Title: Fallen

Chapters: Eleven to Fifteen

Fandom: Lord of the Rings/Middle-Earth

Pairings: Sauron/Legolas, Sauron/Maglor, Maglor/Legolas, Others

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: AU, M/M Slash, graphic sex, M-Preg, BDSM, D/s, Rape/Non-con, character 
death, horror, gore, violence, physical handicap - basically, if you can think 
of it, it's likely here somewhere. Generally dark, disturbing, and possibly bad 
for your mental health. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Middle-Earth is not mine, neither are Sauron, Maglor or Legolas. 
They belong to Tolkien. I make no money from this.

Summary: Legolas is captured by Sauron long before the War of the Ring, and he 
encounters someone there whose fate was never known.


Author's Notes: Feedback is encouraged. Please email me: 
pippychick_uk@yahoo.co.uk 

If you want to attack me for my imagination, please reread the warnings.

This entire story exists thanks to the invaluable help of the girls at the ILSS. 
Namely, Esteliel (for thinking up most of the names of my OC's), Milly, Gabby, 
Talics, who between them beta read parts of this story, and Nessa, who brought 
up the subject of Maglor in the chat one evening. A big thank you to all of 
those people.


* denotes italics 
// denotes thoughts, scary voices et cetera


 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ FALLEN ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


CHAPTER ELEVEN

Often he awoke before Maglor. The older elf always seemed to be tired and sleepy 
in the mornings, as if he hadn't really rested. That was, if it was really 
morning. There was no way to tell the time here, and there was no daylight. 
Legolas still trusted his internal clock though. And he believed they more or 
less still slept at night and awoke in the morning. 

It was easy to slip away while Maglor slept. He stole some of the clothes that 
Sauron liked Maglor to dress in. They weren't much, but better than nothing. He 
felt a little apprehensive when he had to tear the tunic to fit over him. He was 
much bigger now, and he wondered if he would survive out there, if *they* would. 
He remembered what it was like, or at least he thought so. 

He gathered the few things he had prepared. The waterskin he had spent long, 
laborious hours making while Maglor was busy with the dark lord; it was made 
from the occasional stolen tarred leather cup that was brought in with their 
meal. The food he had secreted over the last few days when it had been easy to 
keep his distance from Maglor, feigning the desire to be alone. Although it 
hadn't really been pretence. 

Over the last few weeks he had come to pity Maglor, but he also despised him. He 
would have loved to tell Maglor what he planned, to escape *with* him, to free 
them both of the dark lord and his torments. But he doubted that Maglor really 
wanted to escape. In fact, he suspected that if he told Maglor what he was 
doing, the other elf would betray him somehow. *He* would not stay here that 
long. To do so was unthinkable. He had grown up a little after realising what 
his fate would be were he forced to stay here, and he couldn't allow himself to 
turn into that. To become as dependent on Sauron as Maglor was. 

Yes, it had to be now. For some reason, he had been Sauron's exclusive company 
over the last week or so, and the dark lord's strange influence was at work on 
him in that time. At first he was terrified of what Sauron would do to him, what 
he could do. And he trembled to be in his arms, submissive and scared, 
remembering the healing of his mind after the cruel torture. He couldn't go 
through that again. 

But the dark lord seemed to ignore him most of the time, busy as he was with 
giving orders to the uruk-hai, looking into the magical stone he had for hours 
at a time as if he was addicted to it. Indeed, the strange black globe with its 
swirling depths was never far from the dark lord's sight. He was always 
watching. Always waiting. And all he required most of the time was that Legolas 
stand silent and unmoving in a corner, awaiting him should he desire anything. 
There were punishments for the smallest things. Fidgeting restlessly in his 
place, not being quick enough when the dark lord wanted something from him. 
Legolas soon learned to anticipate what Sauron wanted, and he felt an awful 
gratification when he earned a smile or a kiss from him. When he was alone he 
was disgusted with himself. He knew that he was being trained, and he knew it 
was working. 

Yet when he was with Sauron, his desires took over. And he found that in some 
sick way he enjoyed being on his knees before him, pleasuring him. Even fetching 
and carrying for him held a kind of pleasure in subservience. He did understand 
Maglor, only too well, and that was why he pitied him. When he was with Sauron, 
he didn't want to escape himself, and it became more and more difficult to 
remember why he was preparing to leave. Sometimes, he even felt like he *wanted* 
to confess, and that terrified him - only his fear of the consequences kept him 
from it. No, he absolutely could not afford to wait. To wait would be to give up 
completely... like him. Legolas pitied him, but there was nothing he could do. 
How could he save Maglor from himself? 

It felt bad to be leaving him here, but maybe Maglor was right and it was what 
he deserved. Legolas hadn't really listened to the stories about him when he was 
younger, preferring instead to dream about the day he would be able to guard 
Greenwood's borders with his older brothers, and so for all he knew Maglor's 
crimes might be that bad. He was sure that he remembered something about an 
oath, and that he and his brother Maedhros were notorious for something. He 
stopped suddenly, and looked at Maglor sadly, realising that he was giving 
himself a rationale for leaving him behind. *Nobody deserves this*. He 
swallowed, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat, and kissed the other 
elf gently on the forehead as he slept, whispering his apologies for leaving him 
alone once more. Maglor had simply been trapped here too long - it was over for 
him. And Legolas was sorry, but he couldn't sacrifice himself to make Maglor 
feel better about his fate. 

Breaking his line of thought he checked that he had everything he needed. Or 
rather, everything useful he had been able to lay his hands on. He was dismayed 
to be heading out without a weapon, but once he reached the safety of some trees 
- normal trees - he would surely be able to make himself something. Part of his 
training back home had involved learning to survive when he had nothing. So 
making crude weapons, finding water, hunting - none of that would be too 
difficult if he could just reach the end of the hot, dry, and acrid land that 
made up Sauron's realm. 

Maybe, and at this next thought his heart filled with hope, maybe he could even 
get back to Greenwood eventually and be reunited with his brothers? Thinking 
that, Legolas truly smiled for the first time in months. Home. It was such a 
potent dream after all this time. 

Feeling relieved to at last be on his way, he sneaked out, hoping once more that 
he would not run into any of Sauron's orcs or uruk-hai while he was finding his 
way. In contrast to his wild attempts to flee before, this time he crept down 
the corridors and hallways, hiding behind corners, listening for enemies. He was 
concentrating so steadily on not being discovered he wondered how he could have 
let the emptiness of the place disturb him before. It was a relief to him now, 
and he thanked the Valar for his accurate memory when he came to the great doors 
that marked the exit from Sauron's vast fortress. 

Quietly, he let himself out, not allowing the massive doors to open any wider 
than they had to for him to slip through them. And then he faced the land before 
him. This time he knew what to expect, and it didn't dishearten him as much as 
before. He wasn't naked, and he had makeshift shoes on his feet. It would be 
difficult, but already he was sure he could make it. If he could only get a head 
start before he was discovered missing. He began to walk. 

For the first couple of hours it was easy going. The landscape was as barren and 
deadly as he remembered it. The huge volcano made the air hot and heavy, and 
there was the smell of sulphur all around. But he didn't lose heart. He breathed 
carefully and shallowly, taking his time, conserving his energy and strength. In 
no time at all he passed the woods he had encountered last time, and although 
the promise of shelter, cool shade and sweet air called to him, he knew better, 
and avoided it. After a while though, his own weight began to slow him down, and 
he rested his hands on his belly, feeling the heat all the more because of the 
life he was carrying inside him. 

Then, as time passed, Legolas began to worry. Nothing seemed to be changing 
around him, although he had surely been walking for most of the day. Eventually 
he saw a large outcropping of rock coming up in front of him and he made his way 
towards it over the scorched and blackened earth. Tired and out of breath, he 
scrambled up it, hoping that at last he would see to the end of the wasteland. 
Hoping that he would be able to judge the amount of distance there was left. It 
would spur him on. 

He finally reached the top, gasping and out of breath, and he sat down on the 
ground before embarking on the last few metres, to drink from his improvised 
flask of water. He rested for a little while, resting his hands on his belly as 
he had begun to do often when he was alone. He felt one of them moving and it 
made him smile. Perhaps they knew he was drinking water? Suddenly he didn't feel 
quite as alone, and he was grateful for it. He needed to find somewhere safe and 
comfortable soon though - for their sake. 

Regaining his feet, he climbed up the final steep incline to the top and stood 
staring out at the view. "No..." he whispered faintly. 

Before him was Mordor in all its breathtaking entirety - the land that the dark 
lord had desired to build his home in - and it suited him. It was dark, 
forbidding and murderous. And for as far as the eye could see, it still didn't 
end. Legolas fell back down, the hard ground jolting him so that he cried out, 
but he couldn't take his eyes away from the vista in front of him. The panoramic 
view was all around him. If he looked back he could see where he had come from, 
the tall spires and turrets of Barad-Dur in the distance, and the isolated woods 
that Sauron kept close by. He must be looking at miles and miles of hot, dusty, 
unforgiving terrain. It would take days, if not weeks to cross this! The hope 
that he had when he first set out completely deserted him, and he simply sat for 
a while in shock, not knowing what to do now. He couldn't go back, and yet what 
hope was there of getting to the end of that vast expanse alive? None. It was 
like crossing a desert with a cup full of water. Impossible. 

Still, he realised he had better do something other than sit here, waiting to 
die. What choice did he have but to carry on? If he knew one thing, it was that 
he would rather die than go back, and if that was the way it had to be then so 
be it. They were brave thoughts, surely fitting for the Prince of an elven 
realm. But then he cradled his swollen belly once more, and he began to cry, the 
harsh ground beneath his feet becoming soft and inviting through the blur of his 
tears. He made his way back down the slope blindly, grateful for his sure feet 
and easy balance, even in his condition, that stopped him from falling when he 
could no longer see properly. 

As he neared the bottom though, his ears picked up a distant sound. It was a 
strange sound, and he strained to hear properly. It was rhythmic - marching! 
Legolas blinked his tears away impatiently and stared back along the path he had 
travelled. He was still at enough height to see them. Around six uruk-hai were 
tracking him, following his trail across the all too revealing dust-covered rock 
steadily. He panicked. He couldn't be taken back alive! 

He almost fell the rest of the way, so great was his haste to put some distance 
between him and his pursuers. He slid down the remaining slope using his hands 
and his feet, throwing up clouds of dust and unsettling tiny rocks and stones 
that fell with him. He grazed his hands but he didn't even realise it, and as 
soon as he was back on the ground, he ran. 

He ran as though his life depended on it - and perhaps it did. Taking deeper 
breaths than he had before in his wild, desperate panic, so that he coughed and 
spluttered, his body rebelling against the cruel, burning air as he ran on. He 
held his belly while he ran, trying to take some of the weight from his aching 
back. And all the while he knew there was no hope. He had already seen it. There 
was nowhere to run to. 

He stumbled over an unseen rock, and went sprawling, ripping the flimsy fabric 
of the clothes he wore, the rocks tearing viciously at the skin of his shins and 
knees. He was back up in moments and running again, not noticing the blood that 
made his trail even clearer. 

It went on and on, and Legolas knew he was slowing down, but he couldn't ask his 
body for any more. The sound of the booted feet behind him grew louder; it 
wasn't a march, but a steady run. That was how they had caught up with him, he 
thought vaguely. He looked behind him, and he thought he could just see them in 
the distance. And if he could see them, it wouldn't be long before they could 
see him, he realised. Frightened, he looked around him for shelter, but there 
was nothing. Only the land that he knew wouldn't stop. He should give up, and 
conserve his strength for what they might do to him. For what *he* might do, but 
something in him wouldn't let him rest. 

Before long he had slowed to what amounted to a fast walk. Oh, he still ran, but 
his strides were not long enough, and it was a little more than a jog. He 
couldn't get enough air into his lungs and every breath he took burned inside 
his chest. He had a deep pain in his side that was his body's way of telling him 
to stop, but how could he? The light began to fade quickly, making it difficult 
to see where he was putting his feet, and finally, he fell again. This time he 
didn't get up. He looked back, and they were so close he could see their faces. 
He crawled on mindlessly in sheer terror. They would take him back - back 
there... to him. 

Crawling over the sharp stones, he finally felt the damage he had done to his 
hands and knees earlier, and every inch of ground he gained caused him pain. But 
he carried on until he found himself staring at a pair of booted feet. He closed 
his eyes, admitting to himself that it really was over, and turned to face his 
captors. 

He half sat up on the ground, his weight on his hands, and looked around him 
fearfully, still gasping for breath. There were six of them. The leader was 
before him, and they muttered to each other as they looked down on him in their 
strange, guttural language. He caught his name in their conversation - and he 
looked sharply at the uruk-hai that had uttered it. They all laughed at him for 
that - their laughter sounded like a collection of grunts and snorts - and the 
leader looked at him interestedly, asking a question of the one Legolas had his 
eyes on. When he answered, the leader reached out a hand to touch Legolas' 
belly, and Legolas sat up properly, so that he could slap the hand away. The 
leader sniggered then, and looked around at the others as if showing off in some 
way. 

