marveling at the silky feel of it. So like his 
own, but so forbidden and perfect as well. 
He could have stayed in the moment 
forever, his eyes closed and his fingers 
entwined in his twin’s hair, and he would be 
satisfied. But a dark question entered his 
mind, almost as if it were meant to disrupt 
the feeling of contentment that had washed 
over him.  
 
He opened his eyes and looked down at his 
brother. Elrohir had rolled onto his side and 
was nuzzling against Elladan’s knee. “I’m 
sorry,” he panted softly as he propped his 
chin on Elladan’s leather clad thigh. “I could 
hold on no longer.” Elladan tried to push the 
dark question away as he reached forward 
to touch Elrohir’s cheek, but Elrohir turned 
his head as the hand touched his cheek and 
pressed a kiss to the hands before his lips 
invited in the fingers in.  
 
The way Elrohir took the fingers into his 
mouth, carefully licking along the sides, 
gently biting at the tips, sucking at them, 
using his tongue to caress the delicate digits, 
made the dark question burn in Elladan’s 
mind. He felt a jealous rage kindle inside his 
gut as his other hand seized the hair, 
yanking his brother’s head back. Elrohir let 
out a yelp.  
 
“You’re very good at that,” Elladan said, 
stroking his slick fingers over his twin’s high 
cheekbones. A loving caress despite the 
violent grip on the dark hair. For a moment 
Elladan was lost in his brother’s stormy gray 
eyes. Lost in the way they swirled like the 
cloudy twilight sky before it rained. It 
calmed him momentarily before the question 
pressed all tenderness away and he 
frowned. “You must have studied hard to 
become so skillful. I can’t help but wonder 
who helped to drill you in this art?”  
 
“What do…” Elrohir tried as Elladan gave a 
hard pull on his hair, forcing his brother to 
arch his sore back. He closed his eyes and 
whimpered as Elladan pressed his fingers 
against the cheekbone in an almost bruising 
fashion.  
 
“Don’t even think of lying to me. I’m no 
fool, Elrohir. I know you are not some 
chaste child. Tell me the names of those 
who have aided you in your carnal training. 
I would know who I am competing 
against,” Elladan said. He didn’t really want 
to know. He’d never wanted to know. That 
was why he never asked about Elrohir’s 
sexual exploits, even though his twin had 
often asked about his own affair with 
Arathorn in the years before he married 
Gilraen. Every time he imagined his brother 
in the arms of an elf or man it sparked a 
horrible feeling of jealousy that he quickly 
pushed away, but now he invited it. “Tell 
me, Elrohir.”  
 
“Haldir of Lorien,” Elrohir admitted slowly 
as he opened his eyes and swallowed hard.  
 
“Who else?” Elladan asked, letting his grip 
on his brother’s hair slacken a bit. There 
was no point in tormenting his twin if he was 
cooperating.  
 
“Galdor from the Grey Havens. Gildor 
Inglorion. Arador. The brothers of Haldir, 
Rumil and Orophin,” Elrohir bit his lip as he 
answered the unasked question in Elladan’s 
face. He blushed in embarrassment as he 
averted his eyes. “Yes, at the same time.”  
 
Elladan laughed even as the image of Elrohir 
caught in the embrace of the blond brothers 
came unbidden to his mind. He imagined 
what had occurred in the forests of Lorien 
while he was speaking with their 
grandparents. He could see his brother 
kneeling before the ever arrogant Rumil, 
taking the hardened flesh in his mouth as the 
flaxen haired elf pulled at his dark tresses. 
He could see Orophin taking his Elrohir 
from behind, thrusting in and out of the now 
reddened and bruising backside. The 
images aroused and angered Elladan at the 
same time.  
 
He wrenched Elrohir’s head back and 
pressed a kiss against the surprised lips, 
forcing his tongue into the sweet tasting 
mouth. His twin’s tongue quickly began 
warring against his and Elladan pulled away, 
leaving Elrohir wanting. “I’ll make you 
forget all of them,” Elladan said angrily as he 
tugged at the hair and his twin let out a cry 
of discomfort. “I’ll make you want me!”  
 
Elrohir panted, moving his tied hands over 
Elladan’s thigh, his fingers tugging on the 
laces of his brother’s breeches. “But I do 
want you, Elladan,” he said, his eyes half-
lidded as he looked up at his brother. 
Elladan’s grip on his hair became lax. “I’ve 
always wanted you. Ever since the day I 
spied you and that elven maid beneath the 
trees I’ve wanted you to dominate me. I 
want you to take me. I want you to do 
whatever you want to my body. Whip me. 
Cut me. Beat me as much as you wish. I’ll 
love it as long as it’s you doing it. But when 
you’re done I want to feel you penetrating 
me. I want your hard length to fill me.” He 
moaned, rubbing his erection against the 
ground. “I will do whatever you want. Just 
take me Elladan. There is no one I have 
ever wanted more than you. If you tell me 
to forget them I will, gladly; and replace the 
memories with thoughts of only you. Please, 
Elladan, take me!”  
 
Elladan stared at his brother laid up below 
him, begging to be taken. Elladan licked his 
lips. It was a luscious sight. All the dark 
urges and thoughts seemed to leave him, as 
the object of his desire gave into him, and is 
all he could think was that he didn’t want to 
hurt Elrohir any more. He looked at the 
welts on his brother’s backside and 
frowned at the lack of any kind of lubricant 
to smooth his entry. “I don’t want to hurt 
you,” he breathed, running his fingers over 
the painful red lines he himself had inflicted 
and almost laughing at the irony of the 
statement.  
 
He didn’t know what was going on. This 
was not like him, to give in so freely to his 
anger and desires. Nor was it like Elrohir to 
be quite so submissive. Less than an hour 
ago they had been at each other’s throats, 
literally, and had spoken harsh words meant 
to cut and scar. Yet now, after being 
whipped until he could no longer stand, 
Elrohir was confessing his desire and asking 
for more pain in the form of forbidden 
carnal pleasure from his own twin. It was 
strange. The past few days it had been 
strange all over Rivendell.  
 
“Please, Elladan!” Elrohir pleaded, breaking 
Elladan from his thoughts.  
 
As he looked back down on his brother all 
thoughts of strange actions and reactions 
faded into quiet whispers. A strange voice 
seemed to speak up in the back of his mind, 
telling him to thrust into his brother violently 
and repeatedly, blood and pain be damned. 
It told him to grab his brother’s hips with 
the bruising strength his hands possessed 
and force him to the pleasure that he so 
obviously wanted.  
 
He shook in temptation, unsure of what to 
do. He wanted his brother with every fiber 
of his brother and the voice in the back of 
his head told him to give into the urge, but 
he feared to hurt his dear brother any more. 
He didn’t know what to do. He could only 
wonder what had caused such a strange 
situation to occur.  
 
 
 
Chapter 3  
 
Aragorn moaned as he opened his eyes and 
stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t his own 
room, he knew that much. He was pretty 
sure he was still in Rivendell. No other 
place had such beautiful architecture, even 
on the ceilings, and such soft, silky blankets, 
not to mention the most comfortable beds in 
all Middle-earth. Turning his head, he 
focused his eyes on the delicate crystal 
statue of a young female elf reaching out for 
a butterfly. It was sitting on a grand 
mahogany bookshelf. Arwen. He was in 
Elrond’s room then.  
 
The light sound of a door caught his 
attention and he turned his head to watch 
the elven lord himself walk in. He didn’t 
seem to notice that his foster son was 
awake. Aragorn watched him as he crossed 
the room, looking down at the floor as if he 
was ashamed of something. For the first 
time in his life, Aragorn noticed the lines in 
Elrond’s face. In the firelight they showed 
his great age, a weariness born of pain and 
loss, and a haunted look that spoke of 
unknown horrors.  
 
“Father,” he managed to call out. His throat 
was dry and the word cracked as he spoke. 
But Elrond practically jumped when he 
heard it, looking up in alarm at his foster 
son, still curled up at the end of the bed. 
“Are you well?” Aragorn asked in concern, 
not fully registering the guilty look on 
Elrond’s face.  
 
Elrond shut his eyes and let out a deep 
breath before he opened them again. “No, 
Estel, I am not well, but it is my own fault,” 
he answered.  
 
“What’s wrong?” Aragorn asked, 
attempting to sit up. As he did, a wave of 
nausea overcame him and he let out a 
moan, collapsing back onto the bed and 
clutching his head, hoping for the dizziness 
to go away. Elrond was over him instantly, 
pulling his hands away and pressing slender 
fingers to his cheeks and forehead to check 
his temperature. “Father, something’s 
wrong,” he managed to whimper. He hadn’t 
felt this helpless in over sixty years. Panic 
began to well up in his gut as he felt an 
unknown shadow clawing at his dazed 
mind.  
 
“My poor child,” Elrond crooned, gathering 
Aragorn in his arms and pulling him against 
his chest. He gently stroked the dark hair 
and Aragorn relaxed in the arms as the 
shadow seemed to pull away. There was 
safety and comfort there. “The sleeping 
draught I gave you may have been too 
powerful for a Man, even one of your 
heritage. I am sorry. It will wear off in time, 
but until it does I fear you will be dizzy and 
a bit sick as well as tired.”  
 
