TITLE: No Remedy AUTHOR: LittleMouse elf_night@hotmail.com PAIRINGS: Glorfinel/Erestor, also Haldir/Legolas, Elladan/Orophin, Elrohir/Rumil, Glorfinel/OFC RATING: NC-17 SUMMARY: Erestor loves Glorfindel. Glorfindel loves a certain Lady... doesn't he? A diplomatic mission to Lothlorien goes horribly wrong; Glorfindel learns what it means to be truly loved. WARNINGS: Violence, torture, angst, N/C but probably not to the point of rape, explicit sexual situations, etc. Enjoy! Also, story may be slightly AU as I'm playing freely with Erestor's background. DISCLAIMER: They are not mine. They are Tolkien's. Life is cruel, that way... NO REMEDY - CHAPTER FIVE: A lone Elf on horseback rode into the front courtyard of the Last Homely House and stared around in amazement. He’d always heard the place was beautiful, but this was far beyond his expectations. Well, in most ways. He hadn’t expected to see a horse grazing in the formal gardens. Maybe it was a special horse? He swung down from his own mount and looked around for the stables. The courtyard was oddly deserted; he would have expected, at the very least, to be challenged by a guard if he wasn’t greeted by a Lord. A young Elf came running through the courtyard suddenly, looking distracted. He stopped short when he saw the visitor. “Who are you?” “Legolas of Mirkwood...” the young Prince replied, looking bewildered, “Did something happen here?” “I’ll say something did!” The Elf didn’t seem overly concerned that he was speaking to a Prince, or perhaps the name ‘Legolas’ wasn’t known to him. “We allowed our Chief Counselor to go to Lothlorien, *that’s* what happened!” and he turned to rush into the building. Legolas caught his arm quickly. “Where is Lord Elrond?” “Busy! But I’ll tell him you’re here!” the Elf called back, pulling away and running on. Legolas was left staring after him. Imladris was certainly run along *much* less formal lines than Mirkwood. He liked it... * Erestor’s eyes opened slowly. He had no idea where he was - someplace cold and damp, with bristling straw under his cheek. His head hurt. Badly. His body felt heavy and thick - lifting his head to look around took every bit of strength he could muster. The room was of stone, with high, narrow, barred windows, far out of reach. Late evening sky showed in stripes between the bars. So - he was not in an underground dungeon. He supposed that was a good thing, although this room seemed little better. A low moan alerted him to the fact that he was not alone; he forced his eyes to look around again. It wasn’t easy, they didn’t seem to want to focus properly. He saw most of the Imladris guards, two of the Mirkwood diplomats, and one of his own Assistant Counselors. There was no sign of Glorfindel, Araden, or Riel. He was lying close to the wall; he used it for support to sit up, blinking owlishly through curly strands of black. His braid was coming undone, but he wasn’t worried about that right now. Where was he? What had happened? And most importantly, where was Glorfindel? He was cold; a glance down told him his cloak and shoes were gone. Another look around the room made him realize that all the Elves wore nothing but their tunics and leggings. All their cloaks, shoes, and weapons had vanished. The other Elves were beginning to stir. One guard and the Assistant Counselor gave Erestor odd looks; the rest ignored him, getting up on wobbly legs and leaning on one another as they tried to find a way out. The windows were far too high to reach, and the door was solidly built and firmly fastened. For now, they were trapped. * Legolas followed another Elf down a long, lovely corridor, well-lit by huge windows. Apparently, the first Elf had forgotten about him; Lord Elrond had never appeared. This Elf had wandered by about half an hour later, mumbling about supply lists and, of all odd things, chicken coops. Legolas had asked if he knew where Lord Elrond was and the Elf had nodded absently, saying he was going to see him now. Legolas had simply followed him when he continued on his wandering, muttering way. Imladris was so much fun! The Elf had apparently - *finally* - reached his destination; he pushed open an ornate door and went inside. Legolas followed him, bright eyes curious. An Elf he recognized, from his father’s descriptions, as Lord Elrond was sitting at a large desk, glaring at the rooster that was sitting calmly on top of some important-looking documents. “Tharin? Please tell me they’ve repaired the coop this creature is supposed to be