Title: A Night Of Despair Author: Eremir ( eremir82@yahoo.se ) Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Boromir, (Legolas/Haldir) Rating: NC17 Summary: Legolas wakes up, bound and beaten, only to make a terrifying discovery. Warnings: Rape, BDSM, violence, angst Disclaimer: All characters, names and places belong to Tolkien; I’m merely having my way with them. Feedback: Please!!!!! I’m new at this. This is only my second slash, but there are many more to come, so tell me how I’m doing. Since English is not my native tongue, I also ask that I be alerted to any linguistic errors. Notes: It is a very dark story, as I was in a dark mood when I wrote it, but I promise there is hope in the end. --------------------------------------- As Legolas slowly regained consciousness, the fear came creeping back into his heart. Desperate screams for help were still heard from the direction where he had last seen the hobbits. Legolas was certain at least one of them was dead, or dying. Perhaps the dwarf got away, but with his short legs it was unlikely. He was probably dead. Legolas had never been this afraid. He would gladly take on all the orcs in Mordor, and even the dark lord himself, as long as he didn’t have to live through this. He was lying on his back on the cold, hard ground. His hands were bound together above his head, bound with the very rope of his own people, and stapled to the ground. One of his feet was bound too, in the opposite direction, making it impossible for him to move. His eyes had been covered by a thick piece of cloth, and he could not even tell whether it was day or night. His clothes had been brutally ripped from his body, and he shivered from the cold and the fear. Somewhere he heard Frodo’s hoarse cries for mercy, and it made him try to free himself once more. The ropes were cutting into his wrists, and he could feel the blood trickling down his palms. He whimpered out of frustration, as he was unable to move. His one free leg was not much help. As he relaxed his sore muscles, they ached from the strain. He had a searing pain in his chest, and his tongue kept creeping to a cut in his swollen, bottom lip. He felt so helpless. A feeling quite uncommon among his kind. Suddenly the surroundings were quiet. Frodo was no longer screaming. Legolas’ fears climbed new heights as he accepted the possibility that Frodo might be dead too. He himself might be the only one left. He had already been ravaged. Violated in unspeakable ways, by people he knew and trusted. Or thought he knew. A fiendish laughter pierced the silence, and a dark, familiar voice sent a shiver down the elf’s spine. A second, dark voice grunted something in an angry tone, and the first voice said something self-righteous. Legolas began to tremble with fear as the voices came closer. He tugged at the ropes. He knew it was futile, but it was all that he could do. “Ah, look who’s awake,” the fiendish voice said. Legolas froze to these words, as if they were a death sentence. “It’s my turn,” the angry one said. Legolas could not see what they were doing, but after a few seconds he heard closing footsteps again. He twitched as a hand palmed his cheek, and a foul smell was breathed onto his face. The pad of a thumb started slowly stroking his lips. His heart pounded unbearably fast, and he was afraid that if he let his fear show, they would hurt him even more. “What a shame on such a pretty face,” the fiend said, and from a sudden wetness on his face, Legolas could tell the fiend was licking a drop of blood from his cheek. At that moment, he was glad he was blindfolded. He did not want to see the creature his friend had become. He was no longer Aragorn. He had turned into something else. What had really happened to the men, Legolas did not know, but he was sure the ring was to blame. He had heard them fight over it. And now they had it. Legolas was glad the blindfold kept them from seeing his frightened eyes. “It’s still my turn, you know,” Boromir grunted in the background. Aragorn paid no attention to him. He let his hand wander from Legolas’ pale cheek, down to his neck, where it paused. His grip tightened around the neck, as if he was contemplating whether to strangle the elf, or let him continue breathing. His heart was racing. But the grip loosened, and the hand continued its journey across his pale, bruised skin. The rough palm stroked the smoothness of the chest, and proceeded down a taut stomach. It paused again, right above his private parts, and Legolas was unable to stop a plead for mercy from crossing his lips. “Please?” Aragorn said, clearly surprised. “Please, what? Would you like us to take you again?” The foul smelling breath came closer, and bristle-framed lips grazed Legolas’ jaw. ‘No’, he tried to answer, but his voice had left him. His bottom lip started to quiver, and he knew he was fast loosing his self-control. He could feel ghoulish eyes watching him, as the warm palm kept slowly rubbing the base of his stomach. “Hey!” Legolas started from Boromir’s loud