Aragorn nodded, immediately wishing he 
hadn’t. He braced himself against his 
father’s chest to try and stop the room from 
spinning. He still didn’t understand why 
Elrond had drugged him. His father had said 
it was for his own protection. But protection 
against what? He was as well trained as any 
mortal could be; trained by both the 
Dunedain and the elves, not to mention the 
dozen other cultures he had trained under. 
He could ride a horse like one of the 
Rohirrm and even the dwarf Gimli had 
admitted he had a skill in axe throwing. He 
did not understand what it was that Elrond 
felt he needed protecting from. There were 
no guarantees of safety when he left 
Rivendell, but his foster father had never 
been so overprotective before.  
 
He coughed from the dryness of his throat 
and managed to look up at Elrond. 
“Water?” he asked. There was the clink of 
the chain as he moved his leg and he looked 
down. He’d forgotten about the manacle 
around his ankle that kept him chained to 
the bed.  
 
“Of course,” Elrond said, laying him back 
down and walking across the room to a 
pitcher of water and a set of five glasses, 
one for each of his children and himself. 
Aragorn shut his eyes in an attempt to stop 
the room from spinning. There was 
something desperately wrong, but his mind 
was so stuffy that it was impossible for him 
focus on any one thing for long enough to 
figure out what it was.  
 
A hand touched him as an arm gently 
wrapped around his shoulders and propped 
him into a sitting position. He managed to 
open his eyes as Elrond held the glass of 
water to his lips, tipping it slightly. Aragorn 
reached up to take control of the glass, 
though Elrond did not fully let go. He 
quickly gulped down the water despite the 
nausea that threatened to make him vomit it 
back up. When he was done he let go, glad 
his foster father had held onto the glass. 
Elrond laid him back down on the bed and 
stroked his hair soothingly and for a 
moment Aragorn just let go and relaxed. It 
was almost as if he was a child again. But 
then he remembered the haunted look on 
his father’s face when he entered the room. 
He looked up and gave Elrond a pitiable 
look.  
 
“What’s wrong, father?” he asked again, 
managing to roll to his side without too 
much trouble. “You came in with such a 
wretched look on your face and you said it 
was your own fault, but I am sure that 
cannot be true.”  
 
Elrond said nothing, looking away even as 
he continued to stroke Aragorn’s dark 
locks. He let out a sigh and his hand stilled. 
“I have done something I am not proud of, 
my son,” he answered. “Though at the time 
it seemed like the correct course of action.”  
 
“If it seemed right…” Aragorn began. “You 
are among the Wise, father, I’m sure it was 
the right thing to do even if it was 
unpleasant.”  
 
Elrond was silent for a moment. “Even the 
Wise may descend into folly,” he replied as 
he curled a strand of Aragorn’s hair around 
his finger. “I have done so once before, 
when I did not force Isildur to destroy the 
Ring.” His eyes unfocused and Aragorn was 
surprised at the absolute anguish that 
crossed his features. “It should have been 
destroyed… but I allowed evil to survive 
because of foolish attachments.”  
 
Aragorn shut his eyes. He could feel the 
strange dark shadow all around them, trying 
to take hold of him, but the darkness was as 
unable to grasp his mind as he was unable 
to focus his thoughts. He shook his head 
and the darkness dispersed as he looked up 
at Elrond who was still staring off into 
nothing and playing with his hair. “You 
could not have known what would happen,” 
he said. “You are not to blame. The call of 
the Ring is strong.”  
 
The elven lord looked down at him. “Yes, it 
is strong,” he admitted darkly, his fingers 
running through Aragorn’s hair and slowly 
moving to caress the line of the strong jaw. 
“You are wise for your age, Estel,” he 
breathed as the human noticed the strange 
look in his father’s eyes. They were still 
distant, but there was a hunger in them now. 
It made him feel uncomfortable as the 
fingers began to stroke the hollow of his 
neck and collarbone.  
 
“You remind me of Isildur,” Elrond said, 
and Aragorn jerked in dismay. That was his 
greatest fear, that he shared anything but 
blood with the man who had kept the Ring. 
His entire life he had striven to be better 
than that, not to give into dark temptation. 
And now he was being likened to the man. 
If his head had been any less cloudy, he 
was sure he would have cried out in 
anguish. “Only in appearance,” Elrond said 
gently, as if he knew the torment his foster 
son was putting upon himself. “Not in 
temperament.”  
 
A breath of relief escaped Aragorn’s lips 
and he forgot the discomfort of his foster 
father stoking his chest. “Do you know who 
Isildur reminded me of?” Elrond asked as 
his hands moved and pulled Aragorn into a 
sitting position with his back leaning against 
the elven lord’s chest. The fingers ran 
though his hair again, soothingly.  
 
“Who?” Aragorn asked; between the 
dizziness, nausea, the inability to focus for 
more than a moment, and the strange feel of 
a dark shadow nearby, he was feeling very 
relaxed. Though a corner of his mind 
desperately wished he wasn’t naked, 
chained to his father’s bed, and drugged; 
but that part was drowned out by the sound 
of Elrond’s strong and melodic voice.  
 
“My much-loved brother,” he answered, 
pressing his face against Aragorn’s head 
and inhaling the scent of his hair. “Isildur 
was more masculine than my brother, of 
course, even then the elven blood was thin. 
And my brother, my twin, never bore such 
a grim look on his face. But Isildur had his 
eyes, his thin bowed lips, the dark hair that 
curled just slightly when wet,” as he spoke 
his hands ran down over Aragorn’s chest.  
 
A shudder ran through Aragorn’s body as 
his foster father touched him. He didn’t 
know why Elrond was talking to him in such 
soft tones and touching him in strange ways. 
He felt the sensations shoot through his 
body, confusing his muddied mind even 
more. It was uncomfortable and wrong, yet 
his body yearned for more.  
 
Aragorn’s head lolled back on Elrond’s 
shoulder as his foster father’s hand stroked 
over his belly. It felt wonderfully soothing, 
the delicate hand caressing his firm stomach, 
tracing circles over the bellybutton as it 
dipped lower. The fingers playing with the 
dark hair between his legs, roving over his 
inner thighs. He let out a gasp and jerked 
violently as a single finger ran over the 
length of his growing erection. A low moan 
escaped his lips. He barely heard his father 
whisper: ‘I’m sorry’.  
 
Then the hands left him and he let out a 
whimper as he was laid back on the bed 
and Elrond stood up. Aragorn tried to 
move, unsure of what was happening. 
Briefly he wondered if this was some 
strange test his father was putting him to. 
His head swirled at the thought and he 
wished the sleeping draught would wear off. 
He was so tired.  
 
The bed shifted and Aragorn managed to 
focus long enough to watch in bewilderment 
as Elrond sat beside him again. There was a 
strange look on his foster father’s face and 
if Aragorn had not known better he would 
have thought the elven lord to be on the 
verge of tears. Suddenly he felt the hands 
on him again, stroking down his sides, over 
his hips and thighs. They touched his legs, 
parting them and bending them upward at 
the knees. The chain clattered noisily as his 
legs were moved and positioned, an eerie 
reminder of his captivity.  
 
The delicate fingers moved over the skin of 
his inner thighs again and he closed his eyes 
with a moan. It was a sublime feeling, like 
nothing he’d ever experienced before. The 
strange shadow pulled at him again, 
demanding and tempting him with a voice 
that was deep and seductive. But what it 
wanted and what it offered he could not 
understand through the drugged haze of his 
mind; the shadow withdrew in defeat.  
 
A shocked sound escaped his lips and what 
few thoughts of the shadow he had focused 
on quickly disappeared as he felt the odd 
and exotic touch of a tongue on the delicate 
skin of his thigh. The warm wetness traced 
gently where the fingers had been, slowly 
moving closer and closer to his hard 
member. Then it was gone and Aragorn 
managed to open his eyes and look down. 
Elrond was staring up at him with a 
tormented expression on his face. When 
their eyes met he immediately averted his 
eyes, turning them downward, bowing his 
head as if giving into some invisible master.  
 
Aragorn opened his mouth to again ask his 
father what was wrong, but a tender kiss 
was pressed to the tip of his erection and 
the last remnants of coherent thought left his 
mind. The tongue flicked out and he let out 
a low moan. There was something wrong. 
He knew that. His father was not supposed 
to do such things to him and he feared the 
shadow was to blame. But it felt so 
wonderful and his mind felt so muffled that 
he could do nothing but be in the moment 
and enjoy it.  
 
The tongue moved over his length, seeming 
to taste every bit of it as the fingers moved 
teasingly in the tongue’s wake. Aragorn 
moaned as he began to pant, arching his 
back and attempting to thrust his hips 
upward in instinctive need. But the fingers 
left him and unexpectedly strong hands 
were pinning him into place as surely as the 
manacle and chain kept him by the bed. He 
let out an anxious cry as his body trembled 
with need and his fists clenched the covers 
of the bed. He’d never experienced such 
sweet pain before.  
 