in?” “Nay, my Lord. No one remembers where the proper supplies are stored.” Elrond sighed. “And who is responsible for deciding where they are stored?” “Lord Erestor...” Tharin said sheepishly. Elrond groaned and reached for a nearby scroll. He opened it, and Legolas was even more curious when he saw hundreds of notations made on it. Elrond marked it with one more, blew on it to dry the ink, and allowed it to roll back up. Then he glanced up, and his eyes settled on the blond Elf standing behind Tharin. “Allow me to guess... Legolas of Mirkwood?” “Yes, Lord Elrond,” Legolas said politely, his eyes dancing with amusement. Elrond noticed, of course. He sighed and got to his feet, walking over to greet the Elf. “I am sorry I was not there for a formal welcome.” “I don’t mind.” Elrond raised an eyebrow at that, but before he could reply, another Elf ran into the room. “Lord Elrond! The fisher-folk form LakeTown have arrived with the winter’s supply of fish - they are demanding payment, but Counselor Hiliadian insists it’s higher than last year.” “Where are the payment records?” “They’re supposed to be in Lord Erestor’s desk, but we couldn’t find them yesterday when we needed them to pay the woodcutters, either! It’s all such a jumbled mess from looking for other things...” “Erestor pays the fisher-folk, too?” Elrond sighed, then glanced at Tharin. “Remind me to add that to my list.” “Yes, sir.” Elrond gave the upset Elf at the door some instructions, and waited until he left. Then he turned to Legolas again. “Let me give you some advice, young Prince - if you ever find yourself King of Mirkwood, *know* who does the real work in your kingdom and *never* allow them to leave. And if they do leave, when they return, be sure to praise, pamper, reward, and supply them with a hundred assistants who have been threatened on their *lives* to do the work they are assigned to do!” Legolas grinned. He really, *really*, liked Imladris! * Erestor and the others were startled when the door to their cell suddenly slammed open. Men stood there, roughly dressed Men with smug faces. “Are the pretty Elves awake, then?” one asked, striding forward into the room. Several of the guards tried to get back to their feet, but they were still too weak from the effects of the potion that had knocked them out and the earlier frantic search for escape. The Man ignored their struggles, peering at them all carefully in turn. His eyes lingered on one of the guards, a slim young Elf with white-blond hair and guileless green eyes. “Take this one and put him with the others!” he ordered, and two more Men came into the room, caught the guard’s arms, and dragged him away. The first Man continued his survey of the captured Elves, occasionally pausing to study one or another, though he ordered no more removed. Erestor was the last he approached; the Counselor sat apart from the other Elves, once more leaning weakly against the wall. “Well, well...” the Man said, his eyes gleaming as he studied the slender Elf. “What do we have here?” He turned back to the door, glaring at his subordinates. “How did you *fools* miss this one?!” Erestor jerked as a heavy hand settled on his head, testing the texture of his hair. It moved to grasp his chin, lifting his face to the Man’s scrutiny, turning him back and forth to study him from all angles. Then the Man grunted and let go. Erestor thought he would move away, so he was more startled than before when his arm was grabbed and he was pulled roughly to his feet. “Shall we put him with the others, too?” Another Man asked tentatively. “No,” the first Man replied, his grip tightening painfully as Erestor tried to pull away. “No... I’ll be taking this one straight to the Master.” * “Haldir?” “Yes, my Lady?” “The delegation from Mirkwood and Imladris... when are they to arrive?” “They should be here within the week, my Lady.” Galadriel was silent for a moment, her usually serene face troubled. “I fear for them.” “My Lady?” Haldir was immediately on the alert - if his Lady was worried about the delegation, then something was wrong. There was no doubt of that in his mind. “I want you to take your brothers, and as many Galahadrim as can be spared. Go and meet them... if they are in danger, rescue them.” “At once, my Lady!” The blond MarchWarden hurried from the room. Galadriel watched him go, then turned back to her work. She thought for a moment of FarSpeaking with Elrond, but decided not to. Not yet. She would stay in touch with her MarchWarden; if something *had* happened