Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter III Author: Aislynn Crowdaughter Author's Email: Aislynn.Crowdaughter@gmx.net Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas (mainly), Boromir/Legolas , Gimli/Legolas, Others/Legolas. Rating: NC (M) –strictly adults only. Summary: AU. Legolas slave fic. Mirkwood is a subjected realm and must give hostages to the other Elven realms as slaves. Legolas is the slave of Aragorn, who is a sadist. And to keep Legolas loyal to the Ranger, he is bound by a cruel spell: the *Mael-Gûl*... This story was inspired by BlueGolds story “Bound” which can be found here: http://www.libraryofmoria.com/legolasaragorn/boundbybluegold.txt I use similar plot ideas here with her permission. *Warnings*: Slash, m/m, BDSM, *torture*, toys, d/s, hard stuff, *Non-con sexual situations* and *debatable consent*. Rape in later chapters (flashback, only). *Very* graphic descriptions, both physical and mental; abuse both physical and sexual. SPECIAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: *Torture*. In *very* graphic description. *Really hard stuff*! *I mean it*! In this story, Aragorn is a sadist, who gets off at inflicting pain. Part II of this chapter (“Pun- ishment”) deals with this fact. If you do *not* want to read this, I advice you to *skip* Part II and read on with Part III (“The Morning After”). There it should be safe enough again! Disclaimer: LOTR was created by J.R.R. Tolkien, who owns the characters, safe a few original characters in side roles. Peter Jackson owns the Movies. I just borrow. The setting ogf the story is inspired by a plot bunny of Cheysuli and the story “Bound” by BlueGold, as mentioned in the summary and author's note. The idea of the *Mael-Gûl*, or *Rhach e-Maelangwedh* (Lust-Spell, Curse of Lustchain) however is entirely mine. Feedback: Yes please! Send to Aislynn.Crowdaughter@gmx.net This is my first LOTR fic, and I am no native speaker. Any comments welcome, including about grammar! ...*Betareader*: Surreysmum. All remaining errors are my own. Thank you! *Additional Author's Note*: This story is based on the Movieverse with some book elements. In this chapter, I am lifting directly some dialog from Peter Jackson's Movie „The Fellowship of The Ring“ (Extended Edition). The lifted sentences will be accordingly marked with reference notes. *However*, this is *AU*. Utterly and completely. I apologize to all Tolkien purists. I know the Master himself would rotate in his grave if ever he was confronted with anything like this. I know, Galadriel, Elrond, Thranduil and their Elves are not this way, and Aragorn is neither. But I simply had to write this, so please don’t read if you don’t like. You have been warned! From now on, I give separate Headlines to each part of the chapter. This is to allow you to skip parts that are especially graphic and require special warnings. Please bear with me! Guide: Later in the story I will give flashback scenes. Here is a guide: // /flashback/ //; *******time change within flashback******** “speech”; 'thoughts' *Languages*: I am no great expert in Sindarin and have no clue to its grammar, therefore I will just use a few words of this language in this fic. So whenever Aragorn is speaking with Elves, consider the conversation is tak- ing place in Sindarin, except if explicitly differently mentioned. At the council or among the Fellowship, he and everybody else is talking in Common Speech or Westron, except if differently mentioned. For all other notes and warnings see Prologue and Chapter One. ________________________ CHAPTER III: AFTER THE COUNCIL PART I: Preparations The three Mirkwood warriors were relieved to see their prince coming back to them alive and obviously unin- jured, yet they were alarmed at his troubled expression. They had packed already; they had planned to leave straight after the midday meal, but when they heard of the private Elven council to decide Mirkwood's punish- ment and were not allowed to join it, they decided to forsake any further hospitality of Elrond's house. Instead they took up a silent watch in front of the stairs where the invited Elves had vanished. There they waited for the fate of their prince. They feared for the worst. Seeing him back apparently in good health was reassuring. “My Lord,” Mitharas said, when Legolas came close, “What happened?” Legolas shook his head. “*Not now*!” he commanded. “You are packed? That is well! We'll make a detour to the kitchens to pack supplies. The cook will give us some. Then you must leave immediately. I do not wish any of you to stay in this house one moment longer than absolutely necessary.” They looked all three at him. He shook his head. “Not now,” he said again. “Trust me. I'll tell you in the stables. But we have to go now!” And he refused to an- swer any questions while they went to get supplies. It took them less than half an hour. Then they went straight to the stables and led their horses out. They had barely left the stables, though, when they were caught by Elrond and his chief advisor Erestor. The Lord of Imladris was surrounded by five guards with bows. “Well, well, well,” Elrond said. “Already leaving?” Legolas bowed respectfully to him. “My Lord,” he said, still taking the role of the representative of his people, “the road is long and my father's messengers have a long way before them. They are eager to bring my father the tidings of this council.” Elrond raised a brow at him. “Did you tell them of my judgment then, young Thranduilion?” he asked with false mildness. Legolas bowed his head. He shook with suppressed hatred, yet he forced himself to remain calm. It would not do to attack Elrond now, not with the five armed warriors standing beside him. “Not yet, My Lord.” Elrond shrugged. “Very well. Then hear it from me. Mirkwood's punishment for Gollum's escape is postponed until this Quest is done. You have Gandalf to thank for that, young Thranduilion, for he convinced me that right now we can't waste our strength with concerns about penance for former failures. In fact, your partaking in this Quest may be enough to pay for Mirkwood's debt in this. Should the Quest be a success and the One Ring be destroyed, I will see this as payment enough to make up for the escape of this prisoner and will not demand any further penance for it of you or your father's realm.” Legolas took a deep, relieved breath. It was not as good as Glorfindel had prophesied, but it was better than he himself had dared to hope. “Thank you, My Lord,” he said. Elrond scowled at him. “*However*,” he snarled, “I would advise you to ensure that this Quest does not fail. Because if it does, I swear to you that I will see your sister enslaved and all your other siblings killed, even if it is the very last thing I do!” Legolas looked at him, pale and horrified. He felt himself shaking, yet he did not dare to jump forward and attack the other Elf. He knew that Elrond only waited for such an attempt, so he would have an excuse to have him killed – and with him the three warriors behind him. Again, his arm reached out in a quick gesture to hold them back, and to his relief they obeyed him. Elrond's eyes glittered. “Do you not wish to thank me, Mirkwood spawn?” he sneered. Legolas swallowed. It took all his willpower to bow, then kneel formally to Imladris' lord. “Thank you, My Lord,” he said with enforced calmness, “I will remember your warning. I will do anything in my power to ensure that this Quest will succeed.” Elrond still watched him with eyes full of malice and hatred. Finally, when it became clear that neither the slave nor the Mirkwood warriors would be provoked into an attack, his lips thinned and he scowled again. “See to it!” he just said. With a malicious jeer he added: “And remember, I will check on you tomorrow!” Then he turned around and walked away. Erestor followed him. So did the five guards. Very slowly, trembling in hate and fear, Legolas got up again and turned to his kin. Mitharas stared at him. Bregolas shook with the suppressed urge to attack and kill. Belldoron looked pale and shaken. Mitharas found his voice first. “What was that,” he managed to ask, “about Her Highness, the princess, and your other siblings?” Legolas took a deep, shaken breath. “A threat of punishment,” he said, “that he will carry out if the Quest fails. He wished to carry it out much sooner. I failed today, Mitharas. My offer to stand in punishment was denied.” And he filled them in about the main issues of the private council Elrond had held, the denial of his own offer to stand in penance, since he was now part of the fellowship, and the punishment for Mirkwood Elrond had finally decided on, and that now seemingly had been postponed. He left out the part about the punishment by his master that he would have to face tonight. From the side of the stable building suddenly a voice spoke in Silvain(1): “It will not come to that.” Alarmed, Legolas and the three other Elves looked around for the source of the voice. To Legolas' surprise it was Elladan who stepped out of the shadow of the building and strolled over to them. He stepped close to Legolas and sized him up with a considering look. “Don't worry, Woodelf Princeling,” he said in very broken Silvain. “Father is just furious he did not get his hands on you today. You will do greatly on the Quest, and it will succeed. Estel will see to it!” Legolas stared at Elrond's oldest son, dumbfounded. He had not even known Elladan spoke Silvain. Estel had made Legolas teach him the language bit by bit after their first visit at his home, and by now he understood and even spoke it well. Maybe Elladan and Elrohir had learned the language in the same way from other Mirkwood slaves. Or they had learned it during their rare visits in his fathers realm during their Orc hunts. But they had never bothered to speak it in his presence. Elrond, as far as he knew, did not speak the language, though. Nor would most of his eavesdroppers. “Thank you, My Lord,” he answered in the same language. “Yet unfortunately, nothing is certain now. We may yet fail.” Elladan shrugged. “If the quest fails, we all will have other and more dire concerns. Believe me, if it comes to that, Silivren will be the *very last* of my fathers worries. Although I do not think that this would be much better for her fate. Mirkwood would be as overrun by Orcs, as would we.” He grinned suddenly. “But I think it will not come to that. As I said, I do not doubt the Quest will be successful. Estel will see it done.” He reached out and touched Legolas' arm. Legolas suppressed a shiver at his touch. He remembered only too well the time when he had belonged to the twins. They weren't pleasant memories. Still, for the sake of his three warriors, he managed not to flinch. Elladan smiled at him. “By the way, I was impressed by Estel's performance today. He saved your life, you know. He fought for you like a she-bear for her child,” he teased. “Don't worry, Estel will see the Quest succeed, if only to keep you and your people safe!” He shook his head. “He cares much for you,” he said. “You will guard his back, will you? Because, if you do not and he should fall, you can not come to us.” Legolas could not stop himself. Angrily he asked: “Are you threatening me, too?” Elladan shook his head. “No. I am just telling you that we will not save you if he should fall. We would not take you back then. But I know you will not let that happen anyway. You like him too much. As he does you. You are lucky that he is your master.” Legolas didn't answer. He thought of the punishment that awaited him that night at Estel's hands and couldn't speak. Yet there was one question he needed to be answered. With harshly controlled anger he asked: “Elladan. Did you tell your Lord father of my sister?” He did not know what he would do if Elladan said yes. It would not do to throttle the son of Elrond in the very courtyard of Imladris, yet he doubted he'd be capable of stopping himself. Elladan raised a brow at his tone. “No, little Woodelf,” he said. “You did so yourself. Or did you think that you and Aragorn remained completely unobserved this morning?” He shrugged casually. “Ironically, father himself overheard you two by chance when he walked past your window. He was livid.” Legolas paled even more. Elladan shrugged again. “However, father has been intent on getting her for some time. Had he succeeded today in having you killed, he would have demanded her as replacement anyway. What did you think, that your death could have saved her?” Legolas closed his eyes. He bowed his head. He was very close to breaking at this moment. Elladan traced his face. “Don't worry so, Pet,” he said lightly. “You will succeed with this mission and save her. Afterwards, Father can hardly demand her anymore. You'll see. It will be well!” With that he went away. Legolas trembled. After a moment he felt Mitharas' hands closing around his shoulders and lending him support. He opened his eyes again. They were all shaking with anger. Bregolas said: “*My Lord, let me put an arrow into that bastard*!” Legolas shook his head. As tempting as the prospect was, the price would be too high. Regretfully, he said: “No, you can't. For then we all would have to pay for it dearly.” Bitterly, he turned to them. “Tell father that he has my love and that I will do all I can to make sure this Quest succeeds. Give Silivren my love. Make sure she hides somewhere during this war. Have a safe journey,” he said. “Valar willing, I will see you all again.” Bregolas scowled. Belldoron and Mitharas looked troubled. Finally Mitharas spoke. “Have a safe journey, too, My Lord. May the Valar aid you and help you in this Quest.” Belldoron bowed to him. “May you succeed, my prince,” he said. Bregolas laid a hand on Legolas shoulder. “You will see it done, captain,” he said fiercely and convinced. “I *know* you will!” Legolas gave him a grateful smile. “I'll try to, Bregolas,” he said. “I will represent Mirkwood after all.” They shared a warrior's embrace, then he saw them off. Afterwards he went into the wood and searched for an old, strong tree to climb and hide in, where he could calm down and find solace. He found it near one of the waterfalls in one of his favorite places; this old beech had stood here nearly as strong and mighty as it was now when he first came to Rivendell, and it had always given him refuge. He climbed up and found a comfortable place on a thick, inviting branch. And there he huddled himself together, leaning against the big, old, reassuring trunk and finally allowed his fear and hurt to overwhelm him. There Glorfindel found him later. ________________ o ______________ Legolas was not at the midday meal. In fact, Aragorn saw nothing more of him for the whole day. Aragorn occupied himself with preparations for the start of their journey next day, and with planning and many discussions with Elrond and Gandalf, and finally, when he went to his rooms, with the preparation of both their packs. Yet Legolas was not at their rooms, either. When Legolas failed to turn up for the evening meal, too, Aragorn began to worry. He contemplated the ominously empty seat beside him that he earlier had reserved for his slave, his mood rapidly darkening. Legolas had been very troubled when he left. Aragorn did not really believe that he would try to flee, or harm himself, since he would never risk more punishment to his people or his fellow hostages, but still... When the meal drew to a close, Aragorn was ready to jump up and leave in search for his missing Elf. He was prevented by Elladan settling himself down beside him. “Stop worrying so, Estel,” he teased, “Your Woodelf pet left this afternoon for the wood. He is probably just busy saying his farewells to every single tree.” Elrohir settled himself on his other side. “Besides, father told him this afternoon that Mirkwood's punishment is postponed. He uttered some threats, of course, but that's just father. Your pet knows that the threat to his precious sister is averted for the time being.” “And Glorfindel went to talk to him,” Elladan added. “So