Then he was enveloped within the warmth 
of Elrond’s mouth. He arched his back and 
let out a guttural groan of ecstasy as the 
mouth and tongue moved up and down 
over his erection, clouding his mind in a 
haze that was far more pleasurable than the 
dizziness and nausea the sleeping draught 
had brought. He panted with bliss as the 
pace was quickened. He managed to focus 
long enough to look down at the sight of the 
elven lord’s head bobbing rhythmically. The 
dark hair flowed elegantly, wisps sticking to 
the sweat of Aragorn’s thighs. Letting out 
another moan he caught sight of the half-
elven’s face and a glimpse of the sparkly 
wetness in his eyes and on his cheeks. He 
felt warm drops like tears strike his thigh. 
Was Elrond crying?  
 
Aragorn dismissed the thought quickly. His 
father did not cry.  
 
Suddenly a sensation shook his entire body 
and he arched upward, thrusting his hips 
despite the attempts of the hands to keep 
him still. A feeling of release and fulfillment 
coursed through him and the world became 
a sky of starry white flame. He screamed 
and it was a peculiar sound even in his own 
ears. It was not a sound of pain, but of 
pleasure, and it echoed around the room a 
moment before fading away.  
 
He panted heavily as he collapsed back 
onto the bed, feeling drained and yet 
completely satisfied. Elrond sat up, his dark 
hair a curtain that masked his face as he 
turned away, not allowing Aragorn to look 
upon him. Aragorn watched as his father 
walked shakily across the room. He wanted 
to call out to the elven lord, but the dizziness 
had returned in full force, and it seemed he 
could do nothing other than pant and watch.  
 
Elrond sat on the window seat and buried 
his face in his hands and Aragorn frowned. 
He yearned to rise and comfort his father, 
but he was too exhausted to do so; even if 
he were able to move there was still the 
matter of being chained to the bed. He 
sighed and closed his eyes. The effects of 
the sleeping draught were beginning to take 
hold again, now that he was too spent to 
resist it. As he fell into dreams he could not 
help but reflect on the fact his foster father 
had chained him to the bed and pleasured 
him. The elven lord was acting quite 
strange.  
 
 
 
Chapter 4  
 
Elrohir could see the sudden indecision in 
his twin’s eyes. This sudden fit of 
uncertainty threatened to undo all his hard 
work. He gritted his teeth and clenched his 
hands into fists. Of all the times for Elladan 
to have doubts, when he lay on the floor 
naked, his hands bound, his body beaten so 
badly he probably wouldn’t be able to walk 
for a week, would not have been his first 
choice. He had worked so hard to get his 
brother to act this way. The way he acted 
when they were hunting orcs; when all sense 
of right and wrong left his mind and he was 
harsh and cruel.  
 
Every taunt, jab, and blow had been 
carefully aimed to push Elladan over the 
edge and provoke this response. Elrohir 
knew his brother well. He knew speaking of 
the torment their mother had endured in 
such a disrespectful light would enrage him. 
He knew that when his darling Elladan saw 
him, aroused by their father’s punishment it 
would arouse him as well. Yes, Elrohir 
mused darkly to himself as he marveled at 
his own actions and watched the uncertainty 
flash in his brother’s eyes. He had plotted to 
have his own twin rape him.  
 
Elrohir closed his eyes and allowed his head 
rest on the floor a moment. What he was 
doing was immoral and against every fiber 
of his being. He was manipulating his own 
brother, his own flesh and blood, whom he 
loved and lusted after, into committing acts 
of carnal aggression. Worse still, and 
incestuous act that broke the unspoken laws 
of all Middle-earth. But he couldn’t manage 
to stop himself.  
 
He had managed to suppress his dark, 
forbidden lust for his brother for over two 
thousand years. Managed to hide his 
jealousy at the way Elladan doted on their 
mother and sister and always took him for 
granted, even when he was near and they 
were far away. Managed to conceal the 
way his twin’s every action drew his 
undivided attention; how the like face was a 
constant reminder of the forbidden nature of 
his desire. He’d managed to keep it all 
inside, to himself. But when the dark voice 
had spoken to him in such sweetly seductive 
tones, telling him he could have his most 
illicit desires, as much as Elrohir hated 
himself for it, he’d closed his eyes and 
listened.  
 
“I won’t hurt you anymore, Elrohir,” Elladan 
said, the voice shaking him from his 
thoughts. “Come, I’ll take you to father and 
he can bind your wounds.” Elrohir opened 
his eyes and looked up at the stricken 
expression on his twin’s face. “I’ll explain to 
him what happened and accept whatever 
punishment I deserve for it.”  
 
A hot anger formed in Elrohir’s gut as his 
brother spoke. He didn’t know why; it was 
strange for him to anger so quickly. Even as 
a child he had not been quick to anger, that 
had ever been Elladan’s forte. But now he 
could feel the gnawing heat clutching his 
heart as the dark voice whispered in his 
mind. Not only were his plans falling apart, 
but he had also lost Elladan’s attention once 
more.  
 
He wanted it back.  
 
“Of course,” he said bitterly, watching as his 
brother stared off blankly, lost in his own 
thoughts. “Perhaps I should go find those 
orcs. I’m sure they finish what they start,” 
he growled under his breath, wishing for a 
moment that he could stop himself from 
what he was about to say. “I didn’t hear 
mother having any complaints.”  
 
A hard slap came down across his backside 
and he let out a cry of surprise. At least he 
had Elladan’s attention again. “Do not say 
things like that,” his brother said angrily as 
he threw Elrohir onto his back and 
straddled his hips, eliciting a shout of agony 
as the abused body was pinned to the floor.  
 
“Things like what, dear brother?” Elrohir 
asked mockingly. It would be so easy to 
throw his twin over the edge into madness 
once more and for a moment he felt guilty 
that he was causing his dearest Elladan so 
much mental anguish. It was strange for him 
to want something at the cost of his own 
brother’s sanity. But when he felt the press 
of his Elladan’s erection against him and felt 
the silvery voice reminding him this might be 
his only chance for his darkest desire to be 
granted, he spoke: “That mother loved the 
dirty touch of the orcs all over her body as 
she pleasured them? That she probably 
cried out in ecstasy as they rode her and 
clawed her body, marking her for life? That 
she probably left us alone to go to Valinor 
and be fucked by Mandos himself? Are 
those the things you do not want me to 
say?”  
 
“If you persist in this, Elrohir, I will make 
you sorry,” Elladan growled, his hands 
tightening on Elrohir’s shoulders as all 
thoughts of kindness and healing were cast 
aside. Elrohir groaned momentarily in 
agony. He could acutely feel every mark the 
belt had scored on his body as he was held 
down to the floor.  
 
“Then make me sorry, brother,” Elrohir 
finally bit back, though his voice shook in 
pain. He was half afraid he would pass out 
and miss all the fun if he had to lie on his 
back any longer. “I’ll not take anything 
back. You’re just angry because you never 
had a chance to have her like every other 
creature in Middle-earth.”  
 
Elladan slapped him so hard that that Elrohir 
felt his teeth rattle together and for a 
moment feared his jaw had been broken. “I 
warned you, little brother,” Elladan 
growled, grabbing Elrohir’s face harshly. “I 
told you to stop or you would be sorry. 
Apparently flaying your back wasn’t 
enough. Do you want to feel what our 
mother felt when those cretins were upon 
her?” he threatened, his hand moving down 
over Elrohir’s throat. “I don’t care if I hurt 
you any more. I’m going to take you, no 
matter how loud you scream, no matter 
how hard you cry; and I promise you won’t 
enjoy it.”  
 
“You wouldn’t dare,” Elrohir said as 
Elladan’s hand tightened around his neck. 
He found the sight of his brother over him, 
so dominating and demanding, more 
arousing than Haldir and his brothers 
combined. He trembled in anticipation of 
what was to come as he gave his brother a 
provoking smirk. Nothing infuriated his twin 
more than arrogance.  
 
“Have it your way!” Elladan snarled angrily 
as a strange dark fire smoldered in his eyes. 
His hands moved from the throat and 
grabbed Elrohir’s shoulders, tossing him 
onto his stomach. Elrohir let out a shout of 
distress as his chest smashed into the floor 
with bruising force and his erection was 
once again crushed under his own weight. 
Still, it was more comfortable than lying on 
his back had been. “On your knees,” 
Elladan ordered as he hoisted Elrohir’s hips 
into the air, “and this time I don’t care how 
tired you get or how much pain you’re in. 
Don’t let yourself fall.”  
 
Elrohir pushed up to balance himself on his 
elbows and knees the way his brother 
demanded, wishing his hands were free. 
The floor was slick with blood and sweat, 
making it difficult for him not to slip and fall. 
He moaned, wondering what kind of 
punishment his brother would give him if he 
did fall. A slight smile formed on his lips as 
he heard Elladan’s breeches being cast 
aside. This was it. The moment he had been 
wanting for more than two thousand years. 
It was strange, but all of a sudden he was 
nowhere near as happy as he thought he 
would be.  
 