yell. “I said it’s my turn, ground-sniffer.” From this insult, Aragorn got up so quickly, Legolas did not realize the breath and the hand was gone before he heard Aragorn’s voice from a distance. The men were fighting again. More fiercely this time. Legolas once again started tugging at the ropes. He knew it was pointless, but what else could he do? There were a few seconds of silence, and Legolas kept still to see if he could hear anything. His rather loud breathing, and the blood rushing through his eardrums made it difficult. Footsteps. A heavy body descended on top of him, weighing him flat down. Fingertips, trembling with excitement, carefully caressed his hair. “Hello, my pretty one...” Boromir’s breath was warm and humid against his swollen lips. Legolas could feel the man’s erection, even through his thick clothing. Boromir moved his hips, and pressed the bulge in his leggings hard against the elf’s groin. Legolas tried his best to keep his legs together, but the man had a strong knee to the ground between them. He did not want to be violated again. He was still in pain from the night before. They had taken turns raping him, hour after hour; until he was so exhausted he didn’t bother to scream anymore. When they had tired with him, they had slept for a while, and then they started on the poor hobbits. They had been tied up as well, with the rope that was given to them by Galadriel. They had not gotten far from Lothlórien when the men started acting strangely. After that it had all happened so fast. Wet lips and tongue tried to force their way into Legolas’ battered mouth. He bit his jaws tightly together, and pressed his lips closed, wriggling in his restraints. When he didn’t reciprocate the kiss, he received a hard slap in the face. It made him dizzy for a moment, but it also caused the blindfold to slip up just a fraction. He caught a swift glimpse of Boromir’s torso, as he was unlacing his clothes, before the blindfold was adjusted. “No peeking,” Boromir said in a strange, melodic voice. “What have you done with the others?” Legolas managed to say. “Why should I tell you?” he said with great superiority. “Please, just tell me you did not hurt them,” Legolas sobbed. Boromir leaned in, and Legolas could feel his breath on his face once more. “Do you really, really want to know?” the man of Gondor said quietly, almost whispering. Legolas felt his tears wetting the cloth that covered his eyes, and his face twisted with grief. His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he tried to swallow several times. Boromir had sat back up and continued to undress himself. When he stood up to take off his breeches, a voice called out to him. “Come! You should see this!” Aragorn sounded disturbingly happy. As Boromir took a few paces in Aragorn’s direction, Legolas heard a noise. It sounded like Frodo. A very weak whimper. Then he heard what sounded like the tiny clatter of a chain, followed by another whimper. “For the King’s sake! You buffoon!” Boromir yelled. “Don’t put the ring in there!” “Why not? He likes it.” Legolas knew he would never forget the sound of that clattering chain. It chilled him to his very core. Boromir muttered something regarding Aragorn’s intelligence, as he was returning to the elf. Legolas squeezed his legs tightly together, clutching every trace of hope that he might somehow be able to defend himself. When Boromir suddenly gripped his free leg, he was not prepared. The man crudely pulled it over and to the side, turning Legolas on his stomach. The rope around his ankle dug deeper into his skin, and he cried out with pain. He tried to kick with his free leg, but he was weakened, and Boromir was hyped with excitement. With a strong hold, he forced Legolas’ knee high, to the side, and straddled his bound leg. Legolas begged him not to do this, but Boromir only told him to be quiet. Legolas heard a spitting-sound, and something wet slowly trickled over his buttock, and into the cleft between his legs. Legolas started sobbing loudly, his entire body shaking like an aspen leaf. With one firm hand under the free knee, Boromir was holding his long, slender legs apart. With the other hand, he carefully wetted the entrance to the elf’s body. Legolas could almost sense the predatory glow in his eyes. “Please, Boromir,” he pleaded, but he pleaded to deaf ears. A dagger of pain cut up his spine, as Boromir began pushing himself inside, stretching a muscle that was already raw. Legolas cried out loudly, and tried desperately to clench his buttocks together, thinking it might hinder Boromir’s passing in some way. But Boromir would not stand for it. With a closed fist he hit Legolas hard in the back, just below the ribs, causing him to yelp helplessly with pain. The man of Gondor had lost his patience. A strong fist worked its fingers into blond hair, forming a hard grip on the braiding. The blindfold slipped up a bit, and heavy tears rolled down the elf’s face. All that he could see was the dirty ground, and the bruises on his upper