relax and stop worrying. Your pet will show up at the time you demanded.” Aragorn looked at them, narrowing his eyes. “Thank you,” he offered carefully and with reserve. Then he added in a less friendly tone: “What do you want?” The older of the twins, Elladan, wrinkled his brows. “You hurt us, Estel!” he said theatrically, “Do we have to *want* something to talk to you?” Aragorn merely raised a brow. Elrohir gave in. “We wondered, when you work on him tonight, if you would let us watch?” he asked. Elladan added on his other side: “Or maybe even participate?” Aragorn balled his fists. He gave the older twin an angry stare.”No, I will not.” he said, then added angrily: “Did father sent you to ask me this?” Elladan quirked a brow. Elrohir shook his head. “He didn't,” he said, “and he wouldn't approve of our request anyway. He thinks we like your pet too well. He's right, by the way. We do.” Elladan added: “Legolas is exquisite. It is a shame that you do not share him with us anymore as you once used to do. We had good times, all three enjoying him together.” Elrohir smiled. “A few times he even seemed to enjoy it too.” Aragorn growled. “I do not plan to share him with you anymore,” he said, “especially since you nearly let him die this time when I was away in Bree. What were you thinking? You had to know that father would not give a damn if he lived or died. Or rather, that he *would* let him die, as I understand now.” Elladan sighed. “Peace,” he said, “we had no intention to letting him die. We thought you would return sooner, just in time for him to be all desperate and needy for you. And Legolas agreed.” “We do not wish him harm,” Elrohir added. “Unlike father, we both do like your pet. You know that, Estel.” Aragorn forced himself to calm down. After all it was just Elrohir and Elladan, acting like he had always known them. They were just their usual charming selves. He should be used to them by now. But he had spent too much time apart from them, and in moments like these he felt every single year. With enforced calmness he said: “I will not let you watch or participate tonight. Nor anybody else. I plan to make this private, and I will not let anybody interfere. Not you nor Lord Elrond or anybody he might wish to appoint. This matter is mine.” Elladan nodded graciously, and Elrohir bowed his head at him in acknowledgment. “Very well,” he said, “just be aware that there surely will be listeners tonight. And father will surely check on Legolas tomorrow. You can not afford to be too gentle,” he warned. Elladan added: “Father is out for your pet's blood. He wants to see him killed.” Aragorn looked grimly to the top of he table, where Elrond, Gandalf, Erestor and Galdor were caught in a lively discussion. He himself had chosen a seat farther down, close to the Hobbits, in the hope that Legolas would join him there once he showed up. Luckily, the eager chatter of Merry and Pippin with Boromir covered his own quiet conversation with Elrond's twins. He did not care to have it overheard, since he knew that Frodo, at least, understood the Elven language.“I am aware of that,” he said quietly. Then he looked back at the twins. He had an idea. “Would you do me a favor?” he asked. Elrohir rose a brow at him. “In spite of your lack of hospitality?” he asked with faked reservation. Elladan gave his twin a censuring look. “What is it, Estel?” he asked. “What can we do for you?” Aragorn smiled at them. “Secure some extra Lembas(2),” he asked. “It is well that Legolas missed all his meals today, considering what waits for him tonight, but tomorrow he will be all the more direly in need of nourishment. I would have an extra portion for him to nibble on our way.” Both twins smiled. “Will do!” Elladan assured him. “And we will get you some Miruvor(3), too. You can feed your pet right while you travel.” “And maybe, when the two of you come back, you can rethink our request,” Elrohir added. “Maybe you will be more willing to share your pet with us for a night or two again when it's just about fun.” Aragorn just looked at them. “Maybe,” he said. In his own mind, he added: '*When it snows in Harad*(4),' but he did not say that aloud. They laughed at his expression. To his relief, they left him then, and he could finish his meal and go to his chambers. To his disappointment, his slave still wasn't there. He occupied himself with preparations for the night, yet his mood did not improve by the waiting. It was well over an hour after the evening meal when Legolas finally showed up, and by that time Aragorn was thoroughly angry. _____________________ o _______________ -- *Special warning for the following part: graphic description of torture! Please skip if you do not want to read this*!-- PART II – Punishment Legolas made his way hesitantly to the chambers of his master. He knew he was late, and this would add to his punishment; yet he did not think that it really mattered much anymore. At least he had prepared himself the way his master liked it; he had visited the baths, cleansed and purged himself, but had not yet prepared his entrance. Aragorn would want to do that himself, if he even bothered to do it at all tonight. Legolas trembled. He entered the chambers he shared with his master fearful in anticipation. Aragorn was already there. He had opened the big trunk near the bed and laid out some of its contents. He had also lit some of the candles. The big ones, of fine white wax, that burned hot and brightly and gave a lot of light. Aragorn looked around to him as he entered, but did not smile. “You are late,” he stated flatly. “Enter. Close the door and bolt it.” Legolas shuddered at the tone. Aragorn was in a terrible mood tonight. Wordlessly, he obeyed, then stepped into the middle of the room to wait for further commands. Aragorn regarded him. “Come closer!” he commanded. Legolas obeyed. The Ranger moved around him, sizing him up appraisingly with a long look-over. The slave wore fresh garments, he was freshly bathed, and his hair and skin were still somewhat damp. He stood before his master with demurely bowed head, looking to the ground. Aragorn nodded approvingly. “I see you have cleansed. Have you also purged yourself?” he asked. Legolas blushed, but nodded. Aragorn narrowed his eyes. “Good,” he said, “You are prepared, I see. That is well, for this will be a long night.” Then he commanded harshly: “Close the windows. The shutters, too. Then light the other candles.” Shivering, the slave obeyed. Soon, the room was closed off from the outside world, but lit brightly by a great number of candles that gave soft, warm light. Silently, Legolas moved back to the spot in the middle of the room to wait for his master's orders. Aragorn regarded him with a dark look. “You are finished? Good. Undress!” he ordered. Swallowing hard, the slave obeyed. He had been punished before, even harshly, and he was used to Estel's games, but rarely he had seen Aragorn in such a dangerous and stormy mood at these occasions. Slowly, he slipped out of his boots, then his clothes, and folded them neatly, placing them on a chair. Then he stood again before his master, head bowed, in unprotected nakedness. Aragorn took a slim, straight whip from the bed and moved around him. It was one of the smaller ones that stung and bit deeply into the skin when used. Slowly, he let the tip of the lash trail over the naked skin of the slave, not hurting yet but tracing all the places where it would bite in later. At a small gesture, Legolas moved his legs further apart, and the whip trailed his thighs, then his genitals. “Do you know how much you embarrassed me today?” Aragorn asked. “First by offering to take the punishment for Mirkwood without my authorization, forcing me to explain that you acted without my accord, only to then go on and contradict Lord Elrond when he stated his judgment! And not only that, but also you blurted out my true identity unbidden at the council for all to hear, and then attacked and insulted that man of Gondor.” The whip trailed up to the chest of the slave, under his chin, tipping it up lightly and forcing him to meet his master's gaze. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Legolas swallowed. Commanded to speak like that he slowly bowed his head again in a submissive gesture. “I am sorry, master,” he said quietly and fearfully. “I request punishment, if you would grace me with it.” The whip tipped his chin up again. Aragorn commanded: “Look at me!” Slowly and hesitantly, the slave obeyed. Aragorn met his fearful gaze and nodded. “And punishment you shall receive. It will be a thorough one. I cannot go too hard on you tonight, since you need to be capable of travelling tomorrow, or this would last not only for one night, but for several days. But even so I will make sure that the pain I will inflict on you tonight will linger for a week! It will not hinder you from traveling, not even hamper you if we come into a fight, but you shall certainly feel it! This will be part of your punishment for what you did today. Do you understand?” The Elf nodded. He was deadly pale now. “Do you agree? Do you thank me for it?” Aragorn asked. Legolas suppressed a sob. “Yes, master,” he managed to say, as was expected of him. “You... are gracious.” It was part of the ritual and he would have to pay for it if he failed to thank his master for his penance, but he nearly choked on the words. Aragorn didn't seem to notice. He just nodded. “Good,” he said grimly. “Now get on that ladder and pull the rope through the ring in the ceiling. I will suspend you for this, so I will have better access to your body with my whip. When you are finished, secure the rope to the ring in the floor and hang the yoke to the other end. And hurry! The night is not getting younger while you delay.” Legolas had paled even more. But now he swallowed and set himself to work as he was commanded. He was constantly trembling now. Normally, Aragorn himself used to take care of such preparations. This time, he obviously wished to add to his slave's punishment by forcing him to prepare the means of his own torture. While he worked, taking the slender wooden steps from the corner where they normally served as a stand for weapons and placing them in the middle of the room under the big iron ring in the ceiling, then fetching the rope from the trunk and climbing up to thread it through the ring, he dared to cast a careful look at the items Aragorn had selected from the trunk and laid out on the bed, ready to use. He swallowed again, fear gathering like an lump of ice within his stomach. The big paddle, the nipple clamps, a selection of whips, and some needles were no surprise to him. These were some of Aragorn's favorite toys for his bed games with his slave and were to be expected. But there was also a new, hideously thick pleasure staff. He recognized the thing as the one Elrond had maliciously given Aragorn to use on his slave as a gift for Legolas' begetting day a few weeks earlier. Aragorn had not yet tried it out on him, because since then they had had to deal with more pressing needs. Obviously he planned to rectify that now. But while that thing was horrifying enough, beside it rested an only too well known vial. Irritant! Aragorn planned to use the big staff on him with irritant! The sharp oil hurt enough all on its own when it was applied to the most sensitive parts of his body. Together with the staff it would be agonizing. Biting back the tears that threatened to escape, Legolas stepped down from the ladder again and took one end of the rope to the ring set exactly for that purpose into the floor at one of the walls. He tied the rope to it, then went back to the trunk to get the yoke; a heavy wooden thing originally used at some farm, that Aragorn had obtained one day and now used for some of his more intense games with his slave when they were here in Imladris. He heaved the thing out of the trunk and carried it back to the steps, then tied it to the rope. Afterwards he went back to the wall and wound the rope around three big iron anchors embedded there for this purpose, until the heavy yoke was dangling from the ceiling about two or three feet higher than he stood himself. Finally he went back to secure the restraints that would bind him to the yoke at his master's pleasure. The whole time his stomach was churning in fear and he had to fight the impulse to flee, or to attack. Yet he suppressed it. There was no escape out of this room save at his master's will, and there was no way out of this situation save upon Aragorn's decision. And Aragorn did not seem inclined to show him any leniency tonight. Aragorn had settled himself on the bed and watched him work. While Legolas was struggling to get the heavy yoke up the steps and tie it to the rope, he said conversationally: “You know, originally I had planned anyway to take you thoroughly tonight.” Cocking his head and watching his slave with glittering eyes, he continued with the same, deceptively casual voice: “But I had planned this night to be special, something slow and careful and intense, and solely for the sake of enjoyment. I had completely planned it out for weeks.” More harshly he added: “And you ruined it! That will add to your punishment. This will be a night to remember for you!” There was a dangerous undertone in his voice, and Legolas suppressed a sob again. He was finished with his preparations and moved back to the spot where he had stood before, now directly under the dangling yoke. Aragorn nodded approvingly. He got up and stepped close. He seized the chin of his slave, tipped it up and kissed him deeply. When he pulled back, he said quietly: “You will suffer thoroughly tonight. But you will bear it bravely, will you not? You will do so for me. I know you will!” His voice was barely audible over the quiet sputtering of the flickering candles, yet Legolas, who stood less than a step before him, heard it clearly enough. He was confused, even more as the quiet reassurance was followed by a harsh command. “Now!” Aragorn said harshly as he let go of him, “Get yourself up to that yoke! Arms spread! Put your wrists to the restraints!” Legolas obeyed. He stepped up the steps again and set his wrists to the two ends of the wooden form. Aragorn stepped up after him and fastened the restraints around them, binding him tightly and with fully spread arms to the instrument of torture. Then he stepped down and back to the bed again. He took a big, long wooden staff and brought it back to his slave. Then he knelt and tied the end of the staff fast to one of Legolas ankles. He took the other ankle and commanded: “Spread!” Gasping and shivering in fear, the slave obeyed. He gasped again as the sudden weakening of his stance on the steps threatened his balance, and his master growled a terse “Be still!” Then Aragorn finished tying the ankle to the other end of the staff and removed the ladder, and Legolas gasped again as he lost his supporting stand and the sudden weight of his own body put strain on his back and shoulder blades. He shivered and struggled to remain calm. Aragorn put the ladder to the side, out of the way, and stepped back to admire his work. He regarded the spread- eagled slave with satisfaction and dark pleasure. “Beautiful!” he growled. “I think I may leave you like this for some time, at least for a start. Later I might prefer to let you stand and bow for me, though. I may have uses for your mouth tonight that would be a bit hampered by your current position.” He went back to the wall and unwound a hand or two of the rope off the anchors until the bound feet of the slave were just about half a foot above the ground. While the spread-eagled Elf was still completely suspended, now every part of his body remained within easy reach for his tormentor. Legolas gasped as the sudden fall aggravated the strain on his arms and shoulders and sent bolts of pain though him. He bit his lips to try and remain silent, since he had not been allowed to speak or make any noise. Aragorn took a moment more to regard his work, then he set the ladder carefully