to the Imladris Elves and those from Mirkwood, then she would let her son-in-law know. There was no use worrying him until she knew for sure. * “Ada? Ada, we’re back!” Elrond looked up sharply from his work. He’d just shooed the seventeenth chicken from his office today. Perhaps fried chicken would be a good thing to order for dinner - he had gotten no work at all done today, and revenge was sometimes sweet. “Elladan? Elrohir?” He got up quickly and embraced his sons, looking past them to the little Elf in the doorway. “And Figwit! Thank the Valar! Do *you* know where Erestor has stored the boards and wire for repairing the chicken coops?” Figwit blinked. “Er... yes, my Lord. They are in the seventh storage room, under the bedrooms in the east wing.” Elrond beamed. “Bless you, Figwit. I’m sure you are tired; but if you will only inform the carpenter of that, I will give you the rest of the evening to yourself!” Figwit smiled, nodded, and disappeared down the hall. He wasn’t an Elf to ask questions, especially when there was desperation in Lord Elrond’s voice. Elladan and Elrohir had turned toward the door, but two iron-gripped hands stopped them in their tracks. “Where do you two think you are going?” “Um... to eat?” Elrohir hazarded, wide eyes studying his father’s face. “Fine. Eat. Then, you are taking Prince Legolas, the guards I have assigned him, and as many other guards as you feel you need - find the delegation, allow Legolas to join them - but bring Lord Erestor back here if you have to tie him up and carry him over your saddle.” Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks and snickers. “Yes, Ada!” “And don’t laugh at me!” TITLE: No Remedy AUTHOR: LittleMouse elf_night@hotmail.com PAIRINGS: Glorfinel/Erestor, also Haldir/Legolas, Elladan/Orophir, Elrohir/Rumil, Glorfinel/OFC RATING: NC-17 SUMMARY: Erestor loves Glorfindel. Glorfindel loves a certain Lady... doesn't he? A diplomatic mission to Lothlorien goes horribly wrong; Glorfindel learns what it means to be truly loved. WARNINGS: Violence, torture, angst, N/C but probably not to the point of rape, explicit sexual situations, etc. Enjoy! Also, story may be slightly AU as I'm playing freely with Erestor's background. DISCLAIMER: They are not mine. They are Tolkien's. Life is cruel, that way... NO REMEDY - CHAPTER SIX: The Man pulled Erestor along like he had forgotten he was holding the Elf’s arm - one moment he was walking so quickly that Erestor was having trouble keeping upright on still-wobbly legs, the next he was shouting at other Men, stopping so suddenly the Elf would slam into him or nearly fall. Erestor was quite sure his arm was going to end up bruised; the man’s grip tightened the more his anger increased. Since every other Man they saw seemed to make him angrier, Erestor was fairly certain that the thick fingers were soon going to meet. It was becoming... rather uncomfortable. So the next time the man stopped, the Counselor gathered every bit of strength he could scrape together and tried to jerk away. That earned him a closed-fist blow to his jaw that sent him to his knees, head spinning and the taste of blood in his mouth. “That’ll teach you,” the man grumbled, and yanked him back to his feet, pulling him roughly on down the corridor. Erestor was reeling now, keeping to his feet by pure instinct. His head still ached, and now his jaw had joined it. The one thought in his mind - the only thing he could concentrate on - was still worry over what had happened to Glorfindel. He barely realized it when two huge doors swung open and he stumbled along after the Man into a fancy, high-vaulted room. It only occurred to him that something new was happening when the Man knelt, and forced Erestor to his own knees. The voice was a pretty good clue, too. “Ah, Ansel - what have you brought to me?” “Master - we captured a party of Elves - this one, I thought, might please you.” “I have never seen an Elf with hair as black... and such lovely curls! But Ansel... why is there blood on his lips? and his face is a bit marred...” “Ah - he tried to run, and had to be taught his place.” “Oh!” the voice sounded quite pleased. “So he has a bit of spirit, does he? Bring him to me.” Erestor hadn’t been able to focus his eyes enough to see who was talking. Being jerked back upright and shoved forward didn’t help much. He stumbled, nearly fell, and strong, oddly gentle hands caught his arms and carefully righted him. “Now, Ansel - there is no need to be so rough! So... this is the prettiest of