It came closer, and Legolas found himself leaning as far back as he could 
without actually lying on the ground. Its warm, stale breath wafted over him, so 
that he turned his face away in disgust, but he looked back when it spoke - 
because it spoke to him. Two simple words, but they were enough to make him 
shake in fear, suddenly realising that this could be more severe than simply 
being dragged back to face Sauron. 

"Elf," it said, pausing for a moment in confusion as if trying to remember the 
other word it wanted to say. Then it brightened. "Mine." It watched Legolas to 
make sure that it had got the word right, and it seemed pleased. Legolas looked 
back, feeling the word in his entire body. His eyes were wide, not wanting to 
believe what he had just heard as the other uruk-hai chuckled darkly around him, 
reminding him there was no escape. 

He trembled in revulsion rather than fear as the uruk-hai placed a single large 
hand around the back of his neck to lift him into a sitting position. Legolas 
immediately grabbed hold of its hand and tried to prise its fingers away, 
attempting to free himself of its grip. When it began to uncover itself he 
realised what was happening, and he snapped viciously with a frightened snarl, 
the clicking sound of his teeth loud in the space between them. It wouldn't get 
that from him, at least. Not now, not ever. 

The uruk-hai reacted by moving back slightly, and Legolas was gratified with 
that. Its other hand came close to his mouth, and Legolas bit down hard on one 
of its fingers, keeping eye contact, letting it know exactly what he would do. 
The uruk-hai simply laughed, and then it spoke again. 

"Little wolf." A couple of the others laughed appreciatively, those that 
understood the words. Not satisfied with that, the uruk-hai helpfully translated 
his simple joke for the rest, and soon they were all laughing and jostling each 
other as Legolas let go of its finger, noting with some pleasure that he had 
actually drawn blood, even if the leader didn't seem to feel it. 

It reached out to touch his belly again, and again Legolas swiped its hand away, 
but this time he didn't get away with it. The uruk-hai behind him came closer to 
hold him down, and although he fought, he was no match for their strength. 
Finally the leader moved his hands over Legolas, touching him, and them. The 
children moved inside him restlessly as if they were trying to get away too. 
"Little wolf," it said again, and Legolas had the disturbing impression it 
wasn't talking to him this time. 

He almost didn't care though. They were forcing him to lie on his back, 
something he rarely did anymore simply because it was too uncomfortable. The 
weight pressed down upon him, pinning him to the ground more thoroughly than an 
army of Sauron's servants could. He tugged at the hands that held him 
desperately, only wanting to be allowed to sit up, or lie on his side, and ease 
the pain in his back, but they wouldn't let him go. 

Legolas closed his eyes and twisted his head, as the uruk-hai began to mutter 
amongst themselves again. Again he heard his own name, but this time he didn't 
acknowledge it. After a while they fell silent, and the hands left his belly. He 
screamed when it began to tear his clothes away with its clawed hands, but to no 
avail. He struggled, biting and snapping at those in reach, attempting to 
scratch the ones who held him, but it was no use. He became still, realising he 
was a sport to them, and when he was exposed to their eyes, the leader began to 
touch him, intimately. There was no pleasure in it for Legolas, and his body 
simply refused to react to the touch of the leader. It turned his head, and 
Legolas opened his eyes to look at it. 

"Elf. Beg," it said, obviously giving him some kind of order, and Legolas 
replied immediately. 

"I will not." It stared at him blankly, not comprehending, until Legolas shook 
his head vehemently. "No." Then it smiled nastily. It understood that word. 

"Yes," it gave him in answer. 

He gasped when another two of the uruk-hai held his legs, pushing them up so 
that he was completely exposed to the leader in front of him. It came closer 
still, and began to rub itself against him, over his entrance, spreading the 
lubricating fluid it secreted all over him. What was happening suddenly became 
more real then. 

"No," he called out in fear, trying desperately to get away, but it was 
impossible. The uruk-hai simply looked at him as it carried on with its 
preparation. 

"Yes." It said again, and Legolas cried then. 

"Please..." he cried out desperately, unable to keep it in. He knew the uruk-
hai, after all, and he knew what this meant. It looked confused for a moment, as 
if thinking, and then it smiled. 

"Good," and Legolas sobbed, unable to keep up his defiance in the face of what 
was about to happen to him. 

He remembered how it had felt before in his delirium, how almost unbearable it 
had been, and he knew that to be raped here by one of these would be to be 
murdered. He almost didn't care, but then he had to; he had more than just 
himself to think about. Suddenly he was more fearful for his children than 
himself. He looked around him, feeling the hopelessness of his situation. He 
wanted a way out, and in his distress he wished that the dark lord were here to 
put a stop to what was happening. He was sickened and disgusted at his own 
thoughts, but what else would save him? The brutality would kill his children, 
even if it didn't kill him. 

But then the uruk-hai didn't seem intent on violently taking him at all. It 
began to prepare him, taking time and care to ensure that the fluid it secreted 
was all over him. It pushed a finger into him, spreading the fluid around. And 
for at least a minute everything stopped. Legolas looked at it, a shocked gasp 
escaping him, and in its eyes he saw a restraint he wouldn't have believed the 
beast was capable of. Instead of forcing him, it waited. Only when Legolas' body 
relaxed did it move again. 

He would have found it easier to deal with the beast's violence than this, this 
unnatural gentleness. Its breath was raspy as it fought to control itself and 
its lust, so that Legolas remained on edge, waiting for the moment when the 
beast would finally snap and hurt him. The preparation for what was to come 
became a torture in and of itself. Its fingers moved inside him, rubbing against 
him so that every now and again Legolas moaned. It didn't mean to pleasure him, 
he could see that in its eyes, and every time its finger brushed against him 
just there it was an accident. He closed his eyes, and he seemed to feel its 
movements even more keenly. 

It took its time, until Legolas was begging incoherently for it to stop, but it 
ignored him. When its fingers finally left him, it positioned itself and waited 
for a moment, so that Legolas could feel girth of it. Legolas opened his eyes 
then, and he looked at it, still capable of denying the horror. 

"No..." he said. It was almost fully evening now, and its eyes gleamed with a 
feral light in the dusk. 

"Yes," came the reply, as before, and then it was pushing into him. 

At first it seemed easy to take. It happened so slowly, but then it couldn't be 
slowly enough. Just as he thought he had adjusted to the intrusion, it pushed a 
little deeper, seeming to enjoy the way he gasped and cried out. Their eyes 
locked together, and it didn't stop then until he felt the skin of its thighs 
against his. He didn't dare to move, didn't dare to feel any more than he had 
to. He gasped at the foul air, taking tiny little panting breaths at the feeling 
of the beast fully inside him, almost as if he didn't dare to breathe. 

The other uruk-hai closed around them now, so that Legolas couldn't see past 
them. It was really getting dark now, and they were like great hulking shapes 
blocking out the dim light that was still in the sky. The light that was still 
left shone on yellowed beast-like eyes, sharpened claws and misshapen teeth. 

He forced himself to relax. The beast was deep inside him, and he would only 
hurt himself now - and the children. So he didn't fight when they began to touch 
him, almost as if they were curious. He didn't cry out or move away when they 
sniffed at his hair and licked at his ears. He could sense the beast though, 
still holding back, and he wondered why it hadn't started yet. What was it 
waiting for? 

Closing his eyes, he tried to will his mind away, but then the voices intruded. 
Coarse mutterings that he couldn't understand, but then there was a single sharp 
word and all was quiet. Legolas opened his eyes and saw the uruk-hai all staring 
at him, at something in particular. He looked down and then even the short, 
shallow breaths he was taking stopped. A single, glistening drop of white fluid 
stood out on the left side of his chest. It had leaked from his nipple, where it 
still remained, and the uruk-hai were fascinated with it. 

So was Legolas. He hadn't known this would occur, and seeing it made the reality 
of what was happening to his body all the more frightening. For the first time 
he realised that there would be a birth. He tried to remember all the things he 
had ever heard about it. Not that it would necessarily apply to him, but it 
wasn't a comfort anyway. Pain. That was the only thing he remembered, the only 
important thing. Giving birth hurt enough to make you scream, sometimes enough 
to kill you. 

One of the uruk-hai leaned over him, lowering its face to his chest while he 
looked on in stunned horror. He saw its tongue as it snaked out towards him. 
Black, thick, and disgusting. Strings of saliva hung from it, and he wanted to 
retch, but he was held still and made to relax by the violation of his body. It 
licked at his nipple, and then it looked up at the others, a ghastly rendition 
of a smile on its twisted features. 

Then he felt pressure. The uruk that had tasted him had taken hold of his nipple 
with its thumb and forefinger. Suddenly it squeezed him mercilessly and Legolas 
yelped, wishing that the harsh treatment hadn't been successful. Instead, he saw 
another drop of milk emerge, and then rest on the uruk-hai's finger. It spoke to 
the leader - that same word again - and received a reply that sounded like an 
affirmative. It must have been, because now the uruk-hai held its finger to 
Legolas mouth. He closed his lips tightly, but a hand closed around his face, 
pushing in his cheeks so that he couldn't help opening his mouth for it. 

He told himself that he couldn't taste it - but he did. He told himself that 
there was nothing to be scared of - but there was. And when he began to tense 
up, he felt the beast still inside him, and he reminded himself to relax, 
telling himself that it would soon be over - but it wasn't. 

Now the leader spoke to him again. And he recognised the word. The other uruk-
hai had spoken it. It must be the beast's name. He almost laughed at the utter 
absurdity of being told to call it by name, but then he was in no position to 
laugh, he felt that with every breath. 

"Speak. Shakhuruk." 

"No." 

"Yes." The uruk-hai ground its hips against him cruelly, chuckling when Legolas 
made a sound somewhere between a deep breath and a cry. He held his breath at 
the sensation of being filled so completely, owned so thoroughly, and then it 
spoke again. 

"Shakhuruk. Speak." He wanted to refuse again, but from the time it had taken to 
get this far, he knew it would wait. If he gave in, co-operated, then perhaps it 
would be over more quickly. He looked back into its eyes, and he thought 
secretly that although they were fearsome, the uruk-hai were quite stupid. 

"Sha-khu-ruk," Legolas said hesitantly, trying to emulate the way the uruk-hai 
had spoken the unfamiliar word, and the uruk-hai's gaze clouded with lust and 
victory. It growled, its equivalent of a moan, and now it started. 

It stopped after one thrust, waiting, until Legolas said the word again. And it 
became a pattern. Every time he said the word it hurt him, but he knew he 
couldn't stop. 

He called out the word desperately, wanting it to be over, and he could feel the 
uruk-hai getting closer every time. When it happened it was painful, and too 
much. Legolas screamed as the massive girth of the uruk-hai seemed to grow 
bigger and harder inside him, until he was sure he would be ripped apart by it. 
It called out in its own tongue, covering Legolas body completely, so that his 
hands rested on its shoulders and he found his face pushed into its chest as it 
thrusted once, finally, deep inside him, spilling its hot seed. 

When it was all over, it moved to look down at him, its face almost touching 
his, and for a maddened moment Legolas thought it was going to kiss him. But it 
only laughed into his face, making him gag with its fetid breath. And then it 
said two words. A rough translation that made his blood run cold. Had he thought 
these were unintelligent beings? He was wrong. 

"Shakhuruk... Captain." Its eyes gleamed in triumph over him, and Legolas 
couldn't look away, realising what he had been calling out to his attacker. 

"No," he breathed, not wanting to believe it. The uruk-hai looked down on him 
for one more moment, and in its eyes he finally saw intelligence. He would never 
underestimate these again. 

"Yes." It replied, and then pulled out of him in a sudden movement that made 
Legolas cry out. It didn't look at him again. 

Images and sounds replayed in his mind over and over. The feeling of being taken 
by 'it' disgusted him, and he lay there gasping with his eyes closed, fighting 
to keep his sanity, knowing there was no escape there. There *was* help for his 
mind though. Water began to fall on his face, and he looked up to find one of 
them emptying the flask he had made onto his lips. He lapped at the water 
instinctively, his body remembering the run and the burning air he had breathed. 

When it was all gone he was pulled roughly to his feet, and Legolas almost cried 
in relief. At last! To have the weight change position. He cradled himself with 
his hands for a moment or two before they were grabbed and bound together behind 
him. Then he was pushed forward. He nearly stumbled. And then he knew what had 
to happen now. This was far from over. He was naked again, and his feet were 
bare. The uruk-hai's semen began to trickle down the inside of his legs, and he 
realised he had never in his life wanted so much to be clean. But he was a long 
way from that. He was shoved roughly forward into the darkness, with the uruk-
hai behind him. It was a long walk back to Sauron, and his fury. 