back into its corner and came back to his slave. He stepped to the bed and picked up the discarded whip again. “Now,” he growled, “my dear, disobedient Elf, you will learn what it means to earn my wrath! Do you request punishment?” Nearly inaudible, the slave answered: “Yes, master.” “Do you ask me to grace you with it now?” Again, the slave whispered: “Yes, master.” Aragorn corrected: “Yes, master, please.” Legolas sobbed. “Yes, master, please. Please grace me with my punishment, if I may ask,” he managed to say. Aragorn smiled grimly and caressed his thighs and butt one more time with the whip. “Brave Little Leaf!” he praised. “And so I will. You shall have it.” And with that he let the first harsh blow fall on his slave's unprotected back. Legolas hissed. He was rewarded with another blow. “Be silent!” Aragorn commanded harshly. “This is just the start! This will be twenty blows for starters to your back, and twenty to your thighs, and another five to your ass. Later, I will give your rear a taste of the paddle. And I wish you to be silent through it, save I command you otherwise! If you make any noise, your buttocks will get twenty more!” Legolas swallowed. He did his best to keep silent as the whip bit into him again, but at the third lash he could not suppress a sob. Aragorn grinned. “All right,” he said, stepping close and caressing the Elf's yet unbeaten buttocks with his hand, “so you seem to like this! Very well. You will have twenty-five lashes to your backside, then, and five more with the paddle. I am afraid you won't be able to sit for a while, Little Leaf!” Then he stepped back again and let the next blow fall. Legolas hissed, then sobbed again. The lashes were burning like fire on his back and the pain was ever increasing. Aragorn's blows were harsh, though he was mindful not to tear the skin; but even so the whip left angry red welts wherever it bit into the slave's back, and Legolas' trembling was constant now. Tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks and he was breathing hard. The next blow fell, and the next, and the Elf could not suppress his sobbing any more, although he tried to keep it quiet as he had been ordered. Aragorn kept whipping, methodically placing the lashes criss-cross the shoulder blades and back of his slave. He was mindful not to place too many blows directly to the shoulders, even where they were not covered by the yoke. Legolas would need to be capable of carrying his harness and his quiver when they started their journey tomorrow, although it would be extremely painful for the Elf. And in any case he had to restrain himself from doing too much damage tonight, since there was not much time to heal. Even so, his blows were meant to linger, and Legolas would bear the angry welts well into the next week. As always, seeing his slave's feeble attempts to escape, hearing his harsh breathing, his obediently checked sobs made him hard and burning with desire. But he would wait. The night was long, and he had much more planned for his slave, even if he could not go as slowly and carefully as he normally would have done. Even so, he felt the familiar connection build between them, felt himself focusing intently on every reaction of his helpless victim, felt his groin react directly to Legolas' every sob, every quiver and sign of pain, felt his own breathing quicken at the muffled noises of his slave's little whimpers. He finished on the back, stepping close and in front of his victim. Legolas face was barely higher than its normal level, and he just needed to tiptoe a bit to get himself to the height of his slave's mouth. He reached around to the back of his suspended victim and ran both his hands over the hurting welts. “So beautiful,” he praised very quietly, “you are so beautiful like this, melethron!” He held the dangling body under his hands close and kissed his victim, deeply. He pulled back and added still quietly: “You are a sight to behold!” Then he let go, stepped back and added louder and more harshly: “I advise you to keep from sobbing just yet, though. This is just the start! There is much more in store for you, and it is nothing more than you deserve! So be silent! He saw Legolas swallow and muffle another sob, and smiled. “Time to do your thighs. I will greatly enjoy taking you when they burn and hurt with every touch all next week!” he brutally said. And with that he stepped back behind his helpless victim and began methodically to whip his thighs and ass. By the time he was through, Legolas' few muffled sobs had turned into a constant, soft whimper, and the thighs and buttocks of the bound slave were bright red. Aragorn stepped close again and caressed the aching buttocks, then he went back to the bed, set the whip away and fetched the paddle. “Now! Brace yourself! Count!” Legolas could not suppress a scream as the first, hard blow fell on his burning, hurting ass. He sobbed, then tried to gather himself back through the haze of pain to follow the command he'd been given. Muffled and barely audible, but with effort, he mumbled: “One.” Aragorn yanked his hair, drawing a startled hiss. “What was that? I didn't hear! Louder!” he commanded. Legolas fought for breath. “One, master,” he said. “May I ask to be graced with another?” Aragorn let out a low, satisfied breath and let go of his hair. “Better,” he growled. “Yes, you may.” And with that he let the next blow fall. The pain was excruciating. Legolas muffled the scream that threatened to escape this time, but he could not suppress another sob and his violent shuddering. With great effort and shivering in fear and apprehension he found his voice and counted: “Second. May I ask you for the next one, master?” Inwardly he screamed: '*No! Oh, please, no! Saes(5)! No!*' -- but he knew there was no point in begging, it would merely earn him another punishment, given Aragorn's current mood. He could hear his master's smile in his voice. “Brave Little Leaf! Yes, you may. Now!” The third blow fell, and Legolas bit his lips to keep from screaming. The lashes had hurt and they still burned like fire, but this – the hard paddle biting his sore skin and his bruised, aggravated flesh – was nearly unbearable. And it was just a part of what was to come, he knew. “Third, master,” he said shaken, when he found air enough to do so. His voice nearly choked on the ordered and expected question. “May I... may I ask... to have...” He could not say it. Finally Aragorn came to his aid. “Do you wish to have another one?” he asked harshly. Shivering, Legolas forced himself to give the expected answer. “Yes, master, please!” Inwardly, he screamed: '*Please, stop! Estel! No more! Please, please*...' Yet he did not dare to say it. This was punishment, not a game, and he would be more harshly and more cruelly punished if he broke the protocol that was expected of him. He did not wish to gain himself another five or seven blows. “And you shall have it,” Aragorn said and delivered the fourth blow. Legolas screamed, then half swallowed the scream and merely sobbed. It took some time until he managed to utter: “Fourth.” Behind him, he could hear Aragorn stepping close again and felt him caressing his burning, hurting ass. Very quietly, he could hear his master whisper to him: “You are doing this well, Little Leaf! You are magnificent! I am proud of you! Come on! It is just one more to bear, you can do this! Be brave for me. Come on!” He was barely audible between the sobs and whimpering of his victim and probably too quiet to be heard more then a few steps away, but his voice and words made their ways into Legolas muddled mind and restored a little of his strength. *Estel had not left him*! He was still with him, although the harshness and cruelty of this punishment he was putting him through was new to Legolas and scared him to his core. With great effort and carefully gathered breath Legolas forced himself to ask: “May... May I have the next one... master?” He felt a last, hurting squeeze of his ass and a barely audible: “Brave Little Leaf!”, then Aragorn stepped back and said aloud: “Yes, you may have it. This is the last one. Count, then thank me!” And the blow fell. He screamed again, then whimpered. Fighting with his bonds and the harsh strain on his back, he managed to get out: “Five... I... thank you... master, for... the just.. and thorough.. punishment.” His voice was muffled in tears. Aragorn threw the paddle away, back to the bed, and stepped close again. He hugged him from behind, pressing him close, causing pain where the hurting buttocks and thighs and the welts on the back of the slave came in contact with the Adan's hard body. “You did well,” he said. “However, this was just the first part of your punishment. The next part follows now, and there is more to come after that. Keep silent! You have no leave to beg, scream, or speak save when you are commanded to do so!” He let go of his victim and stepped back to the bed. “It is time I prepared you now, since later I plan to sheathe myself in you. Albeit I plan to make good use of your mouth, tonight, too! But you do not deserve to be prepared merely with balm or oil to ease the way. So tonight I will use something more befitting your deeds.” With that he took the vial with the irritant and stepped back to his shivering slave. Legolas trembled. He was confused and shaken with fear. He knew what was to come would hurt immensely, nearly unbearably, yet even more he was terrified by his tormentor's harshness and by his unprecedented cruelty. There was a new dark side to his master that he had not encountered this clearly and harshly ever before. Something deep within him screamed for *Estel*, begged him to return, to stop hurting him, at least not this much, but he had been forbidden to beg for mercy or even to show pain, if not explicitly given leave to do it. Trembling with fear he waited for the threatened new torment. Aragorn opened the vial and coated his fingers in the irritant. Then he closed the vial again and set it carefully aside, before stepping close to the helpless, shivering slave again. One of his arms sneaked around the suspended body and held him firmly in place. The other found the quivering buttocks of the Elf and explored the cleft between them. He heard his victim gasp, then sob, swallowing a whimper, as the fingers made their way along the sensitive flesh to the unprotected entrance. Then he touched the puckered hole, and the slave in his grip jerked wildly and bit back a scream. His other hand found the lifeless, flat Elfhood of his victim and closed around it, and the slave jerked again. He squeezed, and his victim sobbed and trembled harder. “Hush! Be silent!” he commanded harshly. “You have no leave to sob or try to get away! This is nothing more than you deserve! Your tears will not avail you, for you are getting just the punishment you earned yourself! Remember that!” And with that, one of his fingers entered the tight, resisting passage. Legolas could not help himself. He tried to keep silent and to hold still, tried to make no attempt to move away, as he had been ordered, but he couldn't. The pain was just too great; the intruding finger with the stinging irritant was like a hot, burning stab of pure fire in his sensitive flesh, and he jerked wildly again and screamed. Yet he could not escape; Aragorn stood close behind him and pressed his body harshly against his own, holding him tightly in the grip of his other arm, and his suspended state did not give him any leverage. He screamed again, then sobbed and whimpered. His attempts to get away were rewarded with a harsh squeeze to his unprotected groin, and he sobbed anew. “*Daro*!” Aragorn bellowed, “Stop this immediately! *Now*!” Trembling, the slave tried to obey, yet he nearly choked on the suppressed words of begging and the swallowed sobs of pain. “You earned yourself another punishment, Little Leaf,” Aragorn said coldly. “I told you to keep silent! Now I will have to do your nipples, too. *After* I close the clamps on them!” Something deep in Legolas' mind screamed: '*No! Oh, please, Estel, no! Please, stop! I can not bear this! It is too much! Please...!*' Yet he did not dare to say it aloud. He had been ordered not to, and besides, the Estel he had known and trusted was gone. He did not know this harsh side of the man who was his master. Through the haze of his horror, pain and fear he heard Aragorn's voice: “Now keep silent! Keep silent, or I'll have to gag you!” Trembling, the slave tried to obey. He felt the burning finger start to move within his flesh, felt it rub the irritant deep into him, and whimpered. Then the finger was withdrawn, only to be pushed harshly inside again. It hit his gland, and he gasped; then his tormentor repeated the motion and he could not keep silent anymore. He screamed again. There was another hard squeeze to his groin, drawing a helpless sob, then the finger was withdrawn, and his ass was harshly and painfully slapped. It hurt immensely. He felt as if his whole ass was on fire. “Another scream and it will be three more blows with the paddle,” Aragorn warned. “I told you this is just the start!” Legolas breathed hard. He tried to take deep, deliberate breaths, to ride the pain, yet he couldn't. He was terrified. Aragorn coated his hands with the irritant again and stepped back close. He squeezed his slave's hurting buttocks, burning anew from irritant on the skin already sore from the severe beating. The squeeze drew a hiss, then more muffled sobs. Aragorn's freshly coated fingers wandered to the vulnerable cleft again. Quietly, he said: “Try to be brave for me, Little Leaf. At least try. You can do this!” He stepped into his former position again, sneaking his arm back around the stomach of his slave, and let his other hand drop back to the entrance of his victim. “Brace yourself. Now!” he commanded and entered the passage again. This time he used two fingers. He felt his slave tremble and quiver under his touch. Legolas hissed, but indeed managed not to scream again this time. “Brave Little Leaf!” Aragorn praised. “So you *can* learn. Very well. I knew that you could do it! However, as I warned you, this is just the start. I'll stretch you now, to prepare you for your second punishment. So brace yourself, and open up for me. Feel this! Submit to it gracefully! You completely brought it onto yourself!” And with that he began methodically to stretch and tease the narrow passage, then moved on to finger-fuck his helpless victim. The slave gasped, then sobbed and whimpered helplessly. He did not dare to scream, yet he could not suppress the quiet, soft noises of pain that were constantly escaping him now. Although the intruding fingers repeatedly hit on his sweet spot and even lingered to rub and massage it, his Elfhood did not stir. The pain was just too great for any stimulation to succeed in causing arousal. After a few more harsh thrusts, the fingers were withdrawn, then returned with a third finger, then a fourth. Legolas whimpered constantly now. His master seemed not to mind, though, which was gracious, since otherwise it would have earned the slave more punishment. Yet obviously it was enough for him that the Elf at least managed to suppress his screams. Finally, the fingers were withdrawn. Aragorn stepped back from his quivering victim and went back to the bed. He took the big new *taer cant aniron*(6) and stepped back and around in front of his slave so his victim could see what he was holding. “Now,” he said, “I will fill you with this pleasure staff and have you suffer wearing it while I continue to work on you. Only later, when I sheathe myself in you at last, I will take it out again. This will be your second punishment tonight. Do you agree that you deserve it?” Legolas shivered. He stared in terror at the staff. He had no idea how it could ever fit within him. He gave his tormentor before him a hurt and betrayed look, nearly incredulous. He gathered his strength, trying to give the expected answer so he would not be punished even more, yet he could hardly manage to speak. “Answer!” Aragorn bellowed. “Do you agree that you deserve this? Answer or you'll feel the paddle again before the staff fills you!” His voice was sharp and stinging. Legolas swallowed again. “I..” he began hoarsely, then he finally managed to get out: “I deserve the punishment you wish to give me, master. I...” He could not continue. He could not say it! '*Please, Estel, no*...' flickered through his mind, but Estel as he knew him was not there. “Do you thank me for it?” Aragorn asked. “Do you beg me to be graced with it, now?” Legolas stared at him in terror. He could not. He simply couldn't. He could not bring himself to beg for this new torture. The staff was just too thick, and coated with the burning irritant... he could not do it! He trembled, tossing his head helplessly, mute in fear. Aragorn slapped him hard into the face, twice. “Beg for it!” he commanded. “Ask me to give you this just punishment, and thank me for my judgment, *or I will whip your feet*!” This threat made Legolas find his voice again. Walking a full day tomorrow on hurting, swollen feet sore from a thorough whipping? He could not afford this. Hoarsely and with great effort he managed to get out: “Thank you, master, for this just and thorough punishment. I'll.. I'll beg you to be graced with it, now.” His voice died in a muffled sob. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks, and he fought to keep from sobbing more loudly. Aragorn nodded gravely. “And so you shall,” he said solemnly. “Try to keep silent through this, or I will have to gag you. And brace yourself, because this will *hurt*.” And with that he stepped back behind his slave, coated the staff with a mixture of irritant and normal oil, and started to insert it. He could not push it inside all at once; the thing was just too thick, nearly twice the size of an erect male member like his own, and he could not risk tearing the flesh since there was simply no time for Legolas to heal before tomorrow. So he worked slowly and carefully, bit by bit, giving the tormented passage the time it needed to adjust and slowly moving the hideously thick pleasure staff in and out again, using a generous amount of oil together with the irritant. Although he had stretched the passage wide with his fingers already before he even started it took him some time until he could finally get the staff completely in. When he was done he used some long leather straps to fix it in its place, tying the straps around both of his slave's thighs and his stomach. Legolas could not keep silent anymore. He screamed as the thick pleasure staff entered him and stretched his passage wide, and again as it was worked deeper. Finally he stopped screaming, simply because he had not enough air. He had a hard time breathing under the incredible pain and was nearly choking. He did not bother to try and suppress his mutterings of pain again; it was too late, he had earned the threatened new punishment anyway, and he could simply not hold himself back anymore. His mind was in a haze and he was only half-conscious now. He had no idea what was really happening around him anymore, he was just aware of his tormentor's grip and of the anguish of his hurting passage. Whimpering and sobbing, he trembled under his tormentor's touch and tried helplessly to get away, without success or hope. He was barely aware of his master coming back to stand in front of him again. “You did well, Little Leaf,” Aragorn said. Darkly and coldly he continued: “However, you defied my orders again and screamed. So as I told you before, I will have to let you taste the paddle again. And since you seem incapable of keeping quiet, I am going to gag you now before I continue to work on you. We do not wish to scare the house with all the noise you make! Although later this night I may find another way to muffle your noise and to make good use of your sweet mouth!” He walked to the bed, selected a gag and went back to his slave. “Open up!” he commanded harshly. Sobbing, barely aware of his surroundings anymore, the slave obeyed. Yet instead of the gag, first he found his mouth caught in a searing kiss, and entered by a demanding and exploring tongue. Aragorn tasted him thoroughly, then he let him go and brought his mouth directly to his ear. “Shhh, bear with me,” he whispered barely audibly, “just a bit more! It won't be long now!” He was not sure if Legolas really understood his words; the slave did not react and did not cease his soft, helpless whimper. At least, the whimpering was enough to cover his quiet reassurance from any ears outside the windows that might listen. He let go of his victim and stepped back. “Now! Open up,” he repeated his command. “I have not the whole night to wait for you!” Obediently, the slave opened his mouth, and he inserted the gag and fixed it behind his victim's head. The soft whimper ceased. Aragorn gave a satisfied nod. “Now I can work on you in peace,” he said darkly and grimly, “and it is a good thing, too, because I have much more in store for you, tonight! First you will taste the paddle again, then I'll do your nipples, as promised; then I might like to try some needles and a bit of candle wax. In any case, this night is far from over, so I suggest you brace yourself!” He walked back to the bed and fetched the paddle again. Slipping back behind the slave, he said dangerously: “I promised you three more blows with the paddle if you screamed. I'll start with them! Of course, I can't apply them to your ass, since now you are filled with the pleasure staff. So I'll do your thighs instead. And since there are two of those, I'll make this four. Too bad you cannot count anymore, now!” And he let the first blow fall, then the second. The slave jerked desperately and gave a muffled sob, but there wasn't much to hear due to the gag. The third and fourth blow elicited a similar reaction. In the quiet, muffled noise, Aragorn could hear barely audible steps from outside the windows, moving away. He listened intently, poised for a trap. But there wasn't any other noise; and while he could not be entirely sure, his acute and honed instincts told him that now, finally, they were alone. All listeners were gone. He threw the paddle away and stood in front of his slave again. Carefully he reached around the suspended body and hugged his tortured victim close, nuzzling his chest, then tiptoed to kiss the tear-streaked face. “You did well, Little Leaf,” he said quietly, “You have been very brave! I am very proud of you! Don't worry, they are gone, we can go much slower now. There is not that much left for you to bear tonight, the worst is over. Be brave for me a short while more, only a bit. I promise you can bear this!” While he spoke, he carefully caressed the sweating, trembling body under his hands, stroked the sides, the chest, caressed and teased the nipples, then tiptoed again to kiss the lips of the gagged mouth. The gag he had selected earlier was one Legolas knew and was usually even comfortable with, a small one that did not hamper breathing and that they used quite often when there was need to keep discreet on their travels. It left the lips slightly open, yet accessible, and he used this fact to lick over them, then close his own mouth carefully over the gagged one of his slave. Then he moved slowly down to lick along his slave's neck, down his chest, finally to kiss and caress his nipples. Finally he stepped back but did not yet let the sides of his slave's body go. Hoarsely he whispered: “There are a few more things I wish to do to you tonight. But it is nothing that you cannot bear. I know that you can do this! Trust me, Little Leaf, I will be more gentle with you from now on!” He did not really knew if Legolas still heard him. The slave seemed nearly unconscious and in a kind of stupor. But he knew that he could not stop now, since he had voiced what he would do before, and he knew also that he was giddy with desire to do it. He was rock-hard by now, sweating with desire, and the muffled noises of pain of his victim, the quivering skin under his hands, the feeble, involuntary jerks and helpless attempts to flinch away from his touch, were intoxicating like the most potent drug. It was not nearly as good as he had dreamed this night would be in the long weeks before, lonely in the wilderness; given a choice he would have gone much slower, and the harsh treatment had brought his slave far too close to losing consciousness already for his taste. But still he was burning with arousal and captured and exhilarated by every reaction, every little muffled whimper of his victim. His trousers were uncomfortably tight, and he could feel himself already leaking. He raised his hands to the sweat-stricken face of his slave again and trailed with his fingers over the pointed ears in a tender caress, then he went back to the bed and selected ten of the long, slim needles and two of the nipple clamps. He did not choose the new ones Elrond had gifted them with recently, with the sharp, cruel teeth meant to injure, but the older and well worn ones with dull teeth that stung, but did not cause injury, and that he used quite often. Originally he had intended to use them together with the small, yet heavy weights made for this purpose, but he left those aside. He knew Legolas could not bear much more pain, and he had to be careful now not to go too far over the limit. This was a kind of torture they had done before, though, and Legolas was used to it. Aragorn was sure he could take it, especially if it was done carefully and not too intensely. Slowly, he went back to his suspended victim and stepped in front of him. He caressed and teased the nipples a bit more, then he very carefully closed the clamps first over the one, then the other. His slave gave a small jerk, but otherwise did not react much. Aragorn closed his mouth over first one, then the other of the clamped tits and licked and teased them with his tongue. While he did that, he took one of the long needles and found a yet unmarred spot at the side of his slave. Pinching the skin a bit to have better access, he pierced the needle carefully through it, mindful not to pierce the flesh beneath the skin. Legolas whimpered a bit under the gag, yet did not even quiver harder. Carefully and slowly, Aragorn applied the other needles in the same way, five on each side. Done, he ran his hands reverently over them and felt his victim tremble. “*Beautiful*,” he whispered in awe. “You are so beautiful like this, melethron. I can not tell you what it does to me to see you so. I am *hungry* for you, I cannot get enough of you... bear with me, just a bit more! I will release you soon. There are just two more things I wish to do to you before I taste your mouth again and fill you with my essence.... Just two more, my beautiful Little Leaf. You can do this, melethron, be brave for me!” He licked over the hurting, clamped nipples again, then moved to the pierced skin of his slave's sides to lick the small trickle of blood from them. When his head came up again, he took the face of his victim into his hands and looked at him, carefully judging his state. “I'll do your nipples now,” he explained breathlessly, “Don't worry, it's only five blows to each. They won't be harsh!” He tiptoed and placed a soft kiss to the gagged mouth again. “Be brave for me!” With that, he went back to the trunk and fetched another paddle, this one pliant and slender and made of leather. He placed himself a bit to the side of his slave and delivered the first blow to the left clamped nipple, not very forceful but nevertheless stinging. They had done this kind of torture before; Legolas was used to it since it was one of Estel's favorites. Of course, normally, when his master subjected him to this, he was not already drowned in pain as he was now. When the first blow fell, Legolas hardly jerked anymore, nor did he react to the following four. He also hardly reacted to the torment of the other tit. It was too much. He could hardly separate one source of pain from another anymore, and was caught in a fog of suffering, barely aware of anything other than his world of anguish. Dimly, he could still hear his master's voice, his soothing tone, and while he hardly understood the words, this voice was all that still anchored him to consciousness. Estel was there and wanted him to stay and bear with him; he wanted him to stay awake, so he tried to do it. Aragorn watched him intently. He was very aware that his slave was at the very brink of what he could take, and was still clinging to consciousness only because he himself had ordered him to. It was exhilarating and nearly made him come on the spot. Yet there was more to come, and he wanted to spill himself in his slave's mouth, only a bit later, not now in his own trousers; so he took deep breaths and calmed himself down a bit. Even so, he could hardly wait anymore. But there were still a few things left to complete his plans. Throwing the leather paddle away, he stroked and teased tenderly over the hurting, tormented nipples. Then he moved his hands up a bit and gathered the golden tresses of his slave within them. Legolas' hair was not braided this night, and hung loosely down his chest, where Aragorn himself had placed it earlier to leave the slave's back bare for the whip. Now, he tucked the long, golden tresses carefully out of the way, over the shoulders of his slave and threaded them below the yoke to his victims back. Then he tiptoed again and placed another kiss to the gagged mouth. “Time to get the candle!” he said. “Don't worry, melethron. I won't burn you with the flame tonight. It's just a little hot wax to adorn you!” Giving the face of his slave a last caress, he let him go and went to fetch one of the big candles. Coming back, he caressed the pierced sides of his slave, then the chest and at last the clamped nipples with his free hand. Softly and reverently he murmured: “I had planned to do your groin with the wax, too, tonight, to coat you nicely so I could then lick you and soothe you with my tongue. But I won't do that now; you are too weak already. We'll save that for another time.” Idly toying with one of the hurting, clamped nipples, he continued: “So it's just your nipples I will do tonight, and perhaps a bit more of your skin. I love it when you wear these little pearls of cooled wax for me! They look like jewels on your skin, adorning you for me to admire and relish.” And with that he raised the candle and let the first drops of the hot, stinging wax fall on the unprotected, already hurting tits. Legolas jerked and tossed a bit as the first hot, burning drops fell on his sensitive tits, searing and stinging, causing lingering pain. He whimpered again, his soft sounds muffled by the gag. The new pain stung and burned, and he shivered again and tossed his head a bit, yet he was too dazed and too deeply caught within his world of anguish already to try to get away or struggle against his bonds. He was only semi-conscious now; he did not care much what was done to him anymore, and merely endured each new touch and hurt as it was given. The soft murmuring voice of his master was the only thing that anchored him and kept him from falling into unconsciousness or from losing himself. A soft, cool mouth closed over his tormented tit, clamps, burns and all. Silken lips and a soft, wet tongue licked over the hurting flesh, soothing and cooling; then teeth gently bit down on the clamp, increasing the pressure and he jerked again. A callused hand at his hurting back held him in place, then the pressure lessened again and the hand at his back petted him tenderly. “Just a bit more, Little Leaf,” the voice of his master said, “just a few drops more. It won't be long now!” The procedure was repeated with the other tit, then a few more drops fell to the first again, until both his nipples were stinging and completely coated with the hot, searing wax. Then there were more drops falling to his breast, and finally the candle moved to his sides and more drops of hot wax were applied to the small wounds in his skin made by the