Hands gripped his hips violently, fingers 
bruising, as thumbs dug into already bloody 
welts and Elladan thrust into him without 
any further warning. Elrohir let out a 
scream, throwing back his head as his 
elbows slipped and his body tried to crash 
against the floor. But the hands held him 
upright as his brother buried himself fully 
into the already bloody backside. There 
was no kindness in way his brother took 
him, and for that Elrohir was glad. If it had 
been a gentle act he would have felt guilty 
for the cruel exploitation of his brother’s 
emotions.  
 
Elladan began to move and Elrohir let out a 
grunt as he clenched his bound hands into 
fists and pressed his face to the floor. It was 
strange to take such pleasure in so much 
pain. The dark and seductive voice began 
speaking to him again as he reveled in his 
Elladan’s touch, at each painful thrust into 
his bruised and bloody backside, tearing 
viciously and causing blood run down his 
thighs, mingling with the blood from his 
earlier wounds and forming pools on the 
ground about his knees. He knew he should 
not be enjoying this, but it was as if every 
sensible part of his mind that would object 
was asleep.  
 
The voice whispered to him, promising him 
he could have all that he desired, that this 
was only the beginning of what it could 
offer. Elrohir briefly wondered what it was, 
but the voice pushed the curiosity away, 
persisting in the offer. Visions appeared in 
his mind. He could see all of Middle-earth 
at his feet as Elladan stood at his side, his 
twin’s attention never turning from him and 
obeying his every whim. Visions of nights 
filled with pain and sex, and the torment of 
those who would speak against him.  
 
“No!” Elrohir gasped in horror as Elladan’s 
rough treatment shook him free of the 
visions. He opened the eyes he hadn’t 
realized he had closed. He didn’t want to 
hurt anyone; it was against his very nature to 
do so! He was a healer like his father. He 
despised the orc hunts his brother delighted 
in, though he understood the necessity and 
so always accompanied his beloved twin. 
His nails cut into the palms of his hands as 
he denied the strange wants that had taken 
him as of late. He had no wish for Elladan 
to be his slave, to use this twin for nothing 
but his own wanton urges. He focused on 
the pain Elladan inflicted every time plunged 
into his body and used the pain to drive out 
the dark voice that tempted him with his 
darkest desires gone terribly awry.  
 
The dark voice swirled in his head, trying to 
assert control by weaving further alluring 
fantasies, but Elrohir denied them. He 
focused on the pain in his body, the slashes 
across his back and thighs. The feel of the 
blood dripping down his legs as his brother 
thrust in and out of him, jarring the welt 
covered back and thighs and causing near 
mind numbing pain. The shadow began to 
clear from his mind, releasing the part of him 
that abhorred pain, that loathed 
manipulation and all things cruel, the part of 
him that believed in propriety, that had 
hidden his lust for his brother. As the 
shadow left him he screamed.  
 
He screamed with all the strength he had left 
in his being.  
 
He screamed from the pain his father had 
inflicted upon him. He screamed from the 
pain his brother had dealt him. He screamed 
from pain his brother induced as he brutally 
forced him to pleasure. He screamed at the 
pain he had willingly caused his twin, 
manipulating him and fighting with the one 
person he loved above all else. He 
screamed at the desecration he’d brought to 
his mother’s memory. He screamed at the a 
anger and evil he hadn’t even known were 
within his own soul. He screamed with the 
sudden joyous feeling of release that 
washed over him; the darkness that was 
everything and nothing at once, the feeling 
his own brother had ripped from him that he 
had wanted to feel for so long. He 
screamed in agony that the moment that 
should have brought him unending joy was 
contaminated by his own selfish actions. He 
screamed until his voice was raw and he 
could scream no more; and collapsed into a 
panting mess as he began to sob.  
 
Through the haze of tears and pain he felt 
Elladan thrust into him a last time and reach 
his own release. The hands clenched on his 
hips as his brother let out a long, loud moan 
of pleasure and fell on top of him, crushing 
against the painful welts. Elrohir didn’t 
move, despite the pain that coursed though 
him. He just lay there and hated himself with 
every part of his being.  
 
“Elorhir?” a hesitant voice said against his 
ear as the weight of Elladan’s body moved 
off him and rolled to the side. He sucked in 
a breath of air as the chill in the room 
wrapped around him. He didn’t reply to the 
pleading tone in his twin’s voice as a hand 
was placed gently on his shoulder, careful 
not to touch any of the ugly welts. “Elrohir, 
please say something to me,” Elladan said. 
The painful hitch in his voice made Elrohir 
cringe; unable to speak as he silently cursed 
the pain he had put his brother through.  
 
The hand moved from his shoulder and 
fingers caressed his cheeks. “You’re 
crying,” Elladan said in a pained tone. “I 
made you cry. Valar help me! What have I 
done? I made you cry!”  
 
“Not your fault,” Elrohir finally said as 
Elladan shakily untied his hands and pulled a 
blanket from the bed. “No, not your fault,” 
he mumbled, more to himself than Elladan. 
He felt his brother lift him and pull him close 
as tenderly as he could, wrapping the 
blanket around them both as he began to 
cry. Elrohir closed his eyes. The shadow 
was gone from his mind now, but the 
terrible consequences lingered and he could 
only wonder how such a strange darkness 
could come over a place as peaceful as 
Rivendell.  
 
 
 
Chapter 5  
 
Arwen sat in the comfort of her father’s 
chair in the Hall of Fire as a low moan 
echoed about the walls. Her head was 
thrown back against the high headrest and 
she arched her back, her hands clawing the 
arms of the chair. Between her legs and 
hidden partly beneath the folds of her skirt, 
Lindir knelt, his hands moving over her 
thighs as his mouth licked and suckled at 
her most private place. She marveled at 
how skilled the elf was as her hands moved 
from the armrests and began to stroke 
through his blond hair, making sure he 
would not escape before she was satisfied.  
 
A cry of bliss escaped her lips as her hips 
shifted forward. A feeling that was perfect 
and painful and wonderful shuddered 
though her form as Lindir tried to pull away. 
She let out a laugh as her knees hooked 
over his shoulders and she crossed her 
ankles to prevent his escape. The rest of her 
body collapsed bonelessly into the chair as 
she laughed at the sinful natures of her 
actions. She wished her father would walk 
in and see her lounging in his chair, an elf 
trapped between her thighs. She wanted to 
see the look on his face.  
 
The laughter died on her lips and she 
frowned, letting the thought die away. Her 
father had been acting strange the past few 
days and it worried her. He seemed more 
uptight and distracted than he had in years. 
She let out a sigh, uncrossing her legs and 
letting Lindir free. She sat up in the chair 
and gave the elf a smile as he fell back onto 
the floor. “What do you want, Lindir?” she 
asked, taking in a deep breath to calm her 
panting. “Rather, who?”  
 
“You, of course, my Lady,” he said, even 
as he averted his eyes to the hallway.  
 
“You lie,” Arwen smirked in a breathy 
voice as she rose from the chair. Her legs 
felt a little weak, but she could stand. Lindir 
was truly amazing. He knew how to please 
a woman. She stepped forward and cocked 
her head to get a glimpse of the hallway, at 
whatever Lindir was looking at. A grin 
formed on her face as she tuned back to the 
elf. “Tell me, Lindir, is it the maid who tends 
the garden or my father’s chief advisor that 
draws your attention so?”  
 
A blush formed on Lindir’s high 
cheekbones. “Erestor,” he answered 
quietly.  
 
“So, why do you not pursue him?” Arwen 
asked, crossing her arms. In the past week, 
nearly all the elves in Rivendell had given 
into their desires, giving chase to those that 
seemed unreachable. Many suitors had 
approached her, elves that she had not 
known harbored such desires, and though 
she could not give them her love or her 
hand, for those belonged to Estel, she 
delighted in sharing the comforts of the flesh 
with them. Glorfindel, Erestor, the garden 
maids, the elven bards, the advisors that 
frequented the library, and now Lindir. It 
was a glorious time in Rivendell to be 
enjoyed by all, despite the shadow that 
seemed to hang over the valley. “Well,” 
Arwen prodded again when the elf at her 
feet did not answer. “Why do you not 
pursue Erestor?”  
 
“Glorfindel,” Lindir replied bitterly.  
 
“Ah,” Arwen said with a nod of her head. 
“Yes, Erestor’s sometimes lover.” She 
turned to look over her shoulder as Erestor 
thrust into the elven maid a last time, causing 
both of them to shriek with rapture. “It 
appears the object of your attention is done 
with his current companion,” she said, 
watching as Erestor and the maid rose from 
the floor and moved in opposite directions 
before looking back down at Lindir. “And I 
know that Glorfindel is busy christening the 
tables in the dining hall with the kitchen staff. 
I would say this is a good time to make 
your move without fear of him.”  
 
“Truly?” Lindir asked, his eyes lighting with 
hope as he got to his feet and bowed. 
“Then I would go to Erestor and see if he 
will have me. If it is well that I part with you, 
my Lady.”  
 
Arwen shrugged. “You have serviced me 
well and I thank you, now go and follow 
your heart’s desire, my friend,” she smiled, 
gesturing at the Hall of Fire’s main exit. “He 
went to the left if you wish to know.”  
 