CHAPTER TWELVE

It had been a few miles before he began to fall. Each time he was hoisted to his 
feet and prodded forward again. But eventually the time came that he couldn't be 
forced to walk any further. His feet were cut and bleeding, his legs refusing to 
support him any longer. At that point the uruk-hai had simply lifted him and 
carried him the rest of the way, while he slipped in and out of consciousness. 

He expected to be dragged in front of Sauron immediately, but that wasn't the 
case. He wasn't taken to Maglor either though. The uruk-hai deposited him in a 
small bathroom, and he awoke from reverie again to find orcs washing him. They 
removed the small sharp stones from the soft skin of his feet, cleaned the ash 
and dust from his hair so that it once more hung straight, shining and perfect. 
They washed the blood away from his hands and shins - the wounds were already 
healing. It felt so good to be clean. But everything ends, and too soon he found 
himself being led silently to a large room. 

*He* waited. The orcs left Legolas in the centre of the room, a short distance 
away from where the dark lord stood watching him. The strangest feeling came 
over him as he looked on Sauron, and he struggled with it for a few moments 
before he realised that after the last few hours, he was glad to see him again. 
Legolas lowered his eyes and folded his arms across his body, holding his elbows 
with his hands. He waited. 

Without looking up he knew that Sauron was walking towards him, and he became 
frightened, his feet shifting minutely, twitching, as if he would run. 

"Do not move." Legolas still didn't look up, but he concentrated on obeying the 
order, fighting with his own instincts to get away, to move back, so that when 
Sauron finally stood before him he was shaking with the effort of staying still. 

"You should tremble," Sauron observed wryly. Legolas still didn't look up, but 
he felt Sauron's gaze moving over him, lingering lovingly like a connoisseur on 
the cuts and bruises that covered his skin. The dark lord laughed softly, and 
his hand came into Legolas' view. He watched as Sauron brushed his thumb over a 
nipple. It was still bruised and darkened from the rough treatment of the uruk-
hai earlier, and the soft touch on the sensitive area made Legolas hiss in pain. 
Now Sauron carried on speaking, his hands examining the swell of his belly. 

"Yes, you should be afraid. He will not protect you for much longer - and 
already you have so much to be sorry for." He looked up then, into Sauron's 
eyes. He wished he didn't know what the dark lord meant, but he did. His first 
panicked flee after he awoke so long ago, his latest attempt at an escape. It 
was all there in his mind, and he realised for the first time that all of 
Sauron's threats were much more than that - they were promises. Sauron smiled, 
seeming to see Legolas' thoughts. 

"I see you remember," he said dryly. Then his voice became cold. "Good. When the 
time comes, you will have no trouble naming your crimes to me." For a moment the 
words were left there, between them, and Legolas saw a time when he would be 
begging for forgiveness, knowing exactly what he was apologising for, and much 
more than that, believing in it. He was almost sorry already. 

The mood changed then, and Sauron's hands moved lower, taking hold of his soft 
member, bringing that strange magic to bear on his desires at the same time, not 
that he really needed to. It was impossible not to want him, not to react to his 
touch. He was frightening in his perfection, and before long Legolas was sighing 
breathlessly, helpless to refuse the dark lord anything, looking into Sauron's 
eyes, still trapped by his will. It seemed to him that only the two of them 
existed, and he wanted to beg, to plead. What for he didn't know. Perhaps only 
that he didn't stop. He rested his hands on the dark lord's shoulders and closed 
his eyes. 

"I could hurt you." The hand that was slowly stroking him stopped and the 
pressure of his fingers increased ever so slightly. Legolas gasped helplessly. 
"You know that, don't you?" He couldn't do anything, couldn't even move away. 
Sauron just waited, everything completely still, until Legolas was sure he would 
scream, that he must do something to make time move forward again. Even if only 
for the dark lord to carry out his threat. Sauron could hurt him - so easily, 
and there was nothing to say that he wouldn't. But he didn't move, and Legolas 
was held in a kind of limbo, still feeling the desire along with the fear, until 
they combined in him to form something different, something new. Sauron spoke to 
him then. 

"And would it be any less than what you deserve?" Legolas cried out when Sauron 
moved his hand again, not knowing what to expect, but he only stroked Legolas 
again, moving over his hardness with experienced fingers, knowing exactly the 
way to squeeze and pull at him. The pleasure was intense, with an edge that was 
the threat of violence and pain. Legolas' existence narrowed, until there was 
only Sauron's hand, and what was happening to him. Just before the instant when 
it would all be over, everything stopped. Even the magic changed, now becoming a 
restraint to him, so that he whimpered at the cruelty of being denied in such a 
way. 

"Not yet," Sauron warned. "Such perfect fear will come for you when *I* decide 
to allow it, and not before." He was pulled closer, into Sauron's embrace as he 
began to cry, resting his head against the dark lord's shoulder, ready to 
surrender to anything now. Sauron's hands stroked gently down his back, almost 
seeming to soothe him. 

"Legolas, you should have confessed to me, I know you wanted to, and I would 
have been merciful then. I am not without sympathy." There was a kind of 
reproach in his tone, and Legolas only wept as his own thoughts and feelings 
were changed and re-ordered, until he didn't know what the truth was anymore. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered miserably. Sauron continued. 

"But instead you endangered yourself, and now I must do something to ensure that 
such ideas do not take root in your mind." He sighed. "How should I save you 
from yourself?" he asked without seeming to want an answer. "What can I take 
from you to teach you the error of your ways?" He sounded as though he was 
dealing with an errant child, and all Legolas could do was accept it. He 
couldn't even remember why he had run away, not now. He clung to the dark lord, 
taking comfort from being in his arms. 

"Your sight, perhaps? That is disabling, and will keep you here." Suddenly 
Legolas had a terrible premonition. An existence without light or shape, without 
colour or warning. Only *his* touch, leading him on. *His* voice, giving 
sustenance to a hungry mind. Wandering blindly in a world of monsters, with only 
*his* directions to follow and to trust. Only *his* truth to believe in. So 
helpless... 

"I have but to speak a word," Sauron reminded him, pulling him back to 
awareness. Legolas' fear was an instrument that the dark lord played easily, and 
he trembled in response, still imagining what it would be like to be so 
dependent on Sauron. 

"No, please," he implored Sauron without meaning to, and his own voice already 
sounded childlike and lost to his ears, as if it had already begun. 

"No?" Sauron laughed softly. "Then what about your hair? It would be a symbolic 
gesture on your part." 

His hair? Legolas looked up in confusion and the dark lord laughed at him again. 
"Forgive me, I am playing with you." His voice was still full of sardonic 
amusement. But then the sarcasm didn't seem to please him enough, and his smile 
vanished like green grass under the snow. Legolas shivered. 

"I couldn't resist." Now he became cold and deliberate, looking deeply into 
Legolas' eyes to make sure he understood. 

"Because I already know what you will miss the most, what you have forgotten to 
appreciate." What did he have that Sauron could still take from him? For the 
first time he wondered what Sauron might do when the child was finally born. 
Would the dark lord kill him? Legolas swallowed, wondering how it would happen. 

"So easily forgotten," Sauron said in disapproval. "Although he didn't forget 
you, and he fears for you, even as he pays for what you have done." Sudden 
shock. There was only one word in Legolas' mind now. Only one name. 

"Maglor..." he breathed, in sudden understanding. But he didn't understand it 
all, not yet. 

"Yes. I'm afraid you will not see him for some time. He has his own lessons to 
learn." 

"Where is he?" Legolas asked timidly, already knowing he wouldn't receive an 
answer. 

"That is none of your concern now. He is already sorry, aren't you?" 

"Yes." 

"You are sorry for what he endures, and yet it is entirely your fault that he is 
gone. If you couldn't confess to me, then you should at least have confided in 
him - for his sake. He pays the price for not gaining your trust." Now 
everything clicked into place, and Legolas nearly fell as he remembered... 

//"I can't trust you, can I?" Maglor. Considering, thinking, and then the 
answer. 

"No, pen neth, you can't"//

Then another memory... 

//"Won't you tell me what he has done? I could help you..." Concern and worry 
from Maglor, and Legolas had become angry. 

"No, you can't. Just leave me alone." And Legolas had hurt him, it was plain 
from the look on his face. But at least it meant he could be alone, with his 
thoughts and plans. He barely listened to Maglor's quiet answer. 

"You're right, of course. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."//

He realised for the first time what it meant that Maglor had told him not to 
trust. That he had done it knowing he would pay a terrible price with Sauron. He 
had gone against the dark lord's wishes, for him. Then he remembered his own 
thoughts earlier, before his escape, and the guilt came crashing down on him. 

//...he couldn't allow himself to turn into that. To become as dependent on 
Sauron as Maglor was... 
...to give up completely... like him. Legolas pitied him, but there was nothing 
he could do... 
...Maglor had simply been trapped here too long... 
...he couldn't sacrifice himself to make Maglor feel better about his fate...//

What had he done? How could he have been so blind, so selfish, and so cold? He 
began to despise himself. 

"Valar," Legolas whispered, wishing for forgiveness from someone who wasn't 
there. It was almost as if he and Maglor had traded places for a moment. 

"Oh?" Sauron laughed derisively. "But they no longer think of him. He is 
completely alone, forgotten by all, seemingly even by you." Sauron looked down 
on him with contempt, and Legolas knew he deserved it. "*You*." He sneered. "An 
Elf. The very image of what 'good' is. Yet you are far more cruel than I have 
ever been. As time passes, Maglor will cling to one surety. That although he 
doesn't know how long it will last, and although I am cold, and distant... *I* 
will not forget him." 

Legolas felt the accusation as a dagger in the heart, and he welcomed the pain. 
But he couldn't let it go there. He had to try. For Maglor. 

"Please," he began nervously. 

"What are you asking for?" Sauron demanded impatiently. Legolas nearly 
stuttered. But then all his thoughts came out as a rush of words in his 
desperation to stop whatever was happening. 

"It's my fault. I'm sorry. He doesn't deserve it. I should have trusted him, I 
should have told him. Please, punish me, and not him." Sauron only smiled in 
satisfaction. 

"But as I have already told you, Legolas. By taking him away, I *am* punishing 
you." Sauron let him go then, almost pushed him. Legolas didn't realise how much 
strength he was lending from his touch until it was taken away, and he fell to 
the floor. Sauron looked down on him scornfully. 

"I suggest you get some rest, I'm sure you are tired, and soon you will need 
your strength." He was about to walk away, but then stopped. "Forget about 
Maglor," he advised, without looking down again. "I'm certain that for you, it 
will not be so difficult." Then he was gone, leaving the orcs to take Legolas 
back to an empty, cheerless room, with his last impression of Sauron being the 
black robes that brushed against his face as he walked away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next week or two passed slowly, and still Maglor did not return. Legolas 
tried to deal with his guilt, but it was impossible when he didn't know what was 
happening to the other elf. 

His pregnancy advanced quickly too in that time. More and more milk was leaking 
from him. He didn't develop breasts, as he had at first feared, but the flesh 
around his nipples became softer, as if he was losing the tone of his muscle. He 
found the extra weight a burden, and it was difficult to keep still, to stay in 
one position. It was hot too, and even in his nakedness - Sauron didn't allow 
him to wear clothes - he began to wish for an open window so that he could feel 
the breeze against his face. 

The fear grew too, and he found himself unable to think directly of the birth. 
He thought around the edges of it, and he still didn't know exactly what it 
would mean for him. Always alone, he confided his fears to his children. He 
talked and sang to them as if they were already there, hoping that somehow 
everything would be all right, knowing it couldn't be - not here. 

It was almost a relief when Sauron appeared. He had been left completely alone 
all this time. Only the orcs visited him, to leave food and water, and they 
locked the door behind them. Now it seemed something would happen. Sauron 
gestured at the uruk-hai that had entered with him, and they took his arms to 
lead him from the room. He didn't fight them - actually he was glad of their 
help, and he leaned on them without shame. It was difficult to move so easily 
now, and especially to keep up with Sauron. 

However, when they reached their destination he was screaming to be let go. But 
it was much too late by then. It had been too late for a long time. 



EXTRA WARNING: 

Yes, I mean you too. 

Stop right there. 

This chapter contains the birth scene, and I would be willing to bet that no 
other M-Preg story features a birth scene quite like this (if you know of one, 
let me have the link). Sauron knew long ago what it would entail, what with 
Legolas being male, and he has been looking forward to it for some time 
(sharpening the knives and such). That should give you a clue. So, with that in 
mind, I am warning you for horror (of the 'oh-my-God, I feel sick now' variety), 
torture and gore.

If you already feel slightly sickened at the thought, then please skip to the 
end, where there are few nice paragraphs about the babies. 
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Legolas screamed. Sauron had kept a close watch on his mind, an invisible 
presence Legolas couldn't feel. As soon as the elf had seen the bed and the 
table he had known. It didn't matter, but Sauron could do without the elf's 
struggling now. It was far too late for that anyway. Sauron narrowed his eyes, 
and reined Legolas' thoughts in tightly. Now he quietened, only the sobbing of a 
child continued somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind. It was good 
enough. 