piercing needles. He whimpered at the stinging sensation, at the heat of the flame uncomfortably close to his vulnerable skin, touching a few times but never long enough to really burn him. It was a small ache, compared to the white hot burning of his hurting ass, his thighs and most of all, his passage, yet ache it was, and he trembled under his tormentor's touches. Finally Aragorn set the candle away and came back to soothe all the places he had coated with the hot wax with his tongue again. He sucked and licked at the aggravated nipples, yet did not nibble at them anymore. One of his hands dropped to the limp Elfhood of his slave and fondled gently, yet could not make it stir. Small wonder; Legolas was in far too much pain to get aroused. Still, he regretted that he had not more time to try it; normally, he would have relished trying to stimulate the limp member of his Elf at this point and see if he could not provoke a reaction in spite of the great level of pain. But he could not do that now. It was time to put an end to this night of torment; It was close to midnight now, and there were not that many hours left until morning. And Legolas needed every single one of them to rest and heal. Sighing, he let go of the limp member and reached up to the restraints that held his slave suspended. He stepped directly under him and held him close with one arm while his other hand fumbled to open one of the restraints; then, catching the falling body gently and placing the freed arm over his shoulder, he repeated the procedure with the other restraint. He caught Legolas' limp, unresisting body in his arms and carried him a bit away from the yoke, then he set him gently down on the ground. Legolas' knees gave in, and he had to catch his Elf again. Carefully, he lowered him until he was kneeling and held him upright in this position, taking his arms and placing them firmly on his own hips. He made it clear through his very movements that he wanted his slave to keep them there. “Shh,” he told his semi-conscious slave, “don't let go! Hold on a little more. Kneel for me, Little Leaf. Stay upright and kneel for me!” Somehow, his voice and his command seemed to reach the slave's muddled mind, because he stayed obediently upright, clutching himself to his master's hips and using the belt on Aragorn's hips as leverage. Aragorn buried his own hands within the golden tresses of his slave, bowed down and placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I'm going to ungag you now, Little Leaf,” he said, “for I wish to use your mouth to take my pleasure. You will serve me well with your sweet tongue, will you not?” Quickly he undid the gag, removed it from his slave's mouth and threw it away. Freed, Legolas gave a soft, desolate, nearly inaudible sobbing. Aragorn breathed hard. The soft sound nearly drove him mad. Hastily, he freed his rock-hard erection. His cock was so hard it hurt. Forcing himself to refrain from thrusting mindlessly, he shoved it gently, but firmly into his slave's mouth, holding the Elf's head in place with his other hand firmly buried in Legolas' hair. “Now, Little Leaf,” he growled breathlessly, “lick it! Suck! Let me feel your sweet, talented tongue!” The wet, hot cavern closed around him like a sheath, the great amount of spit caused by the gag working as lubrication, and he had to harshly restrain himself from thrusting recklessly so as not to cut off his slave's air and suffocate him. Even so, having him like this, on his knees, quivering in pain and hardly aware of anything but his own anguish anymore, but still obediently opening up to take his master's eager cock into his mouth -- it was intoxicating and pure bliss! Aragorn gasped as the hot mouth closed around him. For a moment his slave did not seem to understand what was expected of him. Then training ingrained in eighty years of enforced sexual service to different masters kicked in, and Legolas' tongue began to swirl and lick around the invading cock, cheeks closing in a sucking motion, and Aragorn gasped again, then nearly shouted in pleasure. Slowly at first, then ever faster, he began to thrust into the welcoming cavern, mindful not to abandon every restraint, yet hardly capable of holding himself back any longer. Originally, he had planed to take his slave's mouth while Legolas was still tied to the yoke, forcing his victim to struggle to stay upright while he pleasured him. But Legolas was already too weak for that, and even so it was completely exhilarating. Never before had he taken his Elf to this level of pain, and while he originally had not planned to do it *that* way, but to give his victim plenty of time to adjust and hold and soothe him through the worst of it, he had *dreamed* of getting him to this point for years. Some part of him now wished to make it last, to hold his victim in this state of anguish and torment as long as he could, yet he could not do that now. Legolas did not have a week or two to recover from this. So he simply savored the moment as it was, and thrust with harshly controlled eagerness into the willing mouth. It took a lot of discipline to keep from just rutting away with abandon, but somehow he managed. Even so, it took just a few thrusts for him to come, and he climaxed, spilling himself in his slave's mouth, shouting his name. Gasping, clutching the shoulders of his kneeling partner for support, he had trouble to keep himself upright. He could feel Legolas swallow the cum as he was trained to do and carefully withdrew himself. He sank down to his knees before his Elf and took Legolas face into his hands. Taking his partners mouth in a deep kiss, he tasted his own essence. Then he gathered the limp, unresisting body in his arms and kissed a pointed ear. “You have done well, melethron,” he crooned, “you have been marvelous! Don't worry, it is done. Your punishment is over! Just let me get my breath back for a moment, then I'll take that taer cant(7) out of you and fill you with some soothing balm, before I sheathe myself in you a second time. Then you may rest and heal!” While he spoke, his hands were already working, taking off the clamps, then the needles, and setting them away. He would collect them later. Then he loosened the straps that held the pleasure staff in place and undid them. Carefully, he started to work the big thing out again. The Elf in his arms jerked as the tucks and pulls at the staff impaling him aggravated his overstretched, inflamed passage all anew, but his movements were feeble. Carefully, Aragorn worked the big thing out, murmuring soothing words and holding the trembling body tightly. Finally he had it out and set the thing aside. Petting the slaves back and head, he let him rest a moment, before he leaned forward and untied first one ankle, then the other from the long wooden staff that held Legolas' legs apart. Finally, he carefully gathered his stricken Elf within his arms, stood up and carried him over to the broad bed. He laid him down on his stomach at the side not occupied by the instruments of torture he had laid out early in the evening ready to use, or thrown back after usage, and took up another vial. Swiftly, he uncorked it and coated his fingers, and then he worked the soothing balm deeply into his slave's inflamed passage. The slave jerked and whimpered at the new intrusion, but soon the calming effect of the balm soothed the burning flesh, and the pain receded a bit. Legolas breathing eased somewhat, yet he was too far gone already to stop whimpering immediately. His body took some time to react, or process the things happening to him, by now. Aragorn worked quickly, yet thoroughly. He had to do that first; the balm would take some time to neutralize the last traces of the irritant, and he had no wish to hurt himself when he buried his cock within his Elf later this night. Done, he withdrew his hand and gently petted the hurting back. “Now just wait here for me; I'll be only a moment,” he said. “I'll just tidy up a bit, then I'll join you again.” Pulling out the big, hideous pleasure staff as well as massaging the hurting passage of his victim had renewed his arousal, and feeling the limp, pliant body under his hands, too deeply caught in the inflicted pain to even move or try to escape further torment, hearing the helpless whimpering, seeing the feeble movements, the haze of anguish of his slave had him already hardening again. Now he worked quickly, gathering the paddles, the whip and the irritant as well as the unused toys from the bed and depositing them unceremoniously back into the trunk, untying the rope from the ring in the wall, unwinding it and lowering the heavy yoke to the ground, separating the rope from the yoke again and placing both back into the trunk, together with the wooden staff and all the leather straps. The other used toys, the pleasure staff, clamps and needles, he deposited in a waiting bucket filled with a bit of water and placed both in front of the door. Let Elrond's servants deal with those and tell the master of the house exactly what they found! Hopefully, it would spare Elrond the trouble to ask questions in the morning. Finally, he was done. He bolted the door again, then snuffed all the candles save the one on the night stand, opened the windows and the shutters to let fresh air in, and closed the drapes. The whole procedure had taken only a few minutes. Only now he undressed himself and went back to the bed again. He planned to savor the pliant body of his slave one more time tonight! Legolas was still only semi-conscious, drifting, barely aware and caught in a deep fog of pain, albeit he was breathing somewhat easier now. Yet Aragorn could still hear a few whimpers and sobs. Aragorn got down on the bed and crawled close to his slave. Kneeling beside the prostrate body, he bent down to kiss the whipped shoulder blades, then he tucked the hair away and licked over the ears. “Now, my beautiful little Leaf, I'll have you one more time this night,” he growled hoarsely. “I can hardly wait to sheathe myself in you while you are in this state. Of course, it will hurt! But you will feel wonderful quivering all around me!” And he began slowly to caress the tormented body, stroking over the beaten ass, the thighs, then up the back. He knew that each of his caresses had to hurt immensely at this point, that each touch brought new pain, that burying himself in the aggravated passages would be nearly unbearable for his slave, yet all this only heightened his arousal all again and made him hard and needy. He felt his victim start to react to this new torment, felt his renewed trembling, the feeble jerks and doomed attempts to escape his touches, heard his increasing whimpers. Nearly driven mad with desire by his victim's reactions, he took the Elf by his shoulders and pulled him up, forcing him back into a kneeling position. Then he leaned the pliant body against himself and sneaked his arms around him, pressing the hurting back against his chest. Legolas gasped. He did not really realize what was happening and where he was anymore, that he was still in the chambers of his master and that it was Aragorn who held him; he only understood that there was a new torment to endure. His inflamed, aching buttocks were pressed against his tormentor's groin and stomach, the Adan's erection scraping against his hurting thighs. Instinctively he tried to jerk forward, but was held back by a harsh grip. “Be still!” a voice commanded – he was hardly aware whose voice it was anymore, but assumed it was one of his masters - “Feel this and open up for me!” Obediently, he tried to keep still, yet could not help trembling. His thighs were forced apart and pressed down on hard muscled legs, and he could not suppress another sob as his beaten, hurting flesh had to bear his weight. He whimpered anew and gave a small yelp. A harsh, callused hand closed over his mouth, and his master's voice growled into his ear: “*Hush! Be silent! Don't force me to gag you again*!” The hand was removed and made its way down to his chest. Two hands closed over his muscled breast and held him in place; then a hot column of male flesh entered him in one, fast thrust, and his tormented buttocks were driven back against hard hips. White-hot pain exploded in his brain all over again, and he bit back a scream. *Estel, it had been Estel's voice he'd heard*. Estel had ordered him to keep silent. He didn't know why it was important to his master that he did not scream, why Estel did not want him to voice his pain, but Estel wanted it from him, so he tried. He could not help continuing his soft sobbing, though. Callused hands closed over his tormented nipples, caressing them; then the intruder in his ass began to move and he was taken to a whole new level of pain again. He had lost all sense of time and all true awareness of his surroundings. It seemed to him this new torment lasted for hours. In truth it took only minutes, but he did not knew that. The thrusts went on and on, hitting his gland, but he was too caught in anguish to feel arousal at the stimulation. The pain was excruciating, and he tried to escape, to flee his body, to tear himself away from this hurting shell and perhaps leave it for good. Yet as he already thought that he left it behind, closing himself off and losing feelings, there was a blue, cold light that blocked his path and caught him like a moth caught by the flame. A harsh and cruel voice chanted freezing words, and he could not go further. He was driven back, back to his hurting hroa(8), and found himself aware of his body again, and the thrusting continued. In his anguish, he shouted to the one person he trusted to protect him, to keep him safe, to hold him when it got too bad: “*Estel! Please*...” Then, suddenly, the thrusting stopped and he was filled with warm fluid; the pressure in his passage lessened, and he heard his master's – Estel's – voice shouting his name. “*Legolas*!” He gasped and let himself fall back, and was caught in strong, well known arms. “Legolas,” Aragorn crooned into his ear, “Legolas! Oh, my beautiful, marvelous, wonderful, exquisite slave!” It was too much. He could not understand the words, or what was happening. He could just understand the tone, and the voice, and it was excited. It told him one thing: Aragorn was pleased. Estel was content with him. Gasping, yet reassured by this knowledge, Legolas' muddled mind finally gave in to the demands of his exhausted body and lost its grip on his consciousness. Aragorn felt the body in his arms go limp and quickly checked his gaze. He discovered his Elf had finally lost consciousness and sighed. He was hardly surprised, and in truth he had expected it much sooner. At least Legolas had managed to stay conscious for him until his master reached completion, and that was a marvel in itself. He felt overwhelmed by gratitude and a fierce possessiveness of his wonder of a slave. Placing a tender kiss on the golden head he quietly whispered: “Wonderful Little Leaf! You have been so very brave for me tonight! I am so proud to have you!” He was very aware that Legolas could not hear him and had briefly escaped his hurting body and his anguish. Collapsing, he let them both sink down on the mattress, draping himself over the prostrate, limp body under him, still joined. He felt an overwhelming urge to just stay there, give in to exhaustion and fall asleep, and for a moment he indulged. But Legolas would not heal enough by morning if he did not see to his injuries first, and there were a few more things to do before he could himself allow to give in to sleep. So finally he forced himself to withdraw from the warm body still sheathing him and heaved himself up. He made it to the washstand, filled the bowl with a bit of water from the pitcher and brought it over to the bed. Then he took a clean cloth, dampened it and started to wash his slave carefully and thoroughly, taking special care to clean the places that bore the marks of his whip, the angry buttocks, the sticky cleft, the thighs and finally, turning the limp body around, the chest and the aggravated nipples. He even washed the sweaty, tear-streaked face. Finally done, he brought the bowl back to the washstand and washed himself before he emptied the water into the waiting bucket. Then he went back to the bed, used the chamber-pot, and sat beside his victim. He took a vial with a healing balm from the nightstand and applied the substance carefully first to the nipples of his slave and to his sides, then he turned the Elf back to his stomach and worked it into the whip marks on his back, thighs and buttocks. He did not bother to renew the soothing balm in Legolas' anus again, though. There was no substance with more potency of healing to a slave under the spell than the seed of his master, and he had just spilled himself within his Elf. His living essence was all that Legolas' body needed to speed up the healing. He would apply some of the soothing balm again in the morning. Finally done, he set the vial aside, snuffed the last candle and collapsed into bed beside his Elf. Carefully, he nestled the limp body into his arms. He had taken him through a lot of pain tonight, more than ever before; but at least his Elf had survived, was still alive and breathing, and would stay so. From *this* he could recover. He would stay with him. *They had done it*. With this reassuring thought, he finally gave in to his complete exhaustion and drifted into sleep. _________________ o _______________ -- *For those who chose to skip the torture segment, from here it should be save to read again!