“My thanks,” Lindir said, a greedy and 
lustful look his eyes as he bowed and 
virtually ran from the hall. Arwen smiled as 
she watched him go. It was wonderful to 
see everyone following their desires for 
once, even in such dark times. While she 
loved her kindred, the elves were an uptight 
race. As children elves were allowed to 
play as they wished, with whomever they 
chose, in whatever manner they might want. 
But as age and supposed wisdom took 
from them all their playful nature was to be 
replaced with propriety and an apparent 
denial of all things pleasurable.  
 
With a flutter of her dress, Arwen moved 
and left through the side exit. Lindir had 
distracted her from her search for Estel; and 
while he had been a pleasant distraction, 
she was eager to find her mortal love. 
Walking down the hallway, she sighed and 
looked around, noting the elven maids with 
a light smile as they tore eagerly at each 
other. She’d been up and down the halls of 
Rivendell, through the gardens, Estel’s 
room, the library, the kitchen, and still she 
had not found hide nor hair of Estel.  
 
A scream rang in her ears and she looked 
up in. It was coming from Elladan’s room, 
but it was distinctly Elrohir’s voice. She 
hiked up her skirt and ran down the hall to 
her brother’s room, throwing open the 
door.  
 
Almost instantly, she was struck by the 
scent of blood, sweat, and sex. For a 
moment she reeled backwards in surprise. 
She had long known Elrohir held a secret 
lust for Elladan. It was in the way he moved 
and looked at his twin. But she never 
expected to see what she saw now. It made 
her grin.  
 
Her brothers were huddled in a blanket 
beside the bed, Elladan cradling Elrohir like 
a child as they cried. Blood and sweat 
slicked floor around them, catching her eye 
as she walked in the room but she ignored 
it. She was glad they had finally given into 
desire and found each other. Though there 
was a nagging from the corner of her mind 
that was horrified at the thought her 
brothers had bloodied each other and 
committed incest.  
 
Elladan looked up, his face streaked with 
tears as Arwen sat down on the bed behind 
them. “What are you doing here?” he asked 
as Elrohir stared blankly at the wall, not 
acknowledging her presence.  
 
“I heard a scream,” she said, combing 
through the sweat soaked tangles of 
Elladan’s hair with her fingers as she began 
to plait the dark locks. He let out a deep 
breath, leaning back on Arwen’s legs, 
wincing as his back touched. Elrohir 
whimpered at the movement, but did 
nothing more, leaning closer to his twin’s 
embrace. The blanket slipped a bit and 
Arwen let out a gasp at the sight of bloody 
red welts marring her brother’s pale skin. 
Draping the sloppy braid over Elladan’s 
shoulder, she noticed there were similar 
welts at the tips of his shoulders. Their 
father’s belt was thrown carelessly on the 
ground a little ways away. “Did Father do 
this?”  
 
“To a point,” Elladan answered quietly. “I 
did the rest.”  
 
Arwen frowned as all thoughts of her 
brothers violent incest fled her mind, filling it 
instead with thoughts of their father. “Father 
has been acting strange lately, hasn’t he?” 
she said, petting her brother’s dark hair, 
briefly imagining it was their father’s. He 
hadn’t been himself lately. Even when she 
bumped into him earlier, he had virtually 
brushed her off. That was very unlike her 
father.  
 
“Yes,” Elrohir answered in a whimper, “we 
all have been acting strange. It’s the 
shadow.”  
 
Arwen shook her head and looked down at 
her brother. How like proper and kind 
Elrohir to say such a thing. “Oh, Elrohir, 
perhaps the shadow, as you call it, is a gift. 
It has given the elves of Rivendell a freedom 
to follow their desires in a way I have never 
seen. We should accept such a gift,” she 
said flippantly as she reached down and 
stroked Elrohir’s hair. He cringed at her 
touch. “Has it not given you the courage to 
follow your wish, though most forbidden?”  
 
Elrohir whimpered and Elladan grabbed her 
hand, removing it from Elrohir’s head. 
“Leave him be, Arwen,” he said as he 
released her hand. “He has suffered a lot of 
pain tonight.” His voice suddenly dropped 
to a whisper as his own hand began to 
stroke his brother’s hair. “He has suffered 
too much this night.”  
 
Arwen pressed her lips together. She did 
not like to be brushed off. First by her 
father and now Elladan. Elrohir she 
expected such things from. She loved her 
brother dearly, but Elrohir always seemed a 
bit jealous of the attention Elladan gave her. 
She sighed and decided not to bring it up. 
Tonight was special. Elrohir had gotten 
what he always wanted.  
 
She cocked her head to the side and 
looked at the blood that was seeping 
through the blanket. “Perhaps I should get a 
healer,” she suggested, trying not to smile at 
the arousing images of her brothers locked 
in violent passion. “Those wounds should 
not go untreated.”  
 
“Please,” Elrohir said and it sounded as if he 
had begun sobbing again. Elladan moved, 
leaning forward to free her knees. “Get 
Father,” he said quietly as she stood up.  
 
“I’ll bring him as soon as I can,” she 
promised, watching the way Elladan pulled 
his twin close and began to whisper 
something into his ear as she walked away. 
She would bring a healer, but she would 
give them a bit more time. Coupling could 
be rough when it was forbidden. Perhaps 
with a little more time they would realize 
what a gift Elrohir’s ‘shadow’ was. That it 
had given them what they desired. How 
could they just turn away from that?  
 
When she was in the doorway she looked 
over her shoulder, hissing to herself. Once 
again she had been diverted from her 
primary goal. “Have you seen Estel 
tonight?” she asked sweetly.  
 
“No,” one of them answered as Arwen 
sighed and closed the door. Better to give 
them some privacy. Crossing her arms she 
walked toward her father’s room. A strange 
voice briefly told her to go to his study, that 
what she desired was there, but she shook 
it away. Her father would not be in his study 
at this hour. His room was a far better 
guess.  
 
A smile formed on her lips as she passed 
the statue of the elven king Gil-galad. In his 
shadow, she could see Lindir and Erestor 
locked in each other’s arms. Erestor 
violently tearing at the blond elf’s robes 
while Lindir blissfully lay beneath him. The 
seemingly mild advisor was apparently quite 
masterful given the chance.  
 
She turned her head and hurried to her 
father’s room. She wanted to speak with 
him before he ran off to tend to the twins. 
He had been acting strangely and she was 
going to get to the bottom of it. Opening the 
door of her father’s room, she peeked 
inside. There was a form curled up on the 
bed and for the moment she thought she 
noticed the glint of metal peeking out from 
underneath the covers. She shut the door 
behind her as she walked toward the bed, 
peeling back the blankets.  
 
“Estel!” she cried joyfully.  
 
The mortal moaned as she called his name 
and threw her arms around him, hugging his 
unconscious form close. She frowned at the 
stillness of the body against hers. Estel was 
known for being a light sleeper; even 
opening the door to his room tended to 
wake him. “Estel?” she said, laying him 
back on the bed and brushing his dark hair 
from his face. It worried her that he felt hot 
to the touch. “Are you well, beloved? 
Please, answer me.”  
 
“Do not worry. I gave him a sleeping 
draught. He is well.”  
 
Arwen looked up. Her father was sitting in 
on the window ledge looking out at the 
valley. He had a haggard appearance about 
him that was odd for an elf of his status. She 
pressed a kiss to Estel’s forehead, relieved 
to have finally found her errant love, as she 
stood and walked toward Elrond. “What 
about you, Father,” she called gently as she 
came to stand beside him. “Are you well?”  
 
Elrond turned and forced a thin smile. “I am 
well, my daughter, but I am not proud of 
myself this day. There is much I must 
answer for,” he said, the smile fading at he 
turned and looked out the window once 
more.  
 
“Father, you must learn to relax,” she said, 
taking one of Elrond’s hands between her 
own. “You always carry so much grief and 
sorrow with you. At times, I worry for your 
health.” She rubbed the top of his hand, it 
was frightfully cold. Elves did not get sick as 
mortals did, but they did get cold. It wasn’t 
a physical chill; it was more a weariness of 
the soul that elves suffered from trauma, too 
much time alone and apart from loved ones. 
Arwen worried very much for her father.  
 
“Do not worry for me, Arwen, my child,” 
he said, turning toward her and stroking her 
smooth cheek with his free hand. “I will 
survive.”  
 
“But you always seem so lonely,” she said, 
moving one of her hands to brush the stray 
strands of hair behind her father’s pointed 
ear. It was rare that the elven lord looked 
so unkempt in his appearance. Arwen found 
it very attractive. “I would be remiss in my 
duties as a daughter if I did not worry for 
you.” She leaned forward and pressed a 
kiss to his cheek, enjoying the feel of his 
smooth skin against her lips before she 
pulled away. A thought crossed her mind as 
she looked over her father’s attractive 
features and ruffled hair. She brushed the 
dark hair back again, following the fall with 
her fingers, over her father’s shoulders and 
down his strong back. Perhaps she could 
provide a barrier against the cold.  
 