Sauron walked to stand near the bed, some distance away from Legolas. He ignored 
the uruk-hai; they would be useful again later. Silently, he commanded Legolas 
to look at him, and when he obeyed, Sauron took hold of his familiar desires. 
The elf was so easy to control and manipulate; if Sauron had been anyone else he 
would have felt pity, as it was he only smiled maliciously, and beckoned. 
Legolas actually walked forward of his own volition. The uruk-hai released him 
and he walked towards Sauron as if he wasn't aware of the danger. But it wasn't 
the truth. 

In a seeming travesty of trust, Legolas held out his hands to Sauron, and the 
dark lord smiled again to see it. But then he noticed the eyes - awareness 
there, and denial, as if the elf couldn't believe what he was doing. Legolas was 
fighting. Really, he was much stronger that Sauron had imagined. A surprise. But 
it wouldn't help him. He guided Legolas to the bed, the elf was seemingly docile 
and obedient, but then a single sound escaped his lips. It was nearly a sob. 

The hands he was holding trembled, and Sauron sighed, already beginning to 
increase the pressure on Legolas' mind. But then something made him start. There 
was another presence. Outside. 

"*You have no place here*!" It was a roar. Loud enough to make the land itself 
tremble. Too loud really to be uttered by the form of the sorcerer he favoured 
at the moment, but his anger was so great that he cared little. How dare they 
*watch* him? How dare they interfere like this? 

The answer almost seemed to hit him in its intensity. Terrible shocked outrage, 
and a thousand words and thoughts crowded him at once, so that the dark lord 
whirled around in fury, forced to forget Legolas and pay attention. "*No*! 
//This is an offence!// *It is a crime you commit*... //You are forbidden!// *We 
protect him...*" They sought to distract him, and it worked. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas stood still, and he felt free will return to him as Sauron concentrated 
his mental energies elsewhere. He backed away, not really knowing where to go, 
and then he felt it. Slowly he turned around. Golden light bathed his features, 
and he stared into forever as if he were once more enchanted. Voices within the 
light welcomed him, their hands almost reached him. All he had to do was take a 
few short steps towards them, and he would be able to touch. He wanted to, more 
than anything. Upon the point of joining them, he looked back, and saw his own 
body where he had left it. The room was a picture, a tableau of a fight for a 
soul. His. Sauron had turned quickly, and his robes twirled around him 
endlessly, his face a perfect depiction of hatred and fury as he glared at the 
light. Nothing moved, and Legolas stared for a moment or two before he realised 
that the strange power that had rescued him was weakening. 

The figures in the room remained frozen, but he heard a distant rumbling. It 
sounded like the earth was being torn apart. The battle of wills seemed to shake 
the very foundations of the room, and then Sauron looked at him. Only his eyes 
moved, and Legolas shivered. Soon it would be too late! He turned back towards 
the light hastily, ready to flee there to safety. But something was missing. He 
looked down at himself. Only him. In an instant he knew that he would be leaving 
them behind. They were never meant to be. 

Legolas hesitated for a single second longer in sudden doubt, and it was all 
over. He knew he had made a kind of choice, for now at least, and he couldn't 
regret it. He wasn't turned away - one day he would belong to the light - he 
knew that, and it gave him peace for a moment or two. As the golden light began 
to fade, eternity beyond his reach for now, he turned back to the room. It 
seemed Sauron had grown in size somehow, so that he dwarfed everything else. The 
dark lord still looked at Legolas, but he was frozen in place and unable to 
claim him. 

Legolas stood as motionless as the figures before him, terrified, and then a 
sound in the background began to separate from the others and grow louder. A 
hissing sound. He looked around him for the source of it but he saw nothing. It 
seemed to resonate from the very stones of the floor and the walls. When he 
looked back at Sauron, he was moving. Slowly, but it was happening. Legolas 
could only watch as his robes fluttered around him wildly. It was as though the 
dark lord stood in the centre of a whirlwind, and soon Legolas couldn't see him 
at all. His robes were a blur of movement in front of Legolas' eyes, and then 
they fell away. In Sauron's place was a giant snake. It lay coiled in upon 
itself, the light shining on black scales and massive obsidian eyes. By its very 
size it was frightening. It hissed at him, yellow poison dripping from its white 
fangs, and then it lunged. Legolas screamed and threw up his arms in a desperate 
attempt to protect himself from the strike as the darkness swallowed him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dark lord carried Legolas the rest of the way to the bed. After the 
disturbance, the elf had fainted - fallen into his arms so gracefully it had 
almost hurt to watch, and Sauron had forgotten his anger instantly. While he was 
otherwise engaged, he had been too busy to pay attention to Legolas' mind, and 
now he wondered what the elf had seen, how the battle had translated into 
images... Actually, he was glad it had happened before hand. No one would be 
rescuing him now. No. Now there would be no interruptions. It was wonderfully 
final. He laid Legolas down, elevating his head and shoulders slightly with 
pillows, and ran his hands over the smooth skin of his belly, feeling for them, 
noting their position. 

There was a stirring in Legolas' mind as he came round. Sauron had re-
established his hold over the elf, and now he heard denial again. It was weak 
and without hope but it was still there. He saw with a certain amount of 
displeasure the way Legolas was shaking. That would never do, not now, not for 
this. Legolas needed to be still if he was to succeed. He gave Legolas a mental 
suggestion - to relax - and was satisfied when the trembling subsided. 

"No," the elf moaned. Sauron ignored the plea, and continued with his 
preparation, retrieving a clean cloth from the pot of boiling water positioned 
over the fire so that he could clean the area. Legolas repeated the one word 
over and over, at first quietly, but it grew in volume and frequency until 
Sauron looked up. He stroked the elf's mind, calming and eventually pushing back 
the hysteria, denying him even the temporary escape of madness. 

"Please. Don't," Legolas intoned gravely. Something about the way he sounded 
made Sauron want to break him - completely. He would be breathtaking! Sauron 
knew all about malice; it was the quality of sympathy without conscience, and it 
was what he felt when he looked at Legolas. Only with sympathy could Sauron 
truly enjoy the suffering of others. Yes, understanding was important, and 
useful. He knew exactly what to do. 

"Don't?" he asked, smirking slightly. "But you are ready now." He watched 
Legolas' reaction avidly, releasing his mind a little so that it was easier for 
him to speak. 

"What do you mean?" His fear made him deny the knowledge of what was to come, 
Sauron realised. But he wouldn't allow escape that way either. 

"Oh, come now, Legolas," he snapped coldly. "How did you expect for this to 
happen?" He laughed then at the look on the elf's face, suddenly knowing what 
his thoughts were because of the link between them. "You really are too 
amusing." Sauron made sure that the elf would be silent again, and then he began 
his work. 

First he removed his robes, so that he was naked from the waist up, as he needed 
to be free and unfettered to do this. He was conscious of Legolas watching him - 
it was all the elf could do - and it made him aware of himself in a most 
delicious way. Sauron smiled, and revelled in the attention. 

Without another word, Sauron picked out the first instrument from the steel 
table beside the bed. A tiny knife that gleamed silver in the light. He just 
needed to make a mark on the skin, a guiding line. Sauron drew the blade over 
Legolas' belly in one smooth sure stroke, admiring the way the sharp edge cut 
easily through the skin with just the minimal amount of pressure. It didn't snag 
or tear, it was clean and precise, and exactly what he wanted. 

The knife went back to the table, and Sauron put his hands over Legolas, 
squeezing the skin together as if he would take back that first light cut. It 
made the blood seep from under his skin in a thin red line. He could feel the 
terror of the elf through the mental link, and it pleased him. He looked at the 
blood, and a wild, untamed part of him came suddenly to the surface. The idea of 
mutilation was appealing. Indeed, the skin was so stretched it could happen with 
the slightest encouragement. He saw it happening in his mind, and the wolf 
clamoured to be set free. Sauron kept it back, and it growled in its lust and 
hunger. 

Another part of him wanted simply to lick at the line of blood, to follow the 
trail of it across Legolas' belly. Sauron licked his lips - he could almost 
taste it already. Honeyed copper. He favoured the vampire; it was less emotional 
and visceral than the animal, more spiritual. It suited his present mood. 
Deliberate, controlled and personal. There was a moment every time when his 
victims gave in, even those who would die in his cold embrace, a moment where 
they gave their lives to him. He smiled again, to himself. No one ever really 
survived. 

"No!" Again Legolas managed to speak, despite the hold over his mind. Truly he 
was strong in his fear. Sauron dragged his attention away from the line he had 
made and looked up. The idea he had earlier called to him once more. Yes, to see 
him ask, to see him accept this. That was irresistible - and a challenge he 
couldn't refuse. 

"Shh," Sauron whispered. "I have only broken through the skin, it is not begun 
yet." He let his gaze wander back to the line of blood for a moment, unable to 
avoid moistening his lips again when he saw the perfect symmetry of the cut. It 
was as well and lovingly made as the skin he had ruined to execute it. "Not 
quite enough," he whispered raggedly, allowing himself to feel the lust for one 
more lingering moment before looking back to Legolas. He raised his voice a 
little, and forced the elf to listen to him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The surface of Legolas' mind was unnaturally calm, but he breathed quickly and 
shallowly - a sure sign of hidden panic. His body felt heavy, and he couldn't 
move. It was no longer under his command. He knew that was Sauron's doing, and 
he watched the dark lord with a cold detachment, but underneath that veneer was 
a storm. 

So many thoughts, so many feelings, and under here Legolas was screaming. The 
sickening waves of hysteria rolled restlessly back and forth within him, 
searching for a way out but there was none. He could feel the presence of the 
dark lord in his mind, like a black oppressive hand, smothering his panic, 
making him still and quiet when he needed so desperately to protest. But Sauron 
wasn't completely unwelcome. Legolas refused to think directly about what this 
was, what he had known when he first set eyes on the room. He wouldn't think of 
it! Sauron's intentions offended his very soul. 

But then there had been the cut, and it forced him to face the truth. It only 
hurt a little, but it was the potential. There would be more, much more. Sauron 
wouldn't stop. And it was also the way the dark lord had looked at him 
afterwards. Hungry and possessive. His eyes had changed again, burning like 
fire, and Legolas had tried to scream. He had tried to move. 

Surely he was to die here, and yet he couldn't speak out. He could only watch 
helplessly as his life was taken. And at a time like this he realised the 
shallow truth about life and death. He didn't mind the dying so much, but he 
wanted to be spared the pain. The wave of hysteria threatened to break and 
consume him, but then Sauron began to speak. He was compelled to listen, but he 
had no desire to be ignorant. The dark lord's voice would alleviate the cold, 
because it was a merciful acknowledgement of his state. He was awake, and 
sentient. When Sauron addressed him, it meant that he knew, and so Legolas 
wanted to listen. And he was grateful. 

"Let me explain this to you, and then you will appreciate what I'm going to do." 
Now Sauron's voice had changed. The usual dark humour was absent, nor was there 
any trace of impatience. He actually sounded concerned, and Legolas needed to 
believe in it so much that he made it real. Sauron touched his belly again, this 
time gently, to illustrate his words. The dark lord's hands were warm against 
his skin and the touch was strangely comforting. He wouldn't hurt them - somehow 
Legolas knew it - he had known that since the beginning. 

"The children are here, and here. They are growing inside you, but your body was 
never meant to carry them, so the only way for them to be born is for me to open 
you up and take them away." The hysteria returned, but Sauron's presence easily 
controlled it. How did he make it sound so reasonable? Legolas tried to plead 
with his eyes, every part of him wanting to cry out, to deny Sauron's words. He 
didn't have to do this. The dark lord carried on speaking softly, and the 
obvious sympathy in his words only brought the two of them closer together. 
Legolas encouraged the dark lord in the only way he could. He listened. 

"I have already left you for far longer than a female would carry children. Now 
it really is time. You must know this, and feel it." Sauron looked down on him 
so earnestly that Legolas found himself wanting to agree, and he was glad that 
for the moment he couldn't. 

"It's getting difficult to move, isn't it?" Sauron asked. "Your back aches 
terribly, you feel so full and drained at the same time." He was describing what 
the last few weeks had been like perfectly, almost as if he knew. And Legolas, 
who only wanted understanding, forgot that Sauron was his enemy. Sauron took his 
hands where they lay useless and still on the bed. Legolas tried so hard to 
return that touch! He wanted to respond, but his fingers wouldn't listen to him. 

"It's not comfortable even to rest, is it? I know..." He looked so intensely 
honest. And everything he said was the truth. He leaned over Legolas only to 
kiss his cheek. He felt a single tear fall as the dark lord continued kissing 
him. His forehead, his nose, his chin. The dark lord's lips felt like the touch 
of sunlight on his face. Sauron made his offer in a whisper, as though it was a 
secret between them. "I can make it stop, Legolas." And at the same time as he 
was feeling so very close to giving in, his heart jumped in horror. 