* -- PART III The Morning After Aragorn awoke early to the pliant body of his Elf nestled into his arms. Soft half-light filtered in from the open windows; it was just before dawn. Aragorn groaned. Last night's exertions had left him with far too little sleep. *Again*. And Legolas ... Aragorn contemplated the sleeping Elf in his arms for a moment. He looked pale, even given the scarce light, his face was troubled, and his eyes were closed. It would have concerned Aragorn had he not known it for a healing sleep. After the harsh treatment he had put him through last night, Legolas direly needed it. Aragorn bit his lips. Normally, he would have gone much slower through that night's activities, and possibly not that far, and afterwards he would have given his slave at least a few days of rest to recover from something like this. Unfortunately, time was a luxury they didn't have. Carefully he disentangled himself, then, with regret, he endeavored to wake his healing lover. Legolas woke to gentle kisses placed on his shoulder and a soft caress of his face and ears. He sighed and leaned himself back into the body of his master, then yelped in dismay as his sore, bruised back and his still swollen rear sent painful signals of protest through his whole body. His back hurt, as did his ass and thighs, not to mention his still sore and hurting passage. He stiffened as last night's memory came crashing back into his waking mind. Aragorn held him fast until the pain subsided a bit, finding a spot at his arms where his body had miraculously not tasted the whip. Then he carefully settled him back into the pillows and kissed him on both cheeks. “Good morning,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry I have to wake you this soon, but we have to get up. The fellowship will start early. How fares your back?” Legolas turned around to him, ignoring his protesting and hurting back, and gave him an incredulous look. How did his master supposed he fared after all he had forced him through last night? But then he subsided. There was no point in risking even harsher punishment. Keeping his tone carefully submissive and lowering his lashes he admitted: “Your punishment was just and thorough, master. It still hurts.” Aragorn just nodded. “That was to be expected,” he said. “Let me see what I can do about it. After all, we need you able to walk today.” With that he let go of the body of his slave and got up. He went to rummage through the nightstand. Legolas watched him with tense anticipation and sighed in relief when his master returned with a vial he recognized as a soothing substance that could be applied to the most private parts of the body. “On your stomach!” Aragorn commanded. “Try to relax!” Legolas obeyed. He hissed as Aragorn's cool finger touched and entered his swollen entrance. The gentle exploring hurt at first and sent bolts of pain all through his body, but soon the soothing oil did its work and the pain subsided. Aragorn kissed the red, bruised cheeks of Legolas' ass, right on top of the angry welts left by his own whipping. “I will apply this to you twice a day for the next three days,” he promised. “It should soon get better. And we will take a generous amount of it with us during this journey, just in case. I might be forced to use it on you more often.” Legolas shuddered. “Thank you, master,” he said, then he added very hesitantly: “You... you wish to take the ... the new taer carag aniron(9) with us, then?” His voice shook with barely-controlled fear. He shuddered as he remembered last night's main element of punishment. Everything in his body and mind screamed: '*Valar, no*!!!' - but he did not dare to speak his protest aloud. Aragorn seemed changed. There was a dark side to his master, shown to him last night, that he had not seen this plainly ever before, and it had thoroughly scared him. Aragorn hesitated. “You hate it,” he said a bit regretfully. Legolas drew a sharp breath. He hissed as the exploring finger of his master entered him again with more of the salve, touched his sweet spot and began methodically to rub the soothing substance into it, sending currents of pleasure through him and to his groin. His breath quickened and he felt himself stir with interest. Still he was incredulous. What did Aragorn expect after yesterday's treatment, that he would like that instrument of torture? And did his master think that if he now took him in the morning with his fingers he would feel better about the pain he'd put him through with that hideous thing last night? It was hard to concentrate under Aragorn's ministrations. Still, he knew his master expected an answer. He searched his brain for a reply that would not sound too bitter and would not earn him more harm, but found none. He could not lie; Aragorn expected a truthful answer, and after sixty years he knew him far too well to get away with any kind of deception. He settled for the truth. “I am sorry, master,” he finally said. “It is very big. I am afraid I do not like it much.” He swallowed, voice hoarse and tensing up in fear of another beating, or worse. Aragorn stopped his application of the salve and withdrew his finger. He cleansed it with a cloth, then he went over to the nightstand again and returned with another vial. He placed a gentle kiss on Legolas' shoulder. “I was afraid you would hate it,” he admitted. “Actually I regret I used it on you this first time to punish you the way I did last night. I had hoped given more time you might get used to it, maybe even come to like it.” Legolas nearly jerked around to him but was stopped by a firm yet gentle pressure to his shoulders. Regretfully Aragorn said: “I know, melethron, it was a stupid thought. I know my needs are hard on you, though you are bound by duty to serve me and accept all that is given. Yet it would be *much* easier for you to bear if you could but learn to enjoy it more!” He coated his hands with the new salve and started to apply it to Legolas' hurting shoulders, thighs and backside. Still regretfully he added: “*I* like this new toy. And all tied up and filled with it you look simply exciting.” Legolas shuddered. The soothing salve brought relief to his sore back and his master's touch, while he applied the substance, was light and gentle. But his words were actually painful all themselves in their plain and thoughtless cruelty. He could not believe that this was Aragorn, *his Estel*, who was talking to him like that. Still, Aragorn expected a truthful answer. Swallowing hard, Legolas replied: “I... am sorry, master. If it pleases you I may learn to adjust to it. But I am afraid it can't be used without injury. And it *hurts*.” Aragorn placed another kiss on the shoulder of his slave. “It is *supposed* to hurt,” he reminded mildly, “and used without the irritant, with time, the pain would soon recede. Besides, I have taken you with my hand before without injuring you, and this toy is not as big.” He felt Legolas tense under his hands and shook his head. “But do not fear. The thing will remain here. We will have no chance to use it on this journey anyway.” He sighed and concentrated again on applying the balm to his slave's bruised back and his sore and welted hips, thighs and the still angrily blue-red buttocks. He bit his lips. Last night's beating had been thorough. It would take nearly a week for the welts and bruises to fade completely, he supposed. He had not really realized how far he had gone at the time.... But at least, this way Elrond could not complain he'd been too gentle. He would let Legolas go. They would both get away from here. And it *had* been exciting... Swallowing his slight discomfort, Aragorn took another portion of the salve and took special care to rub it into the angry red welts on the Elf's shoulder blades. Legolas hissed again, then bit his lips. He did not know if he was allowed to show his pain. Aragorn concentrated on his work, then he stood up with a satisfied nod. “There you go,” he said. “That should be enough to enable you to travel today. It will still hurt, of course, as was intended as part of your punishment. But it should be not so bad that it would hamper you, not even if we have to fight. And the good thing is, I will not have to do a lot to get you ready for me for the next few nights.” Legolas swallowed hard. His stomach churned and he brought it harshly under his control. What did Estel think he was doing? He had been harsh on him before, had even put him through thorough torment before, but *like this*?! He dared not give any but the expected answer. “Thank you, master. You are generous.” Then he got carefully up and went to the wash stand. Aragorn meanwhile packed his two vials into his medicine pack. Laying out his clothes and weapons, he waited until Legolas was done, then took his place and started to wash himself. While Legolas dressed and started to prepare his pack, Aragorn continued: “Don't forget to pack the necessary toys. We will have to be discreet and use simple means during the next few months, but we will definitely need them. We will take the irritant, of course, since it is one of the most discreet ways I can use to get you ready for me. Some of the needles, too, and a few clamps. And pick a pleasure-staff. Maybe the small metal one; you are used to it and even seem to like it, though it weighs a lot. And choose one of the gags. You can choose one you are comfortable with; I deem we shall need it quite often.” Legolas suppressed a gasp. He shuddered again. *So Aragorn expected him to choose, pack and carry the instruments of his own torture*?! Of course the order made good sense: Aragorn would need to make his slave suffer to get aroused enough to take him, and he would have to do it in the most secretive way. Aragorn could not get erect for him and could not take him if he could not hurt him first, and if he could not take him, Legolas would die. It was that simple. Still... to make him carry the very items of torture his master wished to use on him... Shivering, but without any comment, he obediently stepped to the hated, big trunk that held the collection of love toys Aragorn had assembled in the last sixty years, most of them quite painful for the one on whom they were used. He opened the lid and looked with disgust at the intricate instruments of pain Aragorn so loved to use on him, then he began to sort through them to find the ones his master had ordered him to select. While he sorted through the cruel toys, he felt his master step behind him. Aragorn had dressed himself as well. Now he slipped behind his slave and pulled him back against his chest and into the circle of his arms. Tucking his slave's hair out of the way he started to nibble on his neck while his hands sneaked up to the Elf's chest, found the still aggravated, slightly prominent nipples under the cloth of the tunic and started to toy with them. He felt Legolas shiver under his hands and his groin twitched, even more as the slave gasped when his still hurting back came into contact with his master's chest. Then Legolas obediently swallowed his pain and leaned back against his master as was expected of him, and Aragorn had to swallow hard in sudden arousal and desire. The slave's conscious and obedient acceptance of the hurt this closeness was causing his aggravated back was exhilarating to him like a strong, heady wine, making his head swim. Still he deemed it more important to do something against his slave's bleak mood than to indulge in some new love games that would surely just result in darkening it even more. “You know,” Aragorn said while one of his hands dropped down to Legolas' groin and started to squeeze and fondle the lifeless Elfhood under the cloth of the Elf's leggings carefully, “if I am to become king of Gondor I will have made the most delicate toys of gold and mithril for you to wear. Some of those clamps, definitely, and some jeweled needles; pleasure staffs... maybe even some restraints. They would adorn you nicely!” Legolas shuddered at the thought and under his master's touches. *What was the Adan getting at? Did he plan to take him again then and there*? Still, it was better not to provoke him. Besides, he was also intrigued by the sheer absurdity of the idea Aragorn was painting. He decided to play along. “You would empty Gondor's treasures just to torment a slave?” he asked teasingly. He was rewarded with a slightly harder squeeze into his left nipple and gasped a bit. He felt Aragorn smile against his neck as he jerked back, only to gasp again when his bruised back came into harder contact with his master's chest. Aragorn kissed his neck. “No,” he said more earnestly, “but I would empty them to adorn my close counselor and royal catamite, who was entrusted to take care of my very special needs and fulfilled that duty always to my fullest satisfaction, with toys worthy of our love play.” He stopped fondling his slave and closed his hands in front of Legolas' stomach, hugging him close. “My slave you are and will remain, since you are bound to me, but that won't be your official position at my court. I do not wish to establish slavery in Gondor if I ever come to be her king.” He sighed. “And since there is no way to release you from me other than your death, I'll have to keep you and make the best of it for us both. Believe me that you are dear to me, melethron; I wish my needs would be less hard on you and you could enjoy them more. But it is not to be, so we will both have to live with it.” Legolas hesitated. “It is my pleasure to serve you, master,” he said bravely. He tensed and waited for a punishment for the obvious lie, but Aragorn just shook his head. “Liar,” he chided dryly. “Yet it is a pleasant lie. I may be inclined to try and believe it.” Legolas turned in his arms and placed his hands on his shoulders. He saw the well known tenderness and the familiar slight grief back in Aragorn's eyes and felt a great weight lift from his soul. This was Estel as he knew him! “Still it is my duty to serve you,” he observed, “and my honor.” There was no lie now in his eyes. “'Tis true that your needs are hard on me. Such is my fate. But I am honored and glad to have you as my master.” He did not say that there were worse. He did not have to. Aragorn leaned his forehead against that of his slave, hands folded behind the small of his back. “Your words mean much to me, Little Leaf,” he said, “especially after what I put you through last night. I would have been less harsh on you, and certainly I would have given you more time to adjust; but I know Elrond will check on you this morning. He will want to know I punished you thoroughly after that argument we had. And time is something we don't have right now.” More fiercely he said: “But believe me, whatever happens, I will not leave you in his hands ever again. Whatever happens on this quest, I'd rather take you with me should I fall than force you back to him. And as soon as we reach Lothlorien I'll find another Elf for you to turn to should I fall or once it is my time. We'll choose one whom you like and who likes you. I will not have you die because of me! Not if I can help it!” Legolas stared at him, dumbfounded. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of being entrusted to yet another master, but even more the depth of concern and commitment Aragorn showed him touched his soul. There were reasons that he would still die for this man were it requested, in spite of everything. Slowly he said: “Lord Elrond will never allow this!” Aragorn's face was grim. “*Lord Elrond won't be there*!” he said derisively. “And since you belong to me I can and will decide whatever I wish to do with you. And I wish to ensure your survival apart from him. Don't worry, Legolas, I will not choose another Elf without consulting you. And you won't have to go to the one we choose save in the direst need!” Legolas shuddered. Lord Elrond would rather kill him than allow that. “But, Master, Lord Glorfindel...” he began, but Aragorn shook his head. “I spoke with Glorfindel,” he said. “He likes you well enough, but he does not wish to bind himself to you. Besides he is Lord Elrond's seneschal and bound to him in loyalty. He would not be capable to protecting you. Nor would Elrohir and Elladan.” Legolas shuddered harder at the thought of the twins. It had been they who had once shown a young and curious Estel the ways of cruelty in sex while using slaves. Legolas recalled the lessons vividly, even after all that time, since for most of them he had been the slave in question. “But what of Lady Arwen?” he finally asked. “If you are to wed, won't you have to give me up anyway? And My Lord Elrond will never allow you to give me away to an Elf not of his choosing then.” Aragorn's hands on his back gripped him harder and he flinched at the punishing squeeze that aggravated his hurting back and his sore hips. He bowed his head. “I am sorry for my disrespect, master,” he murmured. “I request punishment.” He waited in resignation for the punishment to be sentenced or meted out, although his stomach churned at the thought of even more or harsher pain. But the expected and feared punishment did not come. Aragorn just shook his head again, let go of his slave's hips and tipped his chin up so he could gaze into his eyes again. “I will not punish you for this,” he reassured him. Then he stated firmly: “But know this: Elrond is *not* your Lord! You are *mine*, and as long as I live you will remain so, save I should choose differently one future day. But if I come to this it will be *my* decision and not a demand of my foster-father! He gave you to me when I reached majority, and as a *gift*. Nothing he could take back at a whim. You are mine and I will protect you from him!” Legolas eyes went wide at Aragorn's fierceness. Aragorn took his face into his hands. “Believe me, melethron! He will not touch you. You may be fated to endure my need to make you suffer when I lie with you, but you will be safe from him. *I swear you are*!” Legolas swallowed hard. “Thank you, master,” he said gratefully, still hesitant to believe him. Then he dared to say: “Even so, Lady Arwen...” Aragorn shook his head again. “Arwen will let me keep you,” he said. “I spoke with her about this just the other night and she agreed. If I ever come to marry her I will still have you.” Legolas' eyes went even wider. “She would agree to this?” he asked incredulously. “But the bond..” “Won't be disturbed,” Aragorn said. “You cannot bind yourself under the spell, and I am human. I cannot bind myself the Elven way as much as I should wish. Arwen may bind herself to me, but it is not required for me to do the same to her, nor is it possible. She can allow me to keep you and still have my love.” He did not tell his slave of the included bargain he had struck with his betrothed concerning this. This was not the moment. He needed to convince Legolas that he was safe. The price his slave would have to pay for safety could be told later. *Much* later. In any case, he deemed it a small price to pay, for what difference would it make if Arwen was allowed to watch them play? It might turn out even more enjoyable for both of them. After all he certainly would be less cruel and more careful with his slave in front of his wife's eyes. Finally, Legolas swallowed his disbelief and gave a small, grateful bow. “Thank you,” he said with true hope and relief, “you are most generous. It will be a honor to be allowed to continue serving you.” Then he took a deep sigh and decided to dare teasing a bit. “But you know of course,” he said half-seriously, “that the royal court of Gondor did not use to include the position of a royal catamite.” Aragorn growled. “They haven't had a king for nine hundred years,” he said. “I imagine they'll have to agree to whatever protocol I choose to force on them!” He kissed his slave who obediently opened up. When he let him up again he added: “Besides, you will undoubtedly be the most beautiful royal catamite they'll have ever seen.” “I will be the *only* royal catamite they'll have ever seen!” Legolas said dryly. Aragorn shrugged, glad that his slave's mood finally was cheering up a bit. “So what?” he asked. “I will be the only *king* they'll have seen in a long time!” Legolas actually snorted. “But what will happen if that man of Gondor won't allow you to become his king, oh my most generous master?” he said lightly. “At yesterday's council he seemed not too eager to surrender the throne to you just yet.” Aragorn mock-slapped his head and smiled at his small surprised yelp, uttered although the slap had not really hurt. “If Boromir denies me as his king,” he jested, “and insists on keeping the Steward's rule, then maybe I can at least become a captain of Gondor's army again. Perchance he may give me a small garrison to command. But I still keep you!” “A garrison,” Legolas mused, “with you and me and Arwen.” Aragorn shook his head. “Arwen won't marry me if I don't become king,” he said, “as you well know. So you will be just stuck with me. And you won't even have an official position at the court in this case, nor toys of mithril to adorn you, either. I am afraid I won't be able to afford them.” Legolas snorted. Aragorn kissed him again. Seriously he added: “But I would still keep you and make sure to protect you as long as I live.” Legolas just stared at him, too stunned to reply. Finally he managed: “What if we fail?” Aragorn's face was grim. “Then all will be lost,” he said. “All will fall to darkness. Your father won't have to worry about Lord Elrond's moods any longer, but about being overrun and enslaved by Orcs. And *our* only hope would be that since we are the ones to undertake this Quest, we will likely be the first ones to be killed. I do not wish to imagine what waits for us if we are caught.” He shuddered. *Torment for himself, a slow, horrible death for Legolas, maybe Sauron learning about the spell and how to use it or even to cast it... they were images and thoughts he refused to contemplate in depth*. He sighed. “Let's hope it won't come to that,” he said. He let go of his slave and took a step back. But Legolas refused to let go for another moment and held him close. “If I may ask,” he hesitantly said, “what will you tell the others... about me?” Aragorn studied him, puzzled by his question. Understanding dawned. “We won't tell them about your position,” he decided. “After your harsh words to Boromir at the council he regards you with small love, and harbors even less for me. He would not be pleased if he found out that he was addressed that harshly not by an Elf of equal or of higher rank, but by a mere slave.” Legolas let go of him and blushed. He bowed his head. “I did not think of that! I...” he trailed off. Carefully and slowly he then said: “I ask forgiveness, master! I was mistaken. I.. request punishment if you wold grace me with it...” He choked, thinking of the outright torture he went through last night. Fearfully he awaited whatever new horrifying penance Aragorn might force him through. Aragorn surprised him by moving back to him and taking him by his shoulders again. “Nay,” he said, “punishment for this has already been given. I will lay no more penance for this on you. Besides, what you said to him was only the truth, albeit it should have been said in a more diplomatic way. But we can't have him find out that you're not free, now. Nor that Dwarf!” He tipped up his slave's chin again and caressed his face. “Let them think that we are just friends and comrades. Boromir thinks you are a prince since you were presented to him as son of king Thranduil and representative of your father's realm. Let's leave it at that! And do not call me 'master' on this Quest. From now on I am just 'Aragorn' to you, or 'Estel'. Let us act as we did in my time as Thorongil in Rohan and Gondor.” He kissed his Elf again. Then he said: “Of course you will still have to share my bedding. So we shall pretend that we are simply lovers as well as comrades and friends. This is not too unlikely among warriors after all. They will believe it.” Legolas gave him an obedient bow and said: “As you wish, My Lord.” Aragorn sighed and drew his brows together. “Estel,” he corrected. His Elf answered him obediently yet with a teasing gleam in his eyes: “As you wish, My Lord Estel!” Aragorn snorted and let go of him. “Very well, *Greenleaf*,” he said, deliberately speaking in Common. “Finish packing, then wait for me in the courtyard where we will depart. You may wish to take a detour to the kitchens first to pack supplies. I will follow a bit later. I have something to see to before we leave.” With that he gave his Elf a last caress and turned, took his gear and weapons, shouldered his pack, and left. Legolas knew he would visit the healing wing to pack some medical supplies, and he had a strong suspicion what else the Ranger wished to see to – or rather, whom. He turned back to the open trunk and gazed with disgust and fear at its contents. *And Aragorn thought these instruments of torture would be easier to bear if they were made of mithril*?! Shuddering he selected the items Aragorn had ordered, then closed the trunk with relief. He wrapped the chosen items carefully in soft leather and cloth, then deposited them at the bottom of his quiver. The added weight would aggravate and hurt his back even more when he walked, but storing them within his pack would not bring him more relief, since he had to carry that too. And besides, stored in the pack it was more likely that the small bundle might fall into unwanted hands during their journey. He did not wish to imagine trying to explain the contents of the bundle to a curious Hobbit, or maybe even a suspicious Dwarf! Besides, Aragorn would rather like watching him struggle to bear the added weight and would be probably all eager to bed him in the evening. Legolas shuddered again and thought back to last night. How could Aragorn have changed this much? True, Aragorn had tortured him before, but never like this. Or did he just imagine that his master had been gentler with him in the past? Sighing, Legolas shoved the dark thoughts aside, finished packing, donned his weapons and gear, shouldered his pack and stood up. He winced as he slipped into the harness of his quiver and fastened the belts and straps to keep it at its place. The pain went through him in a wave. But then he took deep, steadying breaths and adjusted to the familiar feeling. After all this was not the first time Aragorn had amused himself by whipping him before they had to travel on; it was one of Estel's favorite games, even if he normally kept the level of inflicted hurt much lower and was mindful not to tax his slave's strength too much. He had not done that this time. Legolas gathered himself, looked around to see if he had forgotten anything, and left the room. There was no point in wishing things were different. He had learned that the hard way a long time ago. Ignoring his sore, bruised back and shoulders, he quickly went to the kitchens to pick up the supplies, then left for the courtyard. _________________0_________________ Part IV – A Near Escape Legolas was already close to the front doors when he was caught. He could already see Gandalf waiting outside with a pony – obviously the same Aragorn had told him about, the one that his master and the Hobbits had brought from Bree – when suddenly two strong and heavily armed Noldor guards blocked his path. Turning, he saw two more coming up behind him, plus a more finely clad warrior he recognized as one of Glorfindel's officers. He cast a quick look to the doors and the steps beyond. If he could just make it to the steps, or maybe yell... But he could not risk struggling, for it would only serve to give Lord Elrond's guards an excuse to slaughter him were he stood. And if he risked alerting Imladris' non-Elven guests to the enslavement of his own people, he would be punished even more. As would be his fellow hostages and his home. Erestor's warning the day before had been clear enough. He could not risk that. So he subsided and stilled his steps. He cast a last, longing look to Gandalf, willing him to turn, to look up and into the house, but the Istar didn't. Legolas swallowed and resigned himself to his fate. He had been so close... yet the courtyard could as well be on the other side of the great sea right now. He turned to the approaching officer and bowed demurely. “My Lord Narthalion(10)?” he asked, as if he were not encircled by four Noldor warriors. “How can I be of service?” The officer sneered at him. “Your presence is demanded in Lord Elrond's study, slave,” he snapped. His guards came close and grabbed for Legolas as if he could try to flee any moment. Legolas avoided their hands neatly with a step forward and a little turn, and bowed again. “As you wish, My Lord,” he said, “I will go there immediately.” His maneuver was only half successful, however. The four guards did not seize him to drag him off, yet they did not relent their position around him either. The officer looked at him with disdain. “You will follow us!” he snapped and took off, his four guards and Legolas trailing along. They kept the slave carefully between them. Legolas swallowed, but made no move to fight. He knew that any resistance on his side would simply make matters worse. It would give Elrond all the excuse he needed and was just what the lord of Imladris hoped for. When they entered the study, Elrond was already there. Erestor stood beside him, and on the other side of the room were Elladan and Elrohir. But Glorfindel was absent , and so was Aragorn. The very two people he could trust in to protect him were nowhere to be seen. He was alone. Elrond looked at him with dark pleasure and a strange expression of both disappointment and hunger in his eyes. Beside him, on the desk of the big study, sat the hideous pleasure staff Aragorn had used on Legolas last night, cleansed and ready to be used again, and beside it was a cruel whip with nine lashes, each set with several knots to aggravate the inflicted damage. Legolas swallowed hard. The impulse to fight, or flee, was nearly overwhelming; but he saw the four guards taking posts in front of the doors and windows and knew that either attempt would be useless. Hatred and fear coiled in his stomach like a hard, hurting fist. Nevertheless he forced himself to bow respectfully. “My Lord Elrond,” he said demurely, “you wished to see me?” Elrond's eyes narrowed at the address. After all, Legolas had spoken without leave. However, since he had himself ordered the Mirkwood Elf to be brought before him, he could hardly claim offense now because the slave presented