Elrond had once again turned away from 
her, staring listlessly out the window, lost in 
his own thoughts. She leaned across him 
and gently pressed a kiss to his lips. He 
leaned back quickly to break the kiss, but 
Arwen followed him, until he was caught 
between the wall and his daughter’s sweet 
lips. His hands moved and he pushed her 
away.  
 
“Arwen! What in the name of the Valar do 
you think you’re doing?” he bellowed. 
Arwen couldn’t help but smile. The shock 
on her father’s face made him seem 
younger, even his eyes held a light she had 
not seen in many years.  
 
“If you are confused by a simple kiss, it 
truly has been to long, father,” she replied 
sweetly, attempting to move closer as 
Elrond held her at arms length.  
 
He frowned. An expression Arwen found 
quite adorable. “My daughter,” he said, 
stressing the second word, “I am you father 
and I do not wish your affection in such 
ways. You know such things are forbidden 
between close kin.”  
 
She blinked for a moment, then let out a 
light laugh. “Elladan and Elrohir have 
already broken that unspoken law this night. 
With blood, sweat, and pain they have 
become more than brothers, more than 
twins. Lovers.” A look of horror and shock 
crossed her father’s features. She pressed 
as close as Elrond would allow. “Can’t you 
feel it all around you, father? Elves are 
giving into their desires for once. The dawn 
of a new age is upon us, accept it.”  
 
“You speak madness,” Elrond said as he 
pushed her away crossed the room, moving 
to keep the bed between them. “You are 
not yourself, daughter. A darkness has 
fallen over Rivendell and you must fight 
against it. It grieves me that I only now do I 
fully comprehend that,” he said darkly, even 
as Arwen moved toward him, provocatively 
slipping the dress from her shoulders. 
“Arwen Undomiel, you are a Lady of 
Rivendell and of Lorien and you will act it,” 
he said sternly as she exposed her supple 
upper body, running fingers over her bared 
breasts.  
 
Arwen rounded the bed and raised an 
eyebrow as her fingers ran over the chain 
that held Estel to the bed. For the first time 
she noticed the sheen of sweat that covered 
the human’s body, the satisfied look, and 
the faint smell of sex that hung in the air. 
“Father, I’m surprised,” she said, looping 
her slender fingers through the links of the 
chain and lifting it slightly. “I was under the 
impression that you did not enjoy the 
comfort of men; not that I can blame you. 
Estel is indeed attractive. I am glad to know 
have not forgotten the joys of the flesh.” 
There was a twinkle in her eyes as she 
rattled the chain and let it fall back to the 
mattress. “Though I would not have 
imagined you to be so creative.”  
 
A blush of shame crossed Elrond’s face as 
he turned away. “Stop, Arwen,” he said 
quietly, clenching his hands in to fists, “there 
is no need for mockery. It is unbecoming an 
elf.”  
 
“I am not mocking you,” Arwen said, using 
her father’s sudden distraction to move up 
beside him. “Perhaps before I would have 
been jealous and angry that you touched my 
beloved, your foster son, in a way that you 
have denied him to me. But as of late, I feel 
my mind has been set free. I understand you 
could not refuse your lust for him and I wish 
you would desire me as well.”  
 
“I am ashamed of all I have done these past 
days,” Elrond replied, closing his eyes. “I 
am ashamed that I did not acknowledge the 
darkness I have allowed to fall over this 
peaceful valley, that I was unaware and 
unwilling to admit it was affecting even 
myself. I am ashamed that I made excuses 
to explain my actions, as if there would ever 
be an excuse for hurting my own children.”  
 
“Estel lies in a gentle sleep, a pleasant 
expression on his face. Elladan and Elrohir 
are in each others arms, a thing Elrohir has 
always wanted for unknown years; though 
they will need you to treat their wounds in 
time. What harm have you done them? 
They are all at peace. And you have 
certainly done me no wrong,” Arwen said, 
leaning in close, “though it saddens me that 
you refuse my touch.” She leaned forward 
and kissed him again.  
 
Instinctively, Elrond opened his eyes and 
shoved her away. “I told you to stop this!” 
he yelled as she fell back, tripping over her 
dress and tumbling onto the bed. Arwen let 
out a yelp of pain as her head hit the hard 
metal chain. She clutched her head and 
whimpered. Almost instantly, her father was 
leaning over her. “Arwen, daughter, I am 
sorry. Let me see your injury,” he said 
gently as he tried to move her hands away.  
 
A gleeful giggle escaped her lips as she 
lurched forward and wrapped her arms and 
legs around her father, pulling him down 
against her. “Do not worry, it is only a 
bump. More than a fair price for getting you 
where I wish,” she laughed as Elrond tried 
to pull away. She could feel the warmth of 
his body through his thick robes; she could 
feel every muscle surge as he tried to get 
away without harming her. “Oh, do not 
pretend you do not want me,” she 
admonished as she bucked her hips against 
his, “I can feel quite keenly that you do.”  
 
“Arwen, let go of me this instant,” Elrond 
demanded, trying to pull apart the arms that 
were locked around her neck, but his 
daughter refused to let go. Their wrestling 
became more violent and Arwen let out a 
yell as she managed to roll her father on his 
back, straddling his waist and pinning him 
with her light weight. She knew he would 
not throw her back for fear of hurting her.  
 
“Oh, no. Now I have you were I want 
you,” she said, her voice tinged with 
exertion as she held him in place. “Just give 
in father. Am I not called the reincarnation 
of Luthien? Who can truly resist me? Give 
in to your temptation.” Her father went still 
under her and she smiled, leaning forward 
and kissing him. Her tongue darted between 
his lips, pressing against his. This time he did 
not try to stop her, but he didn’t kiss back 
either. She grabbed his hands and put them 
on her naked torso, moving them along her 
sides and over her breasts, but as soon as 
she let go the hands dropped lifelessly back 
to the mattress.  
 
She frowned as she broke the kiss, leaning 
back as she began to undo his robes, 
exposing his neck. She looked at his face. 
His eyes were blank as if he were listening 
to something far away. Her frown 
deepened. She hated when people ignored 
her. Slowly she pressed kisses along his 
neck as her fingers continued down his 
robe, undoing the clasps. His eyes became 
alive again as he closed them an he let out a 
moan, exposing his neck to her.  
 
“Finally you give in,” she said against his 
pale skin, gripping it with her teeth playfully 
as her hands slipped inside the robe. The 
slender hands moved along his sides, over 
his stomach, and began to go lower.  
 
“No,” Elrond said suddenly and Arwen felt 
the hands grasp her hips and toss her to the 
side, her head bouncing off Estel’s hip. She 
let out a yip of pain as her father got to his 
feet and stumbled forward. He looked back 
at her in terror and dismay and even a little 
lust. “The ring must leave Rivendell,” he 
said, his voice shaking as he turned and left 
the room.  
 
Arwen let out a sigh as she watched him 
leave before pulling the coverlet over her 
exposed form. She didn’t like being denied, 
but if he was going to be that obstinate 
about sticking to elven custom, she 
wouldn’t push it. Perhaps another time. She 
leaned back and began toying with Estel’s 
dark hair and thinking of her father’s recent 
actions and wondering about his last words. 
She shook her head. The Lord of Rivendell 
had been acting quite strange lately. He 
really did need to relax a bit more.  
 
 
 
Epilogue  
 
Elrond stood on the balcony watching as 
the nine riders left Rivendell. Estel was at 
their head. The box that held the ring 
securely tucked in his knapsack as he bore 
it safely to Lorien. Galadriel and Celeborn 
were wise beyond all those that still dwelt in 
Middle-earth and would know what to do 
with it. They had to know what to do, for if 
they did not, no elf would. Elrond only 
hoped Estel would not listen to the voice 
that called to him. Such things were not 
meant for human hands.  
 
As the riders disappeared from sight, the 
Lord of Rivendell turned and walked from 
the balcony, his head hung slightly in shame. 
Slowly the shadow was disappearing from 
the hearts of Rivendell’s residents. No 
longer did the Ring call out with its siren 
song of temptation and desire, promising 
them untold power, power to do whatever 
they pleased. But the dark deeds it had 
caused would be remembered.  
 
With an anguished sigh Elrond sat down in 
front of his desk. Already the elves of the 
valley had taken to hiding in their rooms, 
recovering mentally and physically from 
their ordeals. Thus far no one had become 
stricken with grief and delivered into the 
Halls of Mandos, but it loomed 
threateningly over many of the elves and the 
pain of the past days hovered over none 
more powerfully than Elrond’s own 
children…  
 
***  
 
Arwen shrieked through her sobs as she 
rocked violently in the corner of her room, 
knocking her head against the wall. She 
clawed at her arms as she howled 
mournfully. Her heart was breaking within 
her chest as she remembered what she had 
done. She began to cough as her voice 
cracked and her body slumped against the 
wall.  
 
“What have I done?” she wailed softly, her 
scratchy voice preventing her from crying 
out any longer. She shook as she clutched 
the wall and dragged herself to her feet and 
at the way she had moved her furniture in 
front of the door. Glorfindel had come in an 
attempt to comfort her earlier. She had 
thrown him out, screaming incoherently that 
she was not that harlot that he’d had his 
way with. The pain that sparked in his eyes 
at her words as he turned to leave nearly 
destroyed her. It was not his fault. She had 
been the aggressor and they had both been 
under the shadow. Their will had not been 
their own.  
 