all of them? *Very* nice...” “Yes, sir. There is a blond female and two blond males that are very lovely, too. One is quite strong, a warrior. But this one...” “Yes, yes. Dark Elves are rare; this one, I think, will prove unique. You have done very well, Ansel. I will not fail to reward you for it.” “Thank you, Master!” “You may go now - send messengers to our customers, tell them that we have new merchandise for their perusal. Set a viewing date for three days hence.” “Yes, sir.” the Man withdrew, leaving Erestor alone with a Man whose features remained fuzzy to his unfocused eyes. “Well, now...” the Man shifted beside him; the hands holding his arms let go. One arm slid around his waist, and his right hand was firmly grasped. “Well, now...” the words were repeated, “you look as though you need to sit down. Come, before you fall over.” He would have dearly loved to shove the Man away, but he knew he really *would* fall over. He allowed himself to be guided to a chair and gently pushed down; the next thing he knew, there was a glass in his hand that smelled strongly of miruvor. The Man lifted his arm for him and urged him to sip the drink. Erestor gave a fleeting thought to poison and potions but his brain simply wouldn’t work properly; by the time he thought of it, he was already swallowing the cool liquid. “There now - you should feel better in a moment. That potion we use leaves one a bit mucked up, but it’s necessary.” Fingers moved through his hair, smoothing the curls back from his face; they traced the bruise on his jaw and caught the thin line of blood that was trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Pity - it truly is. You mouth must be so sore... still, with the speed you lovely creatures heal, you’ll be good as new in the morning. Tell me, little one, what is your name?" The miruvor *was* clearing Erestor’s head - he decided to play at confused and submissive until he learned exactly what was going on. He allowed his voice to go soft and to stammer a bit. “E-Erestor.” “Mmm... quite nice. It suits you. Now tell me this, little Elf - have you a lover?” Erestor nearly fell out of the chair - he *did* drop the goblet. It was not so much shock at the question as a sudden flash of memory, Glorfindel’s firm body pressed against his own. He didn’t *have* to fake the stammer as he tried to come up with a reply. “I... I-I...” The voice chuckled softly, sounding quite pleased. “Are you shy, pretty Erestor?” The hands came back, stroking his face again and forcing him to lift his chin. Erestor flinched and jerked away, and the Man chided him, “Now, now - I won’t hurt you, my lovely.” “I’m not lovely!” Erestor protested, wishing desperately that the Man would leave him alone. “Well - either you are foolish, or you have never looked in a mirror, or you have been lied to all your life.” The Man sounded highly amused. Erestor just shook his head - even his own mother had called him ‘plain, but with a lovely disposition’. All those hundreds of Elves who had made jokes and whispered about his appearance through the millennia couldn’t *all* be lying. Beautiful Elves did not earn the title ‘Death’s Head.’ He began to fidget nervously when the Man leaned closer. “Let me assure you, Erestor, you are *quite* lovely. The most beautiful Elf I have ever seen, and I have seen *quite* a few!” The hands came back once again, gently taking his own, thumbs rubbing the backs in soft circles. “I very much desire you, Erestor.” The Elf blinked at him, big dark eyes going impossibly wider with shock. “Oh, you needn’t worry! I know that your kind cannot be taken against your will without dire consequences. I will not force myself upon you; I have no desire to see you fade like a flower, plucked too soon.” “Then... what *will* you do?” Erestor asked, his eyes still wide and his throat gone painfully dry. “Why, keep you here, of course - though I could get a pretty price for you from someone who is not so patient as me, who would not care if you died after they got what they desired. I, however, am more than willing to wait until you accept me.” “Wait for how long?!” Erestor demanded, staring at the Man. His vision was beginning to clear; he could make out crisp brown hair, cut short, and a broad- featured face with green eyes and a selfish, petted mouth. The Man’s expression was benign, but there was a lustful, leering look to his eyes. Erestor shuddered. He did not like that look - he would not trust this Man’s promises. He tried to ease his hands out of the