himself. So he simply glared at the Elf before him and motioned his guards to close the doors. Then he turned back to the slave. “Silence, Mirkwood spawn!” he bellowed. “You will speak only when ordered!” He saw with satisfaction that his victim paled and addressed him harshly: “I hear your master has punished you last night for your insolent behavior. Yet I distrust my foster-son's severity in this matter. He treats you far too gently as a rule. This time I will make sure that you do not get away too lightly with the insult you offered me!” Legolas swallowed again. He thought he would choke at the fear and rage that built within him, and he wanted to scream. *Treated too lightly*?! Yet Elrond had forbidden him to make a noise, and so he dared not utter one. Elrond watched him closely and noticed with pleasure his mounting fear. With a harsh bark the lord of Imladris ordered him: “Undress!” Legolas looked up, paling, and opened his mouth, still hesitant to speak. Elrond smirked and reached for the whip on the table. Maliciously he sneered: “I gave you an order, slave! Have you fallen deaf, or do my guards need to help you follow it?” Legolas knew that he was doomed; he had to speak up, yet to do so would mean to be punished again. Still he swallowed one more time and dared to say: “My Lord...” He waited for the lash to fall, yet to his surprise one of the twins spoke up in defense of him. “Ada, you know as well as we that Legolas is not allowed to present himself naked or to offer his services to *anyone* while Estel is in Imladris, except with his master's explicit permission! And Aragorn has not ordered him to.” Elrond, thwarted by his interference, scowled. “Well, little Mirkwood Elf, your master will just have to bear your disobedience this time! I wish to check on you and appreciate your penance, since he decided to keep the punishment he gave you private. And I deem as the offended party it is my right to see what he has done to you!” Elladan sighed and shrugged. “Do it, then, Woodelf Pet,” he said. “Estel will have expected this. He won't be offended.” Legolas trembled with fear, shame and rage. Yet he knew he had no choice. And Elladan was right; Estel *had* expected that Elrond would demand to see the marks of the previous nights punishment on his body. Wordlessly he bowed again and began to discard his pack and weapons, slipped out of the harness and finally out of his tunic. He placed his gear and clothes neatly on the floor, then stood with slightly spread arms and legs before the ruler of Imladris. Elrond regarded him with narrowed eyes. “The leggings too!” he ordered coldly. Legolas flinched. He swallowed and blushed deeply. Yet there was no further interference from the twins, and he knew he could not fend this off. So he hesitantly opened his belt and let the leggings slip to the ground, then discarded his loincloth, and stood in shamed nakedness before the Peredhil(11) and the assembled Noldor. Elrohir gave an impressed whistle, and Elladan cocked his head, while Erestor devoured the trembling slave with a hungry look. Elrond walked around the naked Elf to study his bruised back and the faint marks of the needles on his sides, then he raised a brow, reluctantly impressed at the marks on the slave's body. It was Elrohir who spoke first. “Well, father,” he said, “it seems that Estel has been quite thorough. I think you need not complain about his gentleness toward his pet this time!” Elrond glared at him and scowled. He did not like to be thwarted of his prey, and he liked even less to be thwarted by his own sons. Determinedly, he stepped closer to inspect the angry red welts on the slave's back and stroked over them experimentally. He let his hand drop to the blue-red buttocks and squeezed. Legolas flinched again and trembled harder in suppressed pain and the nearly overwhelming urge to strike out and kill, or flee. Inwardly he screamed for Estel, or for Glorfindel, for anyone to come and stop this. But Estel was not there. His master had abandoned him to face this trial alone. He closed his eyes and willed Estel to come. *He had promised! He had promised it only this morning*! But of course, nothing happened. And to be fair, Aragorn could not have expected this, could he? Or at least he would have expected Glorfindel to shadow Elrond long enough this morning to protect Legolas in his absence. Yet Glorfindel was not here either. Beside him, Elrond narrowed his eyes. He scowled and stepped back. “I see your master was more thorough than I thought. Still he is far too gentle! *Healing salve*!? You don't deserve this! That way he will have these marks heal far too quickly! They should last you at least for the whole of next week, not just for a few days!” Menacingly, he took a few steps back and signaled the slave to move to the desk. “I knew I would have to take care of things myself,” he said with dark triumph. “Lean forward, hands flat on this desk! I will make sure that you don't heal too soon but learn the costs of insulting one of your betters, once and for all!” Two identical voices behind him protested: “But *Ada*!....” yet they did not speak further when Elrond swung around to glare at them. “Do not interfere!” he bellowed. “This matter is mine! Narthalion, come to help this slave fulfill his orders!” The Noldor officer came forward to follow the command. Legolas trembled. He was poised to fight, to scream, to do anything but just endure another whipping. He knew he could not bear this and hope to walk out of this room under his own power, much less partake in the Quest; he knew this had been Elrond's plan all along. He knew he would die here and Elrond would claim Silivren, since Legolas could not fulfill his duty to the fellowship for which Mirkwood's punishment had been postponed. Yet to attack would mean certain death to himself and to the other hostages, and enslavement to Silivren, anyway. And his weapons lay beside him on the floor, and his legs were still hobbled by his leggings around his ankles. Shaking with fear and rage, he scrambled forward and leaned himself on the table as he had been ordered. Narthalion stood back, a bit disappointed. Elrond placed himself at the slave's side and raised the whip. He smiled maliciously. “Now, Mirkwood spawn, count!” he said with a sneer, “I will greatly enjoy this!” Legolas tensed and closed his eyes. He would *not* give his tormentor the pleasure of his screams, or of his tears. *He would not*. Shaking, he braced himself for the blow -- -- that did not come. Instead, the door was torn open and a fierce, fell voice cut through the room: “*Daro!*” Elrond froze against his will and whirled around. The voice continued: “What is this? My Lord Elrond, *stop this immediately*! This slave does not belong to you but to his master, and he has already been punished as you can well see! If you are dissatisfied with his punishment, My Lord, you should take this up with his master! Besides, he has a quest to fulfill! Shall I fetch Estel for you?!” Legolas nearly slumped with the relief that flooded him and sighed with gratitude. He could not see the door from where he stood, yet recognized the voice. Glorfindel had arrived at last to rescue him. It took Elrond but a moment to regather his wits. He let the whip sink down to his side again but did not set it away. Icily he said: “My Lord Glorfindel! This matter is between me and this slave. It does not concern you! I suggest you stay out of this and see to the preparations I believe I charged you with this morning! Glorfindel didn't miss a beat. “That is what I am doing here, My Lord!” he said firmly. “Legolas is part of the fellowship of the Ring now, and he belongs to Aragorn. For the Quest to start today, he needs to be able to walk. If you unleash your wrath on him now, after he has already been punished thoroughly by his master, you would unavoidably delay the timely departure of the fellowship for the Quest. And you charged me to see to it that all is ready so they can depart in time!” Legolas took a deep breath and closed his eyes. '*Thank you, My Lord*!' he thought. He could only hope Glorfindel would be successful. Elrond scowled at his Seneschal. “My commands hardly include your interference into my decisions, much less in such a matter as punishing a slave, Glorfindel!” he said sharply. “The discipline of this house – and of all the Mirkwood hostages – is my concern, after all, and since his master treated him too lightly...” Glorfindel gave the back of the trembling, nearly naked Mirkwood Elf a pointed once-over, disgust and pity mingling in his eyes. “How so, My Lord? I cannot see that he was handled gently. I'd say his master has been more than thorough!” he said. Elrond sneered. “He was too gentle! He treated his injuries, used healing salve...” Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “And well he should! Legolas has a long day's travel to manage today. He needs to be capable of walking! I'd say Aragorn would perhaps have done better if he'd stopped much sooner!” Elrond's mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed. Derisively he said: “You would! You were always a bit too soft in the matter of this specific business, Glorfindel, as great a warrior as you are! However, if the Mirkwood spawn is not capable of walking after I am done, the Fellowship need not delay. We will simply send another Elf! Whatever Aragorn may claim, it is not his decision who shall walk for the Elves on this Quest! It is mine!” He raised the whip again. Harshly he snarled: “Stay back, Glorfindel!” Legolas' eyes flew open, and he swallowed hard, ruthlessly suppressing his tears. It cost all of his discipline not to attack; only the thought that if he did even Glorfindel would turn against him, and he never could be fast enough to get Elrond before he was killed himself, stopped him from the attempt. Inwardly, he screamed with despair and with rage. *So much for Estel's promises! Where was he now to see to their fulfillment*? Trembling with rage and with despair he waited for the blows that would seal his fate and kill him. But the blows never came. Glorfindel moved smoothly and swiftly between the shivering slave and the Lord of Imladris. “*No*!” he shouted. “*I can not allow this!*” Swiftly and fiercely he added: “My Lord, you *promised*! You promised Gandalf that you would postpone Mirkwood's punishment and instead let Legolas partake in this Quest! I have never known you as one to break your word or seek a way around it! Would you go as far as dishonoring yourself now just to kill a slave!?” Elrond hesitated, taking a step back. His face turned white. He was about to snarl something again, then stopped himself. Glorfindel pressed his advantage. “Please, My Lord! *Think*! Do not do this! This is not honorable! Do not let your wrath drive you to break your word against your better judgment! *Let it go*!” Elrond continued to glare at him for a few moments, but he knew that he had lost. He had known Glorfindel for far too long to dismiss his words easily and he knew the Balrog Slayer would not move. If he wished to carry out his plan and whip the hated slave he would need to have his Seneschal ordered to be removed from the room by his own guards and to be kept restrained; and that would lose him Glorfindel's services, even more so since the Gondolin Elf thought Elrond's very honor at stake because of this. Glorfindel would not continue to serve him if he thought his Liege Lord had dishonored himself, and Elrond could hardly afford to lose his service now at the very eve of war. Finally he took a deep breath, calmed himself with some effort and set the whip aside. Angrily he barked: “Fine! You may have your way in this! For this one time, the Mirkwood spawn may get off more easily than he deserves!” He stepped away from the desk and around Glorfindel and turned back to the slave. “You, Mirkwood slave! Dress yourself and get down to the courtyard! You are lucky today! But this is far from over! And you had better see to it that you do not insult me another time!” Legolas did not dare to speak a word. He merely forced himself to turn around, bowed, and began clumsily to redo his clothes, first the loincloth, then the leggings and his belt. He had trouble getting up again as he half knelt to angle for his leggings, and he still shook violently, but somehow he managed to dress himself again at least up to his waist. Elrond gave him a last, disgusted look, then he turned back to Glorfindel. “Better see to it that he finds his way down to the courtyard without further delay,” he growled, then he nodded curtly, motioned his Steward and his guards to accompany him, and left the room. The twins, however, hesitated a moment and stayed behind, waiting until the others were gone. Glorfindel glared at them, his expression warning against any further attempts at humiliation of his charge. Elladan actually took a step back; Elrohir merely raised a brow. Finally, Elladan offered: „Well done, Glorfindel! Estel will be pleased!“ Elrohir added, speaking towards Legolas: “See, Little Pet? We can be nice, too! It was us who send Lindir to fetch him!” He smiled. “Maybe, when the two of you return, you can think of a way to thank us.” Glorfindel's glare became fierce, and he took a protective step forward. “That's enough, Elrohir!” he warned. “I suggest you'd better go and see to your chores!” The younger twin took a step back. Elladan rose his hands. “Peace, Glorfindel!” he said. “We just wanted him to know that we do not wish him killed, either!” He turned to Legolas. “Have a good journey, Woodelf-Pet. And do not worry about father's threats. If you are successful, he can hardly carry them out. You'll see! All will be well!” With that, he gave Legolas and Glorfindel a nod and left the room. Elrohir followed him. Legolas let out the breath he'd held. Wordlessly, he turned around and supported himself by leaning on the table with his hands,since his knees threatened to give out under him. He swallowed a sob. In the next moment Glorfindel was at his side, lending him his support. Quietly, the golden headed Noldor offered:”Lean on me for a moment. Take a deep breath!” Gratefully, Legolas obeyed,and Glorfindel supported him while he regained his strength. After a few moments he asked: “Do you think you can stand?” Careful, leaning on the Noldor Lord, Legolas straightened himself up. When he found that his legs agreed to carry him again, he let go of Glorfindel's helping arm and turned to his rescuer. “Thank you, My Lord,” he finally said, still a bit shaken. “I think I can manage.” Glorfindel studied him with dismay and concern. “I see Estel was very harsh with you last night,” he said. “I wished he had paid more heed to your need to travel today!” Legolas swallowed back the tears that threatened to escape. He bowed his head. Bitterly he said: “I am still capable of walking, My Lord. And as it is, had my master been less hard on me, Lord Elrond might not have been dissuaded.” He looked up and met Glorfindel's eyes. “I have to thank you again, My Lord! You saved my life!” Glorfindel's gaze was troubled. “Think nothing of it, Greenleaf! I wish I could have been here sooner!” he said. He shook his head. “Aragorn would have done better to do less last night and instead stay with you today until he had delivered you safely to Gandalf. What was he thinking? If Lindir had not come to me in time... that was far too close!” He shook his head again and swallowed his anger. “Forgive me! It is not your place to answer for the decisions of your master! But if time permits, I think I will have words with him about this!” Then he studied the shaking, half-naked Elf before him more closely. His concern grew. “Are you sure you can walk?” he asked. “Shall I take you to the Healing Wing, to apply more of the salve?” Legolas shuddered at the thought of spending any more time than absolutely necessary under the roof of Imladris. He shook his head again. “I am fine, My Lord,” he lied bravely. “I can manage. I just need to redo my clothes again...” Glorfindel studied him another mom