"I can end all that for you," Sauron promised, moving back to look down at him 
again. He spoke as if it was a mercy and a kindness he was offering, and Legolas 
wondered if it was. All the pain and suffering of the last few months came back 
to him. He *was* tired. But he was also immortal, and it was his right and his 
privilege to see the centuries pass. Nothing stayed the same forever. He was so 
young, he hadn't even tasted the promise, and he wanted to live. 

"All you have to do is ask me." Legolas barely had time to register what Sauron 
was asking him for before the presence in his mind retreated to give him 
freedom. He had thought that he would scream, but instead he took a sudden deep, 
shuddering breath. At last he was able to grip the dark lord's hands, and he 
held on to those hands desperately, as if the dark lord might be thinking of 
leaving him. Sauron only answered with another gentle kiss, and Legolas was able 
to return that too. 

"Speak," Sauron reminded him gently then, when it was over. This was a chance. 
Legolas opened his eyes and looked up at Sauron with all his heart and soul. He 
drew in a breath without the slightest idea of what he was going to say, only 
knowing he had to make Sauron see him, to see what he was doing, to make him 
stop. 

"*I am Legolas*," he said meaningfully, wanting Sauron to understand that he was 
still there, that he could still feel, however much control the dark lord had 
over his mind and body. 

"Yes," Sauron said, with the ghost of a smile. Legolas shook his head 
impatiently and pulled at one of Sauron's hands so that he could rest it against 
his cheek. He looked up into the dark lord's eyes again as he began to cry. 

"I'm alive," he said, his voice tremulous and filled with emotion. His meaning 
couldn't be mistaken now. "Please..." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All of his hope was there, in his eyes, along with his fear. The hope that 
Sauron had encouraged in him along with another, more important misconception. 
And he was right - Legolas was stunning like this. He leaned down and kissed the 
elf deeply this time, as if he would drink of his pain, and in a way he did. The 
taste of his saliva was mixed with his tears. Bitter fear and sweet anguish 
combining to make Sauron desire him even more. But it wasn't time for that. He 
kissed Legolas more gently now, whispering against his lips. 

"I know," he said reassuringly. "Shh..." It sounded like a declaration of love. 
He repeated the words over and over again while Legolas continued to weep, 
clutching Sauron close as he would a saviour. The elf thought it was over, but 
it wasn't. Sauron wouldn't stop this - he couldn't. Everything Legolas did only 
ensured his fate; made Sauron more determined to see it through. It was all so 
poignantly inevitable. Sauron couldn't contain a smile as he corrected him. "Ask 
me," he said finally, pulling back, and Legolas looked up at him now in 
understanding, knowing there was no escape. 

"No," he replied faintly. Sauron hadn't expected anything else. And he waited a 
moment, giving the elf time to realise that he had refused before he carried on 
speaking. 

"And still you say no?" he asked, as if in surprise. "Very well, then let me 
explain what will happen should you refuse my help." He looked down at Legolas, 
making sure that his words were completely understood. 

"They will continue to grow inside you while they still can, like parasites, 
since that is what children really are. The aches and pains you suffer from at 
the moment are nothing to what you will feel when they are simply too big for 
you. Too heavy. Perhaps they will eventually break your back." Now he smiled, 
gesturing to remind Legolas of his current state. 

"Yes, you will be helpless, paralysed - your body will be too busy keeping up 
with their demands to heal you - such a sad, pathetic thing you will be! Of 
course, sooner or later your body won't be able to keep up with them anyway." He 
paused for a moment before delivering the final words. 

"They will perish, slowly starved to death, and you will be left broken and 
dying, with your dead children still inside you." Sauron shook his head. "Is 
that really what you want?" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No," Legolas admitted. How could he say anything else? And still he dared to 
believe in what he heard. It wasn't in Sauron's words, but in the way he said 
them. He would live through this. And in the midst of feeling glad that Sauron 
intended to save him, he felt sickened. He would live through this. He looked up 
at the dark lord, seeing for the first time exactly what he intended to do, and 
knew that he couldn't do anything to stop it. 

"Or do you want my help after all?" The future Sauron had described would surely 
come to pass if he was left alone. He knew it was the truth. But how could he 
ask? 

"I..." Legolas began, not ready to say it, and yet not daring to stay silent for 
fear that Sauron would take that as a refusal. 

"All you need to do is say it... there's nothing wrong with asking for help, 
Legolas. Surely you were taught that?" Now the dry humour was back, and Legolas 
flinched. But his eyes filled with tears and he knew he had to ask. It was all 
he could do. 

"Help me..." he begged, full of shame for what he was doing. 

"Tell me what you want me to do for you." It wasn't enough! Legolas looked up in 
disbelief, and saw the hunger in Sauron's eyes. He wanted to hear it. In some 
strange way the dark lord wanted to hear him say it. Why? 

"I want you to... Please, take them away from me." And he had done it. Now he 
had nothing to reproach the dark lord with. Everything that happened from this 
moment on would happen because he had asked for it, because he had begged for 
it. A small voice insisted that he had been coerced, but it was lost in all the 
other voices that demanded to be heard. What was sense in a mind full of fear, 
doubt, and denial? 

"That's better. And it wasn't so hard to ask nicely, was it?" Sauron asked. 

"No," he replied. Sauron smiled down at him then. 

"You may address me as Maglor does; it will make you feel better." He gave in to 
Sauron's wishes now with a kind of weary resignation. There was nothing else 
worse that Sauron could ask him for. This new request was easy. 

"Yes, Hîr nín," he said dully. But then he wanted to cry because Sauron was 
right. It did feel better to address him so. And what did that mean? Was he as 
lost and hopeless as Maglor now? 

"Good." Sauron looked at the table, and then looked back at Legolas, considering 
something. 

"I could let you sleep for this..." he began. 

"Please!" Legolas cried out immediately, wanting to be given this mercy so much 
that he could taste it. He would do anything Sauron wanted for the kindness. 
Surely he wouldn't go through with it. But Sauron continued speaking, not even 
pausing to acknowledge him. 

"... but then you might never wake again. No, it is much safer this way." 
Legolas felt the dark lord seize control of his mind again, and he wanted to 
struggle. Maybe he did, instinctively, but it didn't make any difference. Soon 
he was helpless once more. 

"You will want to scream," Sauron said, and he looked at Legolas hungrily. "But 
you know I can't allow that either." Then his ability to speak was taken away. 
He wouldn't be able to cry out while this happened, he realised. He was a 
prisoner inside his own body. This time Sauron went further, and soon Legolas 
felt even his breathing being controlled. It slowed until it was steady and 
sure, and Legolas' lungs burned before he forced himself to calm down, accepting 
the restriction. 

Sauron picked up another small knife from the shining table. From the way he was 
positioned, propped up with pillows, Legolas could see himself perfectly. As the 
edge of the blade touched him, he did the only thing he could. Made the only 
choice he had left. He closed his eyes. 

Every sensation was his, every cut, every wound. He felt them all in complete 
awareness. He did want to scream, and cry, but Sauron maintained an iron grip on 
his body and his mind. The pain was an animal that prowled around in his mind, 
banging on the walls, demanding to be set free, but it was denied. Still, when 
he felt something moving deep inside him, pulling at him, he couldn't be 
prevented from taking a deep breath. It was such an intense sensation. 
Immediately there were hands on his midriff, under his chest, holding him so 
that he was forced to breathe shallowly again. He opened his eyes. 

In front of him, he saw it, and he forgot his pain instantly. There were others 
around him, but he only had eyes for the tiny being that Sauron was holding. He 
couldn't see much. The baby was covered in blood, and immediately Legolas felt a 
stab of panic. Then the little being coughed, and began to *breathe*. Sauron 
ignored Legolas, a look of intense concentration on his face, and passed the 
baby to one of the uruk-hai that stood waiting. Another knife, this time to cut 
the cord that linked them together. Legolas looked up and found the uruk-hai 
staring at him with yellow eyes. He looked around and found the gaze of the one 
who controlled his breathing on him too. Legolas closed his eyes again - he 
didn't like the way they looked at him, and he couldn't explain why. This time 
he didn't look when he felt that strange pulling. 

After the shock of what he had seen, the pain began to return, and there came a 
time when everything seemed to stop. Still he kept his eyes closed, even when 
the hands of the uruk-hai left him. But something moved then, still within him, 
and he knew it wasn't over. 

He opened his eyes this time to find Sauron staring at him. For a second he 
looked into those dark eyes, and then he felt something so painfully intimate 
that he wanted to scream. He managed to open his mouth, but no sound came from 
him. Sauron continued to caress him gently, inside, and he heard the dark lord's 
voice in his mind. Legolas knew. He wanted to say that he understood. There was 
no part of him that Sauron couldn't touch, that he didn't own. He was kept alive 
only because it pleased Sauron to see his reactions, and his pain. He looked up 
helplessly, unable to move away, unable to stop it. The agony was so intense it 
made him sweat; a terrible griping sensation so deep inside. He felt the iron 
control move aside a little and he gasped. 

"Yes!" he cried out his answer breathlessly, still captured by Sauron's intense 
gaze. The dark lord smiled, and then it was at last over. Sauron's dangerous 
attention passed over him, and he bent to his task once more. His relief was so 
great that the pain of his wound was barely noticeable. Legolas hardly noticed 
the passing of time now. He felt the loss, so empty inside, and so lonely 
without. Nothing to hold. But he knew he would never forget the way the dark 
lord possessed him. Sauron had stolen something else this time - already the 
dark lord had taken the sanctuary of his mind - now the sanctity of his body was 
over. 

It must have taken longer to finish than it had to start. So much time had 
passed since they had been taken away from him. In fact it took so long that the 
restless pain returned, but his mind was hazier now, as though he was going to 
sleep regardless of what Sauron had decided for him. He regretted not looking 
for the other now, he should have opened his eyes. Now he wished he had looked, 
now that they were missing. He needed to know they were both all right. He 
wanted to know that Sauron had not killed the other child, but he feared he must 
have done. What use did Sauron have for such a child? 

Eventually, Legolas felt Sauron leave his mind. He was alone and free once more, 
and the feeling as well as the relief elicited a long, drawn-out moan from him. 
The moan changed, became the scream that he had wanted to voice for so long. He 
felt his own will spreading through him, returning to his muscles and limbs, and 
he knew he was going to sit up. But then hands were holding him down. Sauron. He 
held Legolas still, physically this time, and spoke to him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Shh... it is done now. It's over," he said quietly, calming Legolas' mind. The 
scream carried on for a while, and then it suddenly stopped. Legolas looked at 
the dark lord as if unsure what to do, now that he had at last expressed his 
horror and pain. 

"What do you say?" Sauron asked. 

"Say...?" Legolas looked at him blankly. Sauron considered. Yes, he was right, 
Legolas would become mindless, given time. 

"At least Maglor had manners when he came to me," he said with a cold, hard 
glassy smile. Legolas swallowed, and nodded. 

"Thank you, Hîr nín." 

"Yes," Sauron nodded. "Soon you will feel better... soon." He leaned in close. 
It wasn't really necessary, but he wanted to use the word. By now, he was sure 
that it had come to mean something. 

"Beautiful," he whispered, and the elf shivered. He waited, enjoying the feel of 
Legolas' body so close to him, trembling but belonging to him completely. The 
scent of him was pleasant. You could never really take the essence of an elf, 
not completely. Chain them in darkness and deny them the sun. Steal them away, 
and take them far from home. Obliterate the sky itself and keep them from the 
moon and starlight. It didn't matter. You couldn't destroy what they were. They 
brought the memory of those things with them. Having them was like having cut 
flowers. A subtle reminder. 

Legolas smelled of cool rain and golden summer. Sauron inhaled deeply, as if he 
were breathing fresh air, and for a moment he was lost. He remembered his long 
life, remembered a time when the world was new and wondrous. He had been 
learning, and his dissatisfaction with the way of things had only been a quiet 
voice. This was long before he had encountered Melkor. Not a time of innocence, 
he doubted such a thing existed for his kind, but naïveté certainly. Perhaps, 
conversely, in his defeat Legolas reminded him of happiness. The irony was not 
lost on Sauron. 

And yet despite the memories that Legolas evoked, Sauron still couldn't make it 
easy for him, wouldn't make it so even if he had a choice. The elf was far too 
rewarding. 

"Is there something you want to ask me?" Sauron enquired, knowing what Legolas' 
thoughts were concerned with above all else, and wanting to hear him ask. He 
moved away and Legolas looked into his eyes, in this moment completely 
submissive to his every desire, and obedient. 