arms. Then came the first thrust. Using the tangled hair for leverage, Boromir jerked his way inside Legolas with quick, hard thrusts, causing him to scream in a heartbreaking pitch with every inward movement. Boromir was panting his wretched breath into a pointed ear, and Legolas was sobbing uncontrollably between the screams. When the man started to move in a more fluent motion, all the pain melted together, and Legolas no longer had the strength to scream. All he could do was groan and whimper, hoping it would all end soon. His whole body was shaking, and it put further strain on his tied arms. When he turned his head slightly to the side, he caught a glimpse of Aragorn’s legs, as he was sitting beside them, stroking his erection openly. In that brief moment, Legolas lost all delusions that his pain would end when Boromir was done. He cried out with despair, as Boromir kept forcing himself in and out of his battered body. The rocking back and forth was causing terrible pain where the elven rope was cutting into his flesh. Even if he were freed now, he would not be able to fight them, so at this point he was willing to let them do with him what they wanted, as long as he was freed from his excruciating restraints. Boromir let go of his hair, and started to thrust faster again. He was coming close to his release. From this new angle, Boromir was rubbing a spot inside Legolas that he rather wanted left alone. It was a spot meant to cause pleasure, and pleasure was the last thing he wanted from this situation. He recognized that buzzing feeling of imminent orgasm, and it made him groan louder with protest. It was the ultimate humiliation. It was admitting that he enjoyed the assault they bestowed upon him. He felt a sort of miserable luck that he was lying on his stomach, so the men could not see his growing erection. Boromir started groaning as he moved, and Legolas fought his orgasm as hard as he could. It would soon be over, he told himself. With a sudden gasp, Boromir jerked, and Legolas felt a warm fluid fill his insides. He came to wonder how much of that sticky ooze was probably inside him by now. The Gondorian laughed with content, obviously very pleased with himself, and collapsed on top of the still struggling elf. Boromir’s softening member was still inside him, and every movement made him shiver. He was eternally grateful when Boromir finally retracted. Still sobbing helplessly through his tears, he tried to calm himself down. Forcing his muscles to relax, maybe his erection would die down as well, before anyone noticed. “Good, now get off!” Aragorn’s husky voice commanded, and Legolas felt a lump form in his throat. “What?” Boromir asked tiredly. “In the name of the king, the steward, the dwarf in the tree and the hobbit with a ring up his arse, I command you to dismount my noble steed!” He said this with such amusement that both the men burst into laughter. It was a horrifying laughter, cold and hollow, but it gave Legolas some hope that the others might still be alive. Boromir’s weight lifted from his tormented body, but he had a feeling Aragorn’s would soon replace it. Legolas tried to straighten out his free leg, but before he had moved it very far, Aragorn was straddling his bound leg. He stiffened as the other man grabbed his hips to turn him over. His member was still quite erect, and he needed to buy some time. “Free my hands!” he blurted out, and Aragorn paused. “What did you say?” Aragorn wondered in an honest manor, as if he really hadn’t heard. “Please, free my hands. They hurt terribly.” Aragorn remained silent, as if he indeed was considering doing so. “I will do anything you want, just please, loosen the ropes!” He begged now, in a desperate tone of voice, but he couldn’t help it. He felt Aragorn lean over, and he braced himself for getting harsh words shouted into his ear. But none came. There was one hard tug at the rope, and then there was release from the searing pain. His wrists were still bound together, but at least they were off the ground. With a grateful sigh of relief, Legolas rolled a little to his side, and curved his aching spine. “Thank you,” he sighed, while bending sore joints in his arms. Still Aragorn said nothing. Legolas brought his hands to his face; slowly wiping away a tear with numb, blood stained fingertips. He tried to discretely ease up the blindfold to look at his hands. And he cried when he saw them. The elven rope was black with coagulated blood, and the flesh around it was raw, and covered in scabs. His hands were blue from the tight knots, and under his nails were bands of dirt and blood, from having to fight for his life, tooth and claw. When Legolas saw his hands, he lost all hope of making it out alive. They would keep him there until he died of pain, thirst, and blood loss. He could never have imagined that he would die by the hands of his own friends. Not like this. He did not want to die like this. As he wept onto the soil he laid on, he felt a supporting hand, gently stroking up and down his