She moved toward the bed and limply 
threw her bruised body upon it.  
 
“What have I done?” she sobbed into the 
thick blankets. She had betrayed Estel’s 
love and that hurt most of all. Since pledging 
herself to the mortal she had lain with no 
other, but in a manner of days since the 
Ring came to Rivendell… Glorfindel, 
Erestor, Lindir, and countless others that 
had crossed her path. A bitter hatred of 
Sauron, the Ring’s creator, clutched her 
heart and Arwen sobbed for her lost virtue. 
Never again would the elves see her as a 
Lady of Rivendell and Lorien, nor the 
incarnation of Luthien, to them she would 
be nothing than a filthy whore.  
 
A cry caught in her throat. To Estel she 
would be nothing. She could never be his 
queen, nor even his beloved. He would 
never have her now. Not when he found out 
what had occurred during his drugged 
sleep. A pained smile formed on her teary 
face. For now her mortal love was blissfully 
ignorant of all that had happened in 
Rivendell while he slept. Soon after his 
awakening her father had sent him away to 
Lorien with the desperate task of the Ring.  
 
She trembled and began to cry again, 
clutching the blanket and pressing it against 
her face as she thought of her father. As 
much as she loved Estel, she had wronged 
none more than her beloved father. She had 
besmirched her mother’s memory, telling 
her father that he should give into the 
pleasures of the flesh. The look upon her 
father’s face as she had forced herself upon 
him, corrupting the chaste kisses of a 
daughter’s love. The look in his eyes, the 
betrayal, as she taunted him and tempted 
him with her own body. The horrified 
expression as she wrestled him onto his 
back, as he went blank and let it happen, 
unwilling to hurt her and unwilling to 
consent. She marveled that her heart still 
had the will to beat.  
 
She bit the blanket and thanked the Valar 
her father had forcefully denied her and 
thrown her aside. She would not have been 
able to live with herself if she had raped her 
own father. Her eyes closed in an attempt 
to stem the new flow of tears. The pain she 
had caused her father was immense, she 
knew that and wished there was a way to 
take back all she’d done. But what was 
done could not be undone, ever.  
 
With a sniff she sat up on the bed and 
clutched her knees to her chest. She would 
apologize to her father and to all those she 
had wronged under the power of the Ring. 
It was all she could do. She closed her 
eyes. At least she had not done as great a 
wrong as her dearly loved brothers…  
 
***  
 
Elrohir lay on his stomach with his chin 
propped on his hands as he stared out the 
window listlessly. He could feel every welt 
on his body acutely as they burned in a 
painful reminder of the shadow that had 
gripped them all. His father had bound the 
wounds gently, lovingly even, a day before 
as Elladan huddled in the corner of his own 
room. When their father had taken him to 
his own room, Elladan hadn’t moved, 
hadn’t even said a word.  
 
Not that Elrohir could blame him.  
 
He closed his eyes as he let his head rest on 
his hands. He had broken the sacred 
unspoken pact between himself and his 
twin. That they would never leave, nor hurt, 
nor pity one another; that every choice 
would be between them both. He had 
broken that promise the moment he spoke 
words against their mother, the beautiful 
Celebrian, and plotted to anger his own 
flesh and blood into an act as grievous as 
rape.  
 
His stomach turned as he remembered the 
words he’d spoken against his own mother. 
He felt he would be sick as he heard himself 
say she enjoyed what the orcs had done to 
her, virtually calling her a slut that any 
creature in Middle-earth could have, 
accusing his own brother of lusting after her. 
He wished he could cut off his tongue to 
prevent those words from being spoken. He 
had always known his anger was great at 
Celebrian’s leaving, but until yesterday he 
hadn’t realized how great it was. “I loved 
her too,” he said bitterly. He and Elladan 
were twins, but their mother had always 
liked Elladan more. And Elladan had liked 
her more. He was forever left out in the 
cold, the unwanted and unneeded one, 
nothing but an extra.  
 
“Jealousy is unbecoming an elf,” he 
reminded himself as he raised his head. But 
he couldn’t help it. It hurt him that his 
brother had always seemed to love their 
mother and sister more than him. It hurt him 
because his brother was the only who ever 
knew who he was. In a way, Elladan had 
broken the pact first.  
 
He shook his head, that was jealously 
speaking, the remnants of the shadow. 
“We’re not quite elves, are we, Elladan?” 
he said to the room, slowly moving off the 
bed so not to jostle his wounds as he got to 
his feet. There were moments when he truly 
cursed their much-loved father’s human 
blood.  
 
Elrohir shook slightly as he rose and got off 
the bed. He hated himself so much. It was 
his own fault that the shadow, that accursed 
Ring, tempted him so quickly and that he 
accepted so eagerly. He was weak in his 
lust and adoration for his own twin.  
 
He smirked bitterly. Twincest. Such an 
amusing concept. So evil and forbidden. He 
clenched his teeth as he pulled the coverlet 
of f the bed. He hated himself because he 
wasn’t fully sorry about what had 
happened. He was disgusted with himself 
that he couldn’t full repent, but he would 
never have had that chance with out the 
Ring. He whimpered. Perhaps the Ring was 
still calling to him or perhaps it had left a 
permanent scar in his soul.  
 
He wrapped a blanket around his 
shoulders, though he knew the chill wasn’t 
in the air. It was in his own heart.  
 
Was it really any wonder he had fallen in 
love with Elladan? His brother was 
charming and gentle and energetic and 
personable and everything he wasn’t. But 
most of all his brother never looked past 
him. Even when their mother and sister and 
even their father were about Elladan never 
looked past him. Elladan loved him.  
 
Tears were streaming down his face as he 
walked across the floor and looked out the 
window. From his room he could see 
Elladan’s room. His twin was sitting in the 
window and from the forlorn slump Elrohir 
could tell he was hurting, badly. His body 
trembled as he thought of how he caused 
that pain. He sucked in a deep breath as he 
resolved he would go to his brother and beg 
forgiveness. As he left, he could not help 
but idly wonder how his other brother was 
faring on the way to Lorien…  
 
***  
 
Aragorn dropped down next to the tree and 
watched the flow of the river as his 
companions dealt with their horses. He 
marveled at how well everyone was acting, 
despite the dangerous cargo they carried. 
The bag was heavy at his side as he laid it 
on the ground, looping a strap over his arm 
as he closed his eyes to catch a moments 
rest and think.  
 
There had been a strange feeling of a 
shadow creeping over Rivendell when he 
left and he wondered at its origin. He 
guessed it must have been the Ring, since 
Elrond was sending it so hastily to Lorien. 
But there had been a haunted look in his 
foster father’s eyes that unsettled Aragorn. 
Never before had he seen the Lord of 
Rivendell look so addled. Not that any of 
the other inhabitants of the valley had been 
much better. Arwen hadn’t kissed him 
goodbye. And the twins had somehow been 
injured during his sickness.  
 
He opened his eyes and let out a sigh, 
smiling a bit as Halbarad was dunked 
unceremoniously in the river. His sickness 
was a curiosity to him as well. He didn’t 
remember getting sick or being sick. Is all 
he remembered was waking up in Elrond’s 
room with his father watching over him, that 
haunted expression on his face. He had 
been confused, but he knew he had to have 
been sick. Why else would he have been in 
Elrond’s room? It was then his foster father 
had asked him if he would be able 
undertake a deadly and dangerous task. Of 
course he’d agreed.  
 
Aragorn sighed and pinched the bridge of 
his nose.  
 
There was also the matter of the strangest 
fever dream he recalled having. It made him 
blush a bit just to think of it, but it had 
seemed so real. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, 
his own foster father, pleasuring him. He 
could still feel the touch of the elegant 
fingers over the skin of his thighs, the mouth 
on him, moving and licking. He shook his 
head and cursed lightly, hoping such visions 
were the call of the Ring he carried. If not 
then he had betrayed Arwen in a way he 
had not thought possible.  
 
Sometimes he could feel it call out to him. It 
was almost a warning that wrapped around 
him, pleading that he should take it for the 
good of all Middle-earth. That without its 
power evil would fall upon the land. He 
smiled. Such a seductive and calming voice, 
no wonder so many had fallen prey to its 
call. Isildur never had a chance when it 
spoke to his war-ravaged soul. But Aragorn 
steadfastly refused to make his forefather’s 
mistake anew.  
 
“How long do you need rest?” he called to 
Halbarad who was undressing to dry his 
clothes and glaring angrily at the cackling 
Dunedain. Of them there were five of his 
Dunedain and four elves. He had not liked 
the thought of so many men taking the Ring 
to Lorien, elves were much more suited to 
deny such temptations, but his foster father 
had assured him it was best this way.  
 
“I say we break bread here and then 
continue on our way during the night,” 
Halbarad answered. “The Nazgul are afoot 
and I do not like the idea of being in one 
place while the dark shadows move freely 
amongst us.”  
 