"Where...?" he began, uncertain and obviously fearful for what he might hear. 
Sauron only smirked and waited a moment longer, enjoying the elf's anxiety. Then 
he stepped back, and the uruk-hai placed the children in Legolas' arms. 
Carefully, so that they wouldn't hurt him. Despite the incredible recuperative 
powers of his own body; the powers that were already at work healing him, he 
still required rest and as little disturbance as possible. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas looked at them, and everything was forgotten, even Sauron. His fear and 
his pain vanished like shadow in the midday sun. Even the feeling of loss left 
him as he held them in his arms, because they were there. Legolas was in love. 
Both of them were quiet, and had their eyes closed as if they didn't want to 
look at the world yet. Even the sound of their breathing seemed miraculous. Tiny 
little breaths for such young beings. Through the mist of his happy tears he 
studied the first. This was Sauron's child. He had blond hair, and the softest 
pink skin that Legolas had ever seen. His long eyelashes rested on his cheeks, 
so perfectly formed that he wanted to shout in happiness. 

Now he looked at the other. Both boys, but the uruk child was different. He 
snuggled into the crook of Legolas' arm not quite like a baby. His little hands 
were already at rest on Legolas' chest, so that he looked like a tiny version of 
a sleeping child. His skin was light grey in colour, like the uruk-hai, but 
there were no blemishes or marks on it. He already had much of his hair, and it 
hung in perfectly tight ringlets around his face, a darker grey than that of his 
skin, charcoal. As soon as Legolas had taken all this in, he opened his eyes, 
and then it was difficult for Legolas to breathe. He had the most beautiful 
piercing green eyes - like Merenon. A gift carried down from his father, Legolas 
realised. His child looked around him curiously, and Legolas smiled to see it. 

"You are beautiful," Legolas said to him, and immediately those green eyes were 
on him. Legolas felt his heart contract in gladness and joy. He recognised his 
voice! "Yes, you know who I am, don't you?" he said, as if the child could 
understand him. His son just looked back at him, captivated by the sound of his 
voice. Little hands stretched out for his face, to touch him, and Legolas leaned 
closer so that he could reach, laughing as the baby's fingers moved over his 
lips curiously. He kissed the tiny hands and fingers, before looking back at the 
other. 

And now he was awake too. He had Legolas' eyes. Legolas didn't think he had seen 
any child look more like an elf than this one - and to think he had been scared 
of it in a way. He only admitted it to himself now that he could see the idea 
was ridiculous. The child was so much like him; he hadn't inherited anything 
from the dark lord at all. Sauron's child blinked, and then yawned tiredly. He 
was completely innocent, anyone could see that, and Legolas made a silent vow to 
show him his rightful home one day. Nothing lasted forever, and they would leave 
here together. Sauron's child sighed then in satisfaction and his eyes closed 
again. Legolas was as caught by that sound as the young one's had been by him 
when he spoke. He was perfect. They both were. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching. Waiting. It seemed he spent much of his time engaged in these two 
activities, but at least he saw what he wanted to see this time. The children 
began to feed from Legolas, just as they should. They were going to survive - 
all three of them. Sauron smiled secretly in the shadows, already planning his 
child's education. He was important, more so than the elf realised. He was a 
Prince of elves and darkness, and would take the fight to Valinor eventually. 
*They* would not be able to refuse him welcome. There would be no refuge, no 
sanctuary. He already had a name, a name Sauron had given him. But now was not 
the time to reveal it. His own words from earlier came back to his mind now, as 
if they could taunt him. 

*You have no place here.* 

He heard himself sigh, and with a start of surprise he realised he was actually 
tired. Well, that was to be expected. Controlling Legolas and the demands of the 
operation he had performed had taken a lot of his strength and concentration. He 
congratulated himself silently for his complete success, giving Legolas and the 
children one last look before he left them alone. He would have the uruk-hai 
move them to their room later. Now he would rest, and when he awoke he would 
free Maglor. His mind quietened down again at the prospect. Yes, it was time. He 
hoped Maglor would give in to temptation this time when it was offered. It would 
be a perfect reward for his work here. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was the same! How could he have forgotten it? Everything - exactly how it 
looked when he left. Or more correctly when he was dragged away. The meaningless 
graffiti chalked on the walls, the torches that didn't quite illuminate enough 
of the shadows, and the smell. It was a large cell, actually larger than he 
remembered. But he *did* remember this place. 

His gaze dropped to the floor and for a moment he saw himself. His face pushed 
into their filth and excrement. Them! He looked up again, and for a wild, 
frenzied moment he thought that even they were the same. They had been waiting 
for him, to carry on where they left off! His heart was beating so fast and 
heavy he could hear it roaring in his ears. He looked around, and he couldn't 
shake the impression. There was nothing to distinguish them. The same desperate 
fear in their eyes, the same rags clothing them, the same hopeless despair. 
Maglor could taste it on the stale air. 

And in the midst of all this, in spite of his panic and terror, there was enough 
of his mind free to think about Sauron. He had been left here for punishment, 
and the dark lord's last words came back to him now. Did he deserve it? Of 
course he did. He deserved everything he was made to endure at Sauron's hands, 
because true forgiveness was still not his. And he deserved this for his 
disloyalty too, in a way. Why had he encouraged Legolas to keep secrets? It 
wasn't as if it could help him. There was no escape. Not from him. 

But still, he couldn't resign himself to the fate Sauron expected. He wondered 
why, and then he knew. Because his Master was no longer here. Sauron couldn't 
see what was happening, didn't know if his wishes were granted, and Maglor felt 
ignored. He almost laughed. Was this how far he had come? To be insulted because 
Sauron would not be an audience to his pain and suffering? He conceded it as the 
truth, and in doing so he found his resistance. If Sauron was not going to take 
pleasure from watching this, then why should he play along? 

Straightening up, Maglor looked around him with different eyes. Yes, they were 
afraid and desperate. They might even be cruel and dangerous, but they were 
human. *And they were not the same prisoners as before*. A coolness descended on 
his mind as he assessed the situation. He was alone here, and he was not being 
watched. To suffer at the hands of his Master might well be inevitable, and 
deserved. To suffer at the hands of these wretched men was not. They were no 
better than animals in a place like this, and he had experienced that for 
himself. He would not allow his fear to make his nightmares real this time. 

There was a large up-turned barrel in the centre of the cell, and Maglor strode 
towards it, only one thought in his mind now. Water! He used the cup that 
floated on the surface at first, but then he couldn't get enough and he scooped 
it up in his hands to drink, to wash away the exhaustion. It was flat and 
covered with a layer of scum, but it didn't matter. It was as sweet and cool as 
any water he had ever tasted. He ignored the other prisoners for now - they 
could wait. 

Only when he had taken his fill did he face them. He looked around. There were 
about ten men here, give or take a couple. Most of them were young, or had been 
when they were brought here. Fear tended to make men grow old too quickly. He 
caught the gaze of one or two, and looked into their eyes, waiting. He smiled, 
satisfied, when they dropped their gaze first, and moved on to others. Who was 
the leader around here? Surely they had one. 

Then one of them caught his eye. A quiet man, sat apart from the others. He gave 
off an aura of calm - surely it was him. Maglor started to walk towards him. He 
had the look of a ranger, so deliberately peaceful. Maglor only realised his 
mistake when a hand grabbed his arm. He turned and looked at the man who held 
him. 

"Yes?" he barked out harshly, glaring at the man and shaking his hand away 
indignantly at the same time. He was a heavyset man. He looked much the same as 
the others to Maglor. Tangled, dirty hair. An unshaven face. Desperate eyes. 

"Who are *you*?" He spoke with an affected drawl. It was too casual, and Maglor 
knew he was being tested. But he couldn't rid himself of the idea that they were 
more like animals than men in here, and he answered before he could stop to 
think. 

"I am Maglor, of the house of Fëanor." He heard the arrogance in his voice, and 
he berated himself for it. That would not help him here. "Who are you?" 

"'Maglor of the house of Fëanor,'" the man said laughingly, not bothering to 
answer Maglor's question. He looked around at the few prisoners that shadowed 
him. "Did you hear that, lads?" Then he looked back at Maglor. "Brandir..." he 
gave with a mocking bow of the head. "Of the house of... Brandir." He laughed 
again, and then he lowered his voice threateningly. "You know, whatever 'house' 
you live in, it's not polite to enter someone else's place and drink of their 
water without permission." 

Maglor narrowed his eyes. "I completely agree," he said coldly. "And I'll be 
asking for permission if I ever find myself in your house." 

The man only grinned at him. "Clever little bastard, aren't you?" 

"Well, I'd say that makes us even then," Maglor replied, all pretence at 
avoiding conflict gone. He would not be the first to back away from this. 

"Even?" The man snorted at him. "Oh, yes... I can see how 'even' you think we 
are. The truth is in your eyes." He came closer, daring Maglor to move back. The 
human didn't understand or was too stupid to realise that Maglor had been 
dealing with people long before his ancestors were born, and Brandir's next 
words weren't a surprise at all. Maglor almost laughed. "But don't worry, I 
think we speak the same language... *elf*." 

"Then you'll understand me when I tell you to back off, won't you?" Maglor 
challenged. He watched Brandir steadily, until the man began to move away from 
him. Maglor kept staring. 

"I'm watching you," Brandir stated. "Keep that in mind." 

Maglor laughed and watched until Brandir turned away. It didn't matter about 
that one, but he still wanted to know who the quiet man was. He had an air of 
authority. 

"You know who I am," Maglor stated simply, looking down at him. He must have 
heard the exchange of words with Brandir. "Who are you?" 

The human looked up into his eyes. The paranoia and fear was absent from him, as 
if he was at peace with his fate. "They call me Beren," he said with a shrug. 
And then he smiled, and nodded at Maglor intriguingly. 

"You *do* know me, don't you?" Maglor sat down beside the man. How was it that a 
man could know of him. He had been missing for centuries. And from Legolas' 
reaction he knew that his name was even disappearing from the minds of his own 
kin. 

"Yes, but don't worry." Beren smiled. "I think your memory is beyond them... and 
him." Maglor searched the man's eyes. How easily he could take Brandir's place! 
And then it seemed the human was capable of surprising him further, because he 
seemed to read Maglor's thoughts. "Why should I?" he asked. 

"You are a leader." It was the truth. But he already knew that, didn't he? 

"Where would I lead them to?" he asked, gesturing around at them. "They don't 
need me, they need distraction. Do you know what it is like to face certain 
death?" He looked at Maglor earnestly. "Can you tell me how to accept it? Can 
you tell them?" 

"No," Maglor admitted, and the man smiled again. 

"Well, then..." He let his words trail off, still looking into Maglor's eyes. 
Suddenly he looked genuinely surprised. "You would follow me?" 

"If I could. If I was forgotten." It was an ironic thing to say, and Maglor 
smirked. He couldn't help it. But with that it seemed the spell was broken, 
because the man didn't understand the joke. Maglor sighed and resigned himself 
to waiting for a while. The man's words returned to him... 'They don't need me, 
they need distraction.' 

Looking around, Maglor's gaze fell on a couple of younger men who were arguing 
between themselves in hissing whispers a few feet away. One of them glanced at 
Beren. "Tell him..." 

"Tell him what?" Maglor asked, when Beren remained steadfastly ignorant. 

The two looked at each other uncertainly, and then seemed to come to a decision. 
They came over to Maglor and one of them began to speak. "I heard it from a man 
who was here when I arrived. He went away, one night..." For a moment fear 
darkened his face, and Maglor realised how very young he was. He couldn't be 
more than twenty-five. Maglor looked around the cell and corrected himself. How 
young they all were, especially for this. "But that doesn't matter," he carried 
on hastily, as if he feared losing Maglor's attention. "He said there were 
tunnels down here somewhere." 

Distraction. Maglor decided to give it to them. "Yes, there are. What do you 
know about them?" he asked, showing his interest. 

"Not much - do you know something?" Now hope began to burn, and the mood shifted 
in the cell as more of the prisoners began to listen to what was being 
discussed. "Tell us," he urged. Maglor had heard of the same thing the last time 
he was here... Tunnels. It was a desperate dream. Obviously the idea had caught 
on, and had been passed down over the years. Maglor was surprised the idea 
wasn't more elaborate after all this time. It made him feel a little 
uncomfortable. It should have the feel of a legend, but it didn't. He should 
rectify that. 

"The tunnels run underneath Mordor," he said. "I have heard they extend as far 
as its borders. They are for the orcs, who built them to avoid the weak sunlight 
that filters through the clouds of ash and smoke here." As a lie it was good 
enough, and it *was* distraction. It took their thoughts away from the truth. 
For a moment Maglor envied them, as he had before. They would all escape, just 
perhaps not the way they wanted to. 

"Do you know where the entrance is?" Somebody new asking this time, and Maglor 
looked up. Immediately the new speaker dropped his gaze. Why hadn't it been this 
easy the last time? Maglor searched his memory, trying to remember when the 
atmosphere had changed, along with his place. He couldn't recall it. 