back. From the corner of his eye he could see Aragorn’s horny grin, but he quickly closed his eyes and for a moment pretended that it was a touch of comfort. That the real Aragorn was sitting next to him, telling him that everything would be all right. Aragorn was moving Legolas into position on his side, and pulling their hips closer together. Legolas found it pointless to resist, as Aragorn lifted his free leg and placed it up over his thigh. The man’s breathing was almost snorting, as he grew more excited. Apparently he had noticed the elf’s swollen length, for he took a hard hold on it with a ruthless hand. Legolas shrieked with terror, and fumbled at Aragorn’s grip with numb fingers. But Aragorn harshly threw his hands aside, and started to push himself against his already wet entrance, still with a firm hand gripping his member. Legolas brought his hands to his face and sobbed into dirty palms. Weak fingers curled, and pulled the blindfold down tight over tear filled eyes. When Aragorn entered, Legolas felt no sharp stab. He was so accustomed to the pain, that it was loosing its effect on him. The movement went smoothly, and as Aragorn started to rock back and forth he also began stroking Legolas. Aragorn let out a cruel laughter as Legolas started to groan. Aragorn knew how to move. He knew what he wanted. Legolas kept covering his face in his hands, as Aragorn was forcing friction on his most tender spots of pleasure. “Yes! Yes!” a hissing voice exclaimed, and two more hands gripped hold of white flesh. Kneading it. Aragorn moved faster, slapping his hips against Legolas’ bottom. The abused elf groaned louder. Wet friction from both front and behind was alluring, and at the same time revolting. He did not have the strength to fight it any longer. The clumsy Boromir he could handle, but Aragorn knew exactly what he was doing. A hard penetration in his rear, and a tight squeeze to his member, made him cry out as he spilled his seed on the earth. Aragorn kept moving, slower now, forcing more of that pearly liquid into his hand. Legolas could hear him licking it off his fingers. He even let Boromir taste. A couple more jerks, and Aragorn came inside of the quivering elf. And then, he was finally left alone. ------------------------------------- Legolas could not tell how long he lied there. He didn’t move. He didn’t cry. He kept his eyes closed behind the blindfold, and listened to the men arguing. Always arguing. Once or twice they came over to where he was lying, only to give him a smack on his behind, or to wetly kiss and bite his tethered flesh. Legolas could barely react. He felt like he was dying. Losing himself in a sea of agony. Though the only pain that caught his attention, was a deep ache in the pit of his stomach. He could vaguely recall taking a kick to the stomach, but he doubted it was the cause of the pain. Suddenly, the men started yelling. Not at each other this time, but at something else. Sounds approaching from different directions. Legolas started shaking with fear again. The only things he could imagine were Uruk-hai, or angry bushmen. Either meant certain death for all of them. Then he heard arrows flying through the air, and steel blades clashing together. Agitated voices. Legolas found it hard to breathe. He pulled his arms close to his chest, and prayed to the stars that they would be spared. All of them. He did not wish for any of his friends to die, no matter what they had done. Legolas did not recognize the sounds that followed, except for a loud thump, and the tightening of a rope. And then the air was still. Whispering voices from a distance. A pair of feet, treading softly the path towards him. He tried to quiet his breathing, but only managed to breathe even faster. He did not want to see the creature coming to kill him. He did not want to know. All he could do now was wait. And so came the dreaded sound. The metallic noise of a blade, unsheathing from its dark lair. Legolas’ whole body tensed, as he braced himself for death. The blade flung through the air, and created a clinking sound as the woven, elven rope snapped at its edge. After a few seconds of silence, Legolas dared to try and move his previously bound leg. He met no resistance as he slowly and carefully folded himself into a fetal position. Legolas was still afraid of who might glare back at him on the other side of the blindfold, and he twitched nervously when an unknown material touched his skin. A dry, warm blanket was being unfolded over his cold, dehydrated body, and caring hands were making sure it laid comfortably around him. The heat of the palm that touched his face made him wonder how cold he must be. With one gentle stroke of that hand, the blindfold was off, and sharp daylight shocked sensitive eyes. Legolas saw nothing but a dark silhouette against the brightness of the sky. And then the shadow spoke. Sindarin words of comfort reached his pointed ears, and a soft hand tenderly caressed his hair. The language of his people had never sounded more