“Very well, we will move again at dusk,” 
Aragorn nodded as he looked up at the 
sky. Already the blue was beginning to give 
way to golds and reds and oranges. Dusk 
would come quickly. He settled back 
against the tree as the elves climbed high 
into them, eating their lembas, while the 
Dunedain made a small fire and began to 
cook what rations they had.  
 
He closed his eyes again, pushing all 
thoughts of fever dreams out of his mind as 
he daydreamed of his beloved Arwen. 
Traveling to Lorien always brought back 
such fond memories. A frown twitched on 
his face as a stray thought made him 
wonder how his brothers could have been 
so badly hurt within the confines of the 
valley…  
 
***  
 
Elladan hunched in his window looking out 
at a waterfall that flowed over the valley’s 
edge and into the Bruien. His back hurt as 
he leaned against the windowpane, but he 
didn’t care. Elrohir couldn’t even sit or lie 
on his back thanks to what he had done. He 
didn’t deserve comfort. He closed his eyes 
as he tried to convince himself he had been 
provoked under the dark call of the Ring. 
That it had been his brother’s words against 
their mother that had caused him to be so 
cruel.  
 
But that was not all of it and he knew it.  
 
He had always wanted his twin solely to 
himself, even when they were young elflings 
he had been jealous whenever his brother 
played with other elves. Haldir had been the 
worst. Always fawning over his twin, 
leaning close to touch him, even when they 
were children. It rankled him to no ends that 
the arrogant elf had taken pleasure in his 
brother’s body.  
 
He sighed and closed his eyes, angry with 
himself. It wasn’t any of his affair who his 
twin took to bed. The only thing that was 
his affair was that it wasn’t him that his 
brother chose to take to his bed.  
 
A cracked cry escaped his lips as he 
pressed his hands against his face. What 
had he done?  
 
He knew exactly what he had done and he 
cursed himself for it. He had done the 
unthinkable. He had harmed and sexually 
abused his own dear brother. Hurt him. 
Made him cry. His hands trembled as he felt 
the leather of his father’s belt against his 
fingers and saw the welts rising on his 
brother’s body as he struck him again and 
again and again. Then he indulged in the sins 
of the flesh. His twin’s bruised and bloodied 
flesh.  
 
Letting out a low moan of anguish he did 
not hear the door of his room open or the 
soft footfall that crossed the room. He did, 
however, feel the warm, familiar arms that 
wrapped around his shoulders and pulled 
him against a hard chest. “Open your eyes, 
Elladan,” a soft musical voice said, as one 
of the arms loosened as his hands were 
pulled away from his face. Opening his eyes 
he looked up into the face that was identical 
to his own. Elrohir.  
 
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Valar help me, I 
can’t even tell you how sorry I am,” Elladan 
said, the words just tumbling out as leaned 
his head against his twin’s chest. It was so 
comfortable there. It was the only remnant 
of his childhood that had not been taken 
away or defiled by the orcs. “Please, don’t 
hate me, Elrohir. I didn’t want to hurt you. I 
was just so angry and when I thought of you 
and those other elves… I was jealous. 
You’re my twin. Mine.” He paused a 
moment. “Please, don’t hate me.”  
 
“I don’t hate you Elladan. I couldn’t,” 
Elrohir said and for a moment Elladan was 
lost in the sound of his twin’s forgiving 
voice. Slowly he wrapped his arms around 
the slim waist, stopping suddenly when a 
pained sound escaped his brother’s lips. 
“It’s alright. You’re not hurting me.” He felt 
himself relaxing against his brother’s body, 
his arms clasping the thin torso.  
 
“It was my fault, Elladan,” his brother said 
softly, trembling slightly. “Please, forgive 
me. Please. It’s not your fault at all. I made 
you do all those things to me. I knew how 
you would react to every word I said. The 
way I acted. I knew what I was driving you 
to do.” Elladan listened to his twin’s words, 
wanting to argue, but unable to use his voice 
as he continued to speak. “I know it was 
wrong, but I just wanted you to look at me 
and only me for once. I…” his voice 
faltered, “I wanted you, Elladan, I wanted 
you.”  
 
It took a moment before Elladan 
understood what his brother was saying. He 
almost laughed. They were the same. They 
always had been. Even in their desires, no 
matter how dark and forbidden, they were 
the same. As always, their methods were 
different, Elrohir smooth and manipulative 
and he forceful and dominating. But they 
were the same. There was no one else that 
could understand them so completely, so 
perfectly. “We’re damned, Elrohir, aren’t 
we?” he asked softly.  
 
“Yes, Elladan, we are,” Elrohir replied as 
the silence settled in around them. Elladan 
sighed miserably as he pulled his brother 
onto his lap and held him tight, despite the 
pain they were both in. It was the only safe 
and comfortable place left for them in the 
world of Middle-earth, each others arms. 
They were crying again and Elladan 
couldn’t help but wonder what their father 
would say…  
 
***  
 
Elrond felt the tendrils of Vilya’s 
consciousness unwrapping from his mind. 
He let out a sigh. He did not need the ring 
of air to remind him of how awful he had 
acted. He was already quite ashamed.  His 
fingers curled around the arms of his chair 
as he closed his eyes.  
 
The ring was traveling to Lorien and 
normalcy was once again settling over the 
valley. Though the shadow upon the hearts 
of Rivendell’s residents was not dissipating 
as quickly. There was a great feeling of 
shame and anger. He could feel it all around 
him. Acutely from his children.  
 
Arwen. His poor, beautiful, darling Arwen 
was grieving her lost innocence. Never 
before had she done anything in the name of 
dark urges: temptation and lust. She had 
always been the perfect Lady that all elves 
looked upon with pride. Now few of them 
could look upon her without the memory of 
obscene carnal pleasures being taken 
blooming in their minds. But they would 
forget and she would once again be a Lady. 
That Elrond knew. That he would ensure it 
happened. He would allow nothing to hurt 
his daughter, his precious Evenstar. The 
Ring upon his hand gleamed in agreement.  
 
His thoughts turned to his sons.  
 
Estel. His beloved mortal foster son. 
Doomed to die by the supposed gift of men. 
Elrond trembled. He had raped the boy 
while he was incapacitated by a sleeping 
draught the elven lord himself had mixed 
and tricked the child into imbibing. He had 
not even been thinking of Estel when he 
touched his mortal son. He had been 
thinking of Isildur. Elros. In some ways that 
was the worst betrayal of all. He vowed to 
make it up to Estel, somehow. He knew he 
would think of a way.  
 
Then there was the matter of his other sons.  
 
Elladan. Elrohir. His twins. He shuddered as 
he thought of them. He could feel their love 
and desire for one another radiating through 
the Ring on his finger. He felt briefly guilty 
for spying on them, but it was for their own 
good that he did it. He worried at how 
badly his beating had hurt them, even 
though he had tended to the wounds 
himself. He had hoped Arwen’s accusations 
of their involvement had been a joke, but it 
appeared she was right. No good could 
come of this incest. He knew that well.  
 
The Valar would break them asunder, for 
breaking the unspoken law, just as they had 
he and Elros. Cruel. So very cruel. But 
perhaps he could stop that from happening. 
Perhaps there was a way he could protect 
his sons and allow them to be happy. 
Perhaps…  
 
The weak voice of Vilya screamed that his 
thoughts were madness before it was 
forever shut out of his mind by the Ring 
upon his clenched fist. The Ring that 
promised absolute power and dark 
promises. The One Ring of Sauron.  
 
His hands unwrapped from the arms of the 
chair and his long fingers stroked the 
smooth golden surface of the Ring. He’d 
taken it for his own and it saddened him, 
though slowly all thoughts of shame and 
sadness were being driven from his mind. It 
had been the only way he could think of to 
stop it from calling out to the elves in 
Rivendell and driving them to terrible 
temptations, destroying them slowly but 
surely. It been calling for a master and it had 
gotten one.  
 
But he would not let it have Vilya. The ring 
of sapphire had been his constant 
companion and truest friend, a gift from his 
Lord Gil-galad, and he would not allow it to 
be corrupted through his own weakness. 
Estel would get it to Galadriel’s hand.  
 
Elrond’s hand trembled as he opened his 
eyes and wondered how far away the ring 
of air and of sapphire already was. It would 
be safe with Galadriel. With Nenya. And 
they would call to Gandalf. To Narya. The 
three would be safe and would remain 
uncorrupted. Somehow they would be kept 
safe from him and the Ring of Power.  
 
He rose from his chair and walked to the 
balcony. He would prevent the Ring from 
taking him completely as long as he could in 
the hopes that the Lord and Lady of Lorien 
could think of a way to destroy it before it 
took power over all he knew. But already 
its promises of happiness for his children, to 
absolve Arwen of all she had done, 
immortality for Estel, an eternity together 
without persecution for Elladan and Elrohir, 
threatened his better judgment. He looked 
out over the balcony and watched the way 
his shadow crept over the railing, trailing 
against the trees below and farther into the 
valley until it melted into darkness. Even 
now he was infecting his beautiful home with 
the corruption of the dark artifact, but he 
could not stop it. He could only give in and 
obey as it subjugated him to its will.  
 
Elrond hung his head as the Ring laughed.  
 
~Fin~