"No, I've never found them - but we are not far away." He caught himself, 
realising he sounded as if he was thinking of something else. "I'm sure of it," 
he added with certainty. 

"Excuse me for breaking up your little escape team." Brandir. Maglor stifled a 
sigh and turned to face him. Brandir pointed. "I just want him." 

"What do you want, Brandir?" Maglor asked with undisguised impatience. 

"Me? Oh, I just want you to settle a little bet. You see, we have an argument." 
He gestured to his cronies. "They think that you are just like us. But I think 
differently." 

"Well, I'm not like *you*, if that's what you mean." He wondered if Brandir was 
actually intelligent enough to catch the insult. 

"I find myself wondering who you are, what you're doing here. I wonder who you 
were begging to let you out. I'm sure you wouldn't beg orcs like that." His 
smile was sickening, and twisted. 

"Leave it." It wasn't even a warning. It was an order. Maglor advanced on 
Brandir, leaving the small group that had clustered around him as the human 
backed further away. 

"It was him, wasn't it?" he taunted. "Because I think you belong to him. You're 
his little elf." 

"You don't know anything about me!" Maglor grabbed hold of Brandir's clothes and 
shook him. 

"Oh, but I do... now." The man sniggered. "What do you do for him? But then I 
don't really wonder. All I have to do is look at you." And then he did look 
Maglor up and down. "Naked, clean, you almost gleam. How does it feel to be his 
pet? Does he satisfy you? Do you get down on your knees for him? Does he make 
you want him first, or does he just fuck you?" It was too much, and Maglor 
didn't realise he had hit out until he saw the blood on his hand. He looked over 
at Brandir, now stood some distance away from him, and he was touching his cut 
lip, still laughing. 

"I see..." he said suggestively. Maglor only glared and advanced on him again. 
He would pay for that. Suddenly he found arms holding him back, and away. He 
struggled and Brandir only looked at him. "Well? You can go back to your little 
group now." He waved his hand dismissively. "I won the bet." 

"I'll see you die!" Maglor growled lowly. "I'll watch. That's a promise." 

"Watch? Watch, you say?" The two of them finally broke their heated gaze, and 
turned to look at the speaker. 

"I've seen it." Now it was the turn of a man who huddled against the wall at the 
opposite side of the cell. Until now he had been silent. "I've been here the 
longest." He uttered a high-pitched laugh, and it made the hair stand up on 
Maglor's neck. "It comes for you in the night," he said, looking around 
conspiratorially. "A giant wolf!" he finished with an awed whisper, and Maglor 
could almost sense the rest of the prisoners hiding their shivers. 

"Who asked you anything?" demanded Brandir scornfully, scowling at the man so 
that he hissed back. "One piece of advice I'll give you, elf - don't listen to 
him. He's insane." There was no pity for the man in Brandir's expression, just a 
kind of offended contempt. Someone like Brandir would be offended by madness. 

"Am I?" the man said with a snort of laughter. "Ask yourselves where Dior went." 
Now his voice dropped again so that even Maglor wanted to shake him and make him 
be quiet. "It came while you were all asleep. Black and terrible. *Sniffing* 
around the place before it took him." Most of the prisoners gazed at the man 
with open fear now, as he began to draw deep breaths in through his nose, 
crawling on the small piece of floor he had claimed for himself. It was an 
uncannily credible impression of an animal. Or a wolf. Maglor knew, and he was 
suddenly afraid. 

"Well - by my reckoning you are the next," Brandir said coldly. He looked at one 
of the men who were currently holding Maglor back. "Better start taking his 
rations away - he won't be needing them soon." 

"Stay away from me!" the man shouted, gathering his cup and his bowl close to 
him as if someone was going to steal them. Brandir laughed harshly at that, then 
turned his attention back to Maglor. 

"I'd put my money on you having been here longer than him - much longer. Nothing 
will drag you away in the night, will it... *pet*?" Maglor looked into Brandir's 
eyes with pure loathing, smiling a little when Brandir flinched. But it was 
Maglor who was in trouble. The men still held him, and at a signal they pushed 
him back against the wall. Brandir walked over to him slowly. 

The man stood close to him, so close that in any other circumstances Maglor 
would have turned away. He kept the eye contact though, until Brandir forcibly 
turned his head and whispered to him. "Won't you tell me what he calls you?" 
Brandir licked over the side of Maglor's face, and again Maglor struggled. The 
human only laughed. Now he reached down to caress Maglor's soft member. He 
wouldn't cry out. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Is it 'pet', or 
something else?" Brandir continued insinuatingly. Maglor didn't even alter the 
pattern of his breathing. 

"Does he tell you you're beautiful?" he asked sarcastically. Maglor almost cried 
out at that. No! Centuries upon centuries of training came to the forefront of 
his mind and took over. Maglor cursed inwardly, feeling himself react helplessly 
to the word. In his mind he saw Sauron, dark and dangerous, looking down at him 
triumphantly, gloating, laughing. Beautiful. 

Brandir laughed depreciatively when Maglor's body finally responded to his rough 
caress. "He does, doesn't he?" he asked in contemptuous disbelief. Maglor was 
already lost. He had closed his eyes, seeing himself in another place with 
someone else. 

"Imagine I am him," Brandir continued. "Touching you like this. And I call you 
beautiful." Again Maglor responded, but there was a sarcasm in Brandir's tone 
that Sauron never had, not when he said that, and it brought Maglor back. He 
opened his eyes again. 

"You have no idea what you're saying, man!" he hissed. And the human didn't 
know. The word didn't mean what he thought it did; it wasn't used that way at 
all. 

"Oh?" Brandir whispered the word over and over, and Maglor moaned despite 
himself, remembering thousands of nights with Sauron. Taught to desire his 
suffering and pain, trained to ask for it. Saying thank you for his torment... 
and meaning it. Maglor had nothing that was not his to take, and use, and play 
with. Was nothing but his pleasure made flesh. Sauron was perfectly sadistic and 
cruel, demanding and capricious. There were rare, tender moments that Maglor 
would go through anything for, and at those times the dark lord gave him the 
word. Beautiful had changed in Maglor's mind. When he heard it he remembered his 
despair, his anguish and his humility before Sauron. But it meant none of those 
things. It meant thank you. 

"Stop!" he cried out at last, the images in his mind too much to deal with. He 
saw his own fate laid out before him as a path he couldn't stop himself from 
walking down. Waiting and wanting to be rescued before he reached the end - the 
destination. He knew what Sauron wanted when he looked deep inside himself, but 
it would never come to pass; they would forgive him first. Maglor cherished his 
hope secretly, astounded that Sauron couldn't destroy it. Sometimes he wondered 
if the dark lord even knew it was there. 

"Beg me," Brandir whispered savagely, and Maglor saw the dark lord again. He 
closed his eyes, losing himself to some unnamed memory at the man's touch. How 
many times had he been here? Sometimes it seemed Sauron kept him on the very 
edge for hours, teasing him. It was a game Maglor never won, even when he was 
given permission, because it was never given for his sake. It never meant 
freedom. But he begged for it every time regardless. 

"Aulendil!" He cried out his Master's name into the silence of the cell and he 
knew it was all over. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he didn't 
get an answer. That voice. One simple 'yes' or 'no' to end it. Instead he was 
left wanting, as he had been so many times, yearning for Sauron to finish it. 

The warmth of the hand on his hot, needy flesh left, and Maglor groaned, unable 
to lose the daydream, wanting to call out again. Brandir only laughed, and that 
brought Maglor back to his senses fully. But he didn't have time to regret what 
he had done as Brandir slammed his fist viciously into Maglor's stomach. His 
head fell down, tears stinging in his eyes as he tried to regain his lost 
breath. The fist flew up and caught him on the jaw, making his head snap back 
only to hit the hard stone of the wall behind him with a frightening thud. 

Dizzy and panting, Maglor was thrown to the floor. Dimly he realised that this 
was the memory he had when he first faced the cell. Maybe it had also been a 
premonition. He began to crawl, using his elbows to pull himself away so that he 
would be able to recover and get up again to face them, but it was already too 
late. Why had he lost? But that didn't matter. Not when he felt Brandir's body 
covering his. He was outraged, disgusted and offended. He didn't want this. 
Despite his injuries he tried to throw the man off him, but then the other 
prisoners held him down, and kept him still. 

Behind him he felt the man free himself. His hardness pushed against Maglor for 
a moment, and then the pain came. He promised himself he wouldn't scream, and he 
didn't. It had started. He tried to fight, tried to make it difficult, but it 
was impossible. Brandir was already inside him, already knew that he was 
prepared for this. Oiled and ready, as he always was for Sauron. Brandir laughed 
scornfully. It was a laugh that was a distant relation of real pleasure. 

"Oh, you're perfect, aren't you? You know what I think?" Maglor refused to 
answer, and instead threw everything he had into getting away, until he spied 
the youth. He had been sat alone in the corner all this time, Maglor hadn't even 
noticed him. Now he did, and he felt a choking kind of sympathy for him. He was 
thin and filthy, so young he was little more than a child. Old tears had made 
tracks down his dirty face, and he suddenly knew whose place he was about to 
take. The boy looked up and caught his eye, and Maglor looked back. He was just 
a teenager! Maglor stopped fighting, allowing the human to take what he would 
from him. He even answered his words, encouraging him to continue. 

"No, I don't." Brandir leaned down so that Maglor could feel his warm breath on 
the back of his neck. He lay still now, but so did Brandir. Favouring stillness 
for the moment so that he could say his poisoned words in a roughened voice that 
only superficially hid his fear. He was the most frightened here by far, Maglor 
realised. Far more scared than the boy he had obviously been tormenting before 
Maglor arrived. 

"I think *he* wants his toy to have a bit of rough," he said gleefully. "Far be 
it from me to disappoint. I'm only human, after all." And with that he began to 
take Maglor violently, trying to hurt him, and Maglor did cry out now. But then 
in the middle of it all, he caught sight of Brandir's hair moving alongside him 
where he lay on the floor. How he hadn't noticed it before he had no idea. But 
now he did, and he began to laugh. Brandir thrust into him so cruelly that tears 
came to Maglor's eyes, and he held himself there. 

"What are you laughing at?" he demanded, as if Maglor had lost his senses and it 
offended him in some way. In fact, he spoke with the same contempt he kept for 
the maddened prisoner. Maglor stopped laughing to speak. 

"Your hair..." Brandir's hair was red and vibrant, even through the dust and 
filth. Maglor knew what it meant. "You're next," he said, knowing he was making 
a prediction and not really caring anymore. It was over. It wasn't really funny, 
but he couldn't help himself, although he stopped laughing when he heard 
Brandir's next words. 

"Oh, no. You have it all wrong, elf. I'm *first*." 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

//Arms were holding him, bringing him back to face hell - and he fought them.//

//"Shh...quiet." A familiar voice, hushing him. The darkness, the warmth. He 
nearly opened his eyes, having fallen into the habit of sleeping with his eyes 
closed. But then he decided against it as gentle kisses rained down on his face 
like snowflakes. And it really was true. He had returned to take him away, to 
rescue him.// 

//"It's you." He didn't need to see to know. He didn't need to open his eyes 
because then the dream would flee.// 

//"Yes." A sudden feeling of grateful happiness. But then sadness. It had been 
so long, and he had been lonely.// 

//"I knew you wouldn't forget about me." The length of time since he had felt 
this nearness made him weep. And his words would have been an accusation, if he 
wasn't so desperate to keep the speaker here with him, close to him. Desperately 
he clung to the dream.// 

//"I never do, you know that." The speaker sounded slightly reproachful. His 
heart felt full. He needed something else.// 

//"Forgive me, hîr nín." Knowing at last that he might be forgiven, that it 
might be time to leave here. Frightened that it might be time to awaken.// 

//"Yes, now I do." Reassurance. Then something cold and hard was pressed into 
his hand. His fingers closed around it, and he almost cried out when the 
presence withdrew, forgetting the command to stay quiet, wanting to implore the 
darkness to stay, to stay with him. It had been so very long. But he was left 
alone again.// 

//The dream was over, but sleep remained.//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He awoke silently, and as was his wont he lay still with his eyes closed, 
regulating his breathing, hiding his wakefulness from the others, and from 
Brandir. How long had he been here now? He didn't know. None of the prisoners 
had been replaced though, and it had surely been a while. He had become a 
plaything of Brandir's, every time he would have fought, every time he would 
have refused him entertainment was countered by the scared, apprehensive glances 
of the boy that was more or less left alone now. How could he leave the torment 
for him to endure? His fate was pathetic enough. 

And so he didn't fight. And Brandir knew why. He had noticed them together, The 
boy comforting him when he was bleeding and hurt, not understanding that he 
would heal quickly, only concerned for his pain. How could he leave him to 
Brandir? He couldn't. 