beautiful, and tears came back to his eyes. “Do not cry, mellon-nín,” said Haldir, when he lifted the weak princeling into his arms. He held him in a warm embrace, and let him cry his final tears on his tunic. Haldir pulled out a small, very fine knife, and carefully removed the rope that fixed bleeding wrists together. The ankle was also freed, and Legolas yelped with pain when he tried to move his hands. He bit down hard, but could not suppress the bitter tears. He sunk against the chest of his saviour, who laid a comforting arm around his aching shoulders. “It will heal,” he said. “I will take care of you.” Legolas held on to the other elf as hard as his remaining strength allowed him, afraid that if he let go of him, he would drift away like a dream that flees the awakening. “Don’t let go,” he sobbed. “I’ve got you,” Haldir answered softly. “Don’t let go.” “I won’t.” In a few minutes Legolas was able to collect himself, and sit up to have a look around. He recognized a few of the lórien elves that were walking about the camp. Picking up pieces of clothing, some of which Legolas knew as his own, and other things that lie scattered across the ground. Out of fear, or perhaps even out of respect, none of the elves would look him in the eye. “Where are the others?” Legolas asked in a surprisingly strong, determined voice. “They are on the other side of that ridge over there,” Haldir said, nodding to the west. Legolas looked towards the ridge, then he looked at Haldir. “They are all right.” These words rendered Legolas breathless for several seconds before he could speak again. “All of them?” Haldir smiled. “All of them.” Legolas smiled too, and leaned his head against Haldir’s strong shoulder. He knew his next question would be difficult, but he also knew it was a necessary one. He had to know. He looked up at the marchwarden and tried to phrase his thoughts. “Were they...have they been...did...” he grew angry with himself for not finding the strength to finish. “Calm down, meldir.” Haldir tried to sooth him with loving words, but then he hesitated. “You’re wondering if the men...did to them, what they did to you.” Legolas managed a terrified nod, and held his breath in anticipation. He felt certain the answer would be pure horror, and his heart turned in to a cold tumour in his chest. He could not read the expression in Haldir’s ethereal eyes, and it seemed as if he took forever to reply. “No,” he finally said. “The hobbits were not touched. Not in that way, at least.” Legolas exhaled forcefully. “But, I heard...” “There was an incident involving the ring, but Frodo was unconscious and does not remember.” Heavy tears rolled down bruised cheeks. He felt so grateful in that moment. He could bear his own pain, but the thought of the poor, defenceless hobbits... He caught his breath, and thankfully kissed Haldir on the cheek, causing it to blush slightly. He rested his weary head against the warden’s chest, and allowed himself to relax for a little while. “Will they be all right?” he asked with sudden concern. “The men, I mean.” “They drank from a poisoned spring. The poison will wear off, but we have to keep them restrained for now. I doubt they will remember any of this.” Legolas closed his eyes in gratitude. “We will take you back to Lothlórien with us. Your journey will have to continue when you have all recovered, however long that may take.” Haldir moved to stand up, and Legolas whimpered as his legs failed to support him. “Don’t. You are too weak. I will carry you to the boats myself.” --------------------------------------------- Wrapped in a soft, warm blanket, Legolas gladly let himself be carried. He almost fell asleep in Haldir’s arms, but a concerned, childlike voice quickened him. “Is he alive?” asked Pippin, who was walking by himself. There was a limp in his walk, but at least he was walking. “I’m alive Pip.” Legolas was baffled by how faint his voice sounded. He drifted away to sleep again, until the clatter of a tiny chain struck fear into his heart. His entire body stiffened, and Haldir instantly halted, alarmed by this sudden change. “Legolas?” he asked, and tried to meet the eyes of his charge. Legolas’ eyes were fixed on a figure a few feet away. Haldir turned his head, and saw it was his brother, Rúmil. On his back, Rúmil was carrying an exhausted Frodo, with the ring dangling in a chain around his neck, the way it had always been. Haldir did not see why this struck fear into the elf in his arms, but he felt that it was real. Haldir bent his head down, and planted a soft kiss on the other elf’s brow, and in his arms, the elf began to relax. Big blue eyes looked up at Haldir. “It’s all right,” he told the bundle in his arms, and kissed his brow once more. Legolas relaxed against Haldir’s chest, relishing the warm embrace, and finally allowing himself to be carried off into dreams. End mellon-nín = my friend meldir = friend A/N: I know that elves are supposed to die when they’re raped, but I figured this took place under special circumstances.