other’s grasp, but the Man only tightened his grip until it was close to painful. “Why do you struggle against me? I will not hurt you, and I told you I would not force you. You have nothing at all to fear from me.” The Man studied him for a moment. “Perhaps you need to rest. I will have a guard take you to your chambers. I regret that it must be a cell, for now, but you will find it a most comfortable one.” He stood and rang a small bell that had been sitting on a nearby table; a Man in armor responded instantly. Erestor couldn’t make out what they were saying; the so-called ‘Master’ moved to the door to speak with his underling, and his sharp Elven hearing seemed muted and dim. Probably a lingering side-effect from the vapors that had caused them all to collapse. He forced himself to remain huddled in the chair, trying to look confused and defenseless. The guard had to haul him to his feet; even though the Master ordered him to be gentle, Erestor made the Man half-drag, half-carry him down the corridor and up a flight of stone stairs. He unlocked a heavy door and pushed Erestor through. The Elf stared around him. It was a cell, all right, but far from what he expected. It was huge, with several big, comfortable beds. There were tables and chairs and shelves with books - and other Elves. The pretty young guard that had been dragged away earlier was there, so was Lady Riel and Araden, and the other Elves that had been missing from the first cell. And Glorfindel. Erestor nearly fainted with relief. Even though Glorfindel was laying on one of the beds, obviously still out of it, and Riel was hovering over him, wringing her hands in distress. Erestor stayed at the door, half-frozen, wishing he could go and stand near his secret love but knowing Riel would object. Loudly. She was notorious for her scathing response to anyone else’s interest in her lover; though Glorfindel himself scoffed at it. When he was involved with someone other than she, he usually protected them from her comments and occasional attempts to humiliate them... but the blond *wasn’t* involved with Erestor. The dark Elf told himself that very firmly. He had no explanation for what had happened in their tent, but he had a sinking suspicion it had been a whim on Glorfindel’s part. Probably already regretted. He nearly leapt out of his skin when arms slid around him. “Cousin... thank the Valar! I was worried about you.” He stared up into Araden’s eyes, and nearly fainted again when he saw true concern in their light blue depths. “Wha...?” Araden looked chastened. “I have a lot to apologize for, Erestor, and a lot to explain... can you bring yourself to sit and talk to me?” He put out a cautious hand and gently tugged an escaped curl. “We’ll start with my apologizing for ever making fun of this.” Erestor gaped at him for a moment, then his eyes swung back to Glorfindel. “He’ll be all right,” Araden said, his voice still pitched low. “All the Elves that were at the front of the company - at least the ones in here...” he pointed to two other beds, with sleeping figures that Erestor hadn’t noticed yet “... have yet to wake up. But they’re breathing, and they just seem asleep. I don’t think there is cause for worry. Please, come and sit down?” He took Erestor’s arm and lightly tugged him toward a comfortable looking, padded couch. Erestor allowed himself to be led, still looking over at the bed the blond warrior was resting on. He had no idea he was being watched. * “So, that’s your weakness, my lovely,” the Man whispered, gazing at Erestor through the tiny hole in the stone wall. His eyes had lost none of their lust and greed as they raked over the slim form of the Counselor. He had lied to Erestor about being willing to wait - he had long experience with luring - or forcing - Elves into his bed. All it took was a weakness he could exploit, and they would give themselves to him. Reluctantly, but he didn’t care. As long as he could enjoy them for a much longer time... eventually, they *did* fade, but it took months, sometimes years, instead of days or weeks. Long enough for him to sate himself with their beautiful bodies, and become bored. Though he wasn’t sure he’d ever be bored of this one - he’d never seen such a sweet little thing before. Most Elves were much taller, and he’d never in all his years of capturing them seen one with curls. What was his name... oh, yes, Erestor. Erestor was charming. He wanted him. His eyes slid back to the still-sleeping blond. And he knew *just* how to get him...