He shuddered when he remembered the things that Brandir had him doing for the 
promise to leave the young one alone. And the others went along with him, didn't 
they? He couldn't have won them over to his side now if he had been one of their 
Gods. They didn't want to be themselves. It would force them to face their fear. 
Something they were all trying desperately to avoid. So he became their 
entertainment. Their *distraction*. Even the man Beren had taken his turn, and 
that dispelled the last hope Maglor had of any escape. 

He was still tired, and it was a feeling he remembered from before, as if his 
sleep had been disturbed. He closed his fists, trying to remember that they were 
only mortal, and that he should have sympathy. It was then that he felt the 
coldness in his hand. The dream! It hadn't been a dream at all. He opened his 
eyes, hardly daring to believe. He lay face down on the floor, where Brandir had 
left him, and so his hair hid his eyes, and the dagger he held in his hand. He 
looked at it, and he knew what it was for. He almost threw it from him, as he 
had once before, so many years ago, but then he groaned in pain when a well-
placed kick found its way to his ribs. 

Brandir was awake. He kicked Maglor almost casually as he walked past him, and 
under the concealment of his hair, Maglor's righteous anger began to burn. He 
still didn't move, but he watched Brandir relieving himself on the other side of 
the cell, the acid stench of his urine finding its way through the air, making 
him gag. Hate was something he couldn't help but feel. However much he pitied 
them, some mortals deserved nothing less than their fate. A short life. 

When Brandir walked back towards him, Maglor readied himself. He would have one 
chance. Just one. It would be enough. 

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? Lying around sleeping when I'm already 
awake. Come on, elf. Wake up. You need to clean me now with that talented mouth 
and tongue of yours." He aimed another kick at Maglor. Through the veil of his 
hair, Maglor saw the look of spite and hatred on Brandir's face. It made him 
look twisted. And just before the foot found its way to his ribs again, he made 
his move. 

Turning quickly, he grabbed hold of Brandir's other foot and pulled it from 
under him. The surprise of the attack caught him completely unawares, and he 
lost his balance, falling to the floor. In an instant Maglor was upon him, and 
he just had time to register the look of stunned disbelief on Brandir's face, 
before he plunged the dagger deep into his stomach. 

Seething with an anger that had been building up all the time he had been here, 
Maglor took hold of Brandir's neck with his free hand. He remembered every 
despicable act he had been forced to perform, and it lent him a strength that he 
didn't believe he still possessed. He stood up, bringing Brandir with him 
through the grip on his throat. He pressed him backwards, holding him up, until 
he had Brandir pinned against the wall. And his words when he spoke were full of 
nothing but contempt. 

"I am not your toy," he spat out. "I am Maglor Fëanorion. I am centuries old - 
of a race and time you can't even comprehend." He gave Brandir a grim smile now, 
seeing his shock at having someone he thought was his servant turn against him 
so suddenly. "Did you forget to fear me?" 

Blood bubbled up through Brandir's lips as he tried to utter a word, and it 
didn't matter what he wanted to say. Maglor continued over the man's feeble 
attempts to speak. "You should be thanking me for giving you an easy way out of 
here. Now you have only your fading pain to face, instead of your fear." Maglor 
smiled again. "Coward." 

Now Brandir managed to speak, and his words were as poisonous as ever. "I hope 
he never lets you go, elf." Maglor was furious, and he didn't even notice the 
blood that Brandir sprayed over his face and neck when he spoke. He twisted the 
blade. 

"Do you feel that?" he almost shouted. "Tell me!" he demanded, noting for the 
first time pain in Brandir's expression. Had it been there from the start? 

"Yes!" Brandir gurgled. It was barely a word, spoken as it was through the blood 
in his throat. Maglor could feel the warmth of the man's life spreading over his 
hand and his wrist. He let Brandir go, pulling the dagger from him at the same 
time, and the man crumpled to the floor. It would be a slow death. A painful 
death. It was no more than he deserved. He stood over the twitching body on the 
floor, and hoped Brandir could still hear him through his agony. 

"Then experience your death. Like the sun sets, red and lingering, ending in 
darkness. And know it is the only thing I ever truly gave you." 

With that said, Maglor turned away from his victim, only to have his wrist 
grabbed by someone. A familiar figure. Tall, forbidding. Sauron. 

Maglor dropped the dagger, and it clattered on the ground beside them. 
Everything was forgotten when the dark lord looked at him. Everything but him. 
Maglor's heart lifted in gladness at that dark presence, and all he wanted was 
to fall into his embrace, to belong to him once more. Sauron's eyes glittered as 
he looked at Maglor. He was amused, Maglor realised. 

"Ah, still such a romantic, Maglor. I thought your abilities had dimmed with the 
passing of time." He smiled sardonically. "'Like the sun sets...'" he quoted 
with an extravagant gesture. "Yes." 

Now he was aware of the blood that covered him, because Sauron was aware of it. 
His gaze travelled over Maglor slowly, then came back to his eyes. 
"Magnificent." He looked at Maglor's hand, and brought it down to his lips to 
kiss his palm, inhaling deeply at the same time. "Beautiful." 

The word meant something to him. It meant he had done something right, and he 
celebrated in his heart and soul, ignoring the small voice that cried out 
against the unnatural feeling. What did that voice matter? It had never helped 
him, not here. In a deep, hidden part of his mind, he knew that all his troubles 
stemmed from choosing to ignore that voice. Including his being here. But it was 
too late now, and he ignored it once more. Every time it grew quieter, and 
Maglor knew that one day it would disappear entirely. 

"This is your doing, mûl vain nín. Look at it," Sauron whispered, as if in awe, 
drawing back and letting him go. Maglor looked around him, and the voice was 
back, crying out loudly at what he had done. Brandir lay writhing in agony, 
holding his stomach as if he was trying to stop the flow of his life's blood 
onto the stone floor. The other prisoners had huddled together at the other side 
of the cell, fear and horror on their faces. It was a moment before Maglor 
realised that their fear was not only directed at Sauron, but also at him. 

He looked down, seeing himself for the first time. He was covered in blood, as 
if it could hide his nakedness. He saw himself as they must see him. It wasn't 
the violence or the blood that had scared them, it was him. The sudden attack, 
and his words. They had mistreated him because he was different, and they were 
scared of him, he knew that. He would never appear as dirty or as rough as they 
did, whatever happened. He must seem like perfection to them. His was the 
vengeance of an angel. 

Why had he done it? They were terrified, and mortal, and he had known all along 
it wouldn't last forever, hadn't he? Nothing lasted forever, even his Master's 
anger. But when he looked at Brandir, and he remembered how the man had taunted 
him, using *their* word against him... Maglor shook his head. He was not sorry - 
he didn't have it in him to feel pity for Brandir. He looked away from it all to 
Sauron. 

Monsters. That is what they were - what they both were. These pitiful humans 
were the innocents here, and if Maglor was sorry for something, it was that he 
had destroyed their fragile peace. And then he started, because he realised what 
he was thinking. He and Sauron were not the same. Maglor couldn't be like him - 
it was impossible. "No," he said, shaking his head in denial. 

"Yes," Sauron insisted. "Taste it." And then the kiss finally came. It was what 
he had longed for, dreamed of, hungered after. And he could taste Brandir's 
blood in the kiss. Sauron's lips were covered in it still, from when he had 
kissed Maglor's palm. The taste of his death. But being close to Sauron again 
after all this time made him forget, because he was aware of nothing but him. 
For a single, timeless moment they were really together. Lovers, Master and 
slave. Both killers, both of them for that instant conscienceless. But it had to 
end, and it did. Sauron stepped back again. 

"I know what you need, mûl nín." He sighed, but then smiled, showing the 
briefest flash of white teeth. "I will be cruel. It will be painful, and harsh, 
and I will not listen to your screams for mercy. I will not give you absolution. 
All I offer is pain and suffering." Maglor simply nodded, accepting it. He 
needed to be hurt. To pay for his crimes, this newest one most of all. Because 
if he didn't, then he was no better than him, no more deserving of forgiveness. 
His hope wavered, and he knew what he had to do to strengthen it. But then the 
dark lord continued. 

"Or, of course, you could stay here. It will not be the same now. I think they 
will leave you alone, don't you?" Maglor looked around him for the last time. 
There was nothing for him here. And he had never wanted to be alone. He stepped 
forward. 

"That's right," the dark lord said with another smile. "Come to me." Sauron 
didn't sympathise with his need for forgiveness from the Valar, but he did 
understand punishment, all too well. It was what Maglor wanted now, and what he 
needed. It was something he desired for himself. He would always choose it - 
surely the dark lord knew that? Maglor almost laughed then in realisation. Of 
course Sauron knew. He was perfect. Maglor had no secrets from him; his hope was 
only another tool in Sauron's hands. 

Sauron reached forward and curled a stand of Maglor's hair around his index 
finger. He looked at the hair thoughtfully. 

"Did it have to be him?" Sauron asked, slightly amused and yet at the same time 
actually regretful. Maglor gasped and looked into his Master's eyes at the cold 
truth. *Don't tell me*! His mind screamed. *Don't make me really see this*. 
Outwardly, Maglor was quiet, only a slight trembling at the realisation that he 
had been right. *And every time... it's me*. He saw his own death in those dark 
eyes - a thousand of them. He shivered. 

"Well?" Maglor jumped, realising he hadn't yet given an answer. 

"Yes, Hîr nín. I am sorry," he said quickly, bowing his head respectfully. And 
although he expected what came next, he still couldn't suppress a shudder. 

"Of course you are." Sauron laughed softly. He paused, then dropped the strand 
of hair. "I think it will do you good to watch, next time." There was no doubt 
at all what Sauron meant. 

"Yes, Herdir." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was back. Maglor didn't struggle against the feeling. He went with it, 
breathing deeply and closing his eyes. He swallowed. Sauron liked to see him 
struggle, but only when it came naturally, and Maglor wouldn't dare to act for 
him. Really the only way to please him was to give in. He remembered, helpless 
to stop the terrible healing of his mind, and he whimpered quietly. 

Imagination provided him with a vision of Sauron watching him, and he had to 
open his eyes, to show the dark lord what was happening to him. But Sauron 
wasn't there; Maglor was alone. He had never been alone before, not with this. 

"Why?" Maglor whispered to the emptiness, and then he began to cry. His memories 
were as broken as he was, but he found himself drawn back now, back to the very 
beginning... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maglor wandered for so long after it was all over, wishing and hoping for 
something to change, for something to have been different - but it wasn't. No 
matter which way he looked at it, they had been wrong, and now he was cast out. 
Unforgiven. 

He slept when he was tired, ate when he was hungry, and wandered. He sang his 
lament to the stars at night, to the sun in daylight, and out over the sea as if 
he would make his voice heard in his homeland. Nothing answered him, until one 
evening he had the feeling he was being watched. He searched for the presence, 
but it was invisible, and Maglor feared he might be losing his mind. 

Over the next few weeks the feeling didn't leave him, it only grew stronger, 
until Maglor was crying out for it to reveal itself and pleading for 
acknowledgement. He threw himself down at times and lay prostrate on the white 
sand, whispering his shame for what he had done, accepting fully the terrible 
responsibility and hoping that it could be forgotten by those more perfect than 
him. 

When the being finally did reveal itself, Maglor had fallen to his knees. He 
expected one of the Valar, or one of the Maiar, and surely he wasn't 
disappointed. The presence had glided towards him in the moonlight, the stars 
themselves making the white robes he wore shimmer. Tall, and majestic, dark eyes 
and darker hair. He was ethereal. Maglor had looked up, in a posture of worship, 
grateful tears in his eyes. 

He remembered it all so clearly. The sound of the waves breaking on the 
shoreline; the crisp, sea air that held the slightest promise of winter in the 
night. The year was getting late, growing old, and *he* had stood before Maglor 
like the promise of spring. Hope. Then he smiled down at Maglor, and something 
in that smile made him uncertain. It was too broad. But he hadn't even begun to 
guess at the truth, he thought the presence was there to explain only why he 
would never be forgiven. 

"Please," Maglor whispered, for the first of many times if only he had known it. 
The smile didn't change, and when *he* spoke, he reassured Maglor's frightened 
soul. 

"There is nothing to forgive." Now he held out a hand, as if Maglor should take 
it, and he nearly did before the presence spoke again. "Would you like me to 
teach you?" 

The question wasn't right, it sounded out of place and context, and Maglor 
faltered, wondering what it could possibly mean. He looked around him. Suddenly 
the wind seemed to whisper a warning as it moved through the golden leaves of 
the trees that lined the edge of the beach. The sound of the surf roared in his 
ears like a scream. He looked up, and it was so dark that the stars themselves 
seemed to glow brighter for a moment against the blackness of the sky. 

"Just take my hand," the stranger urged kindly. There was such a feeling of 
power emanating from him, how could he be anything other than what Maglor 
supposed? Still, he hesitated, waiting for something else, but there was 
nothing. Maglor took the proffered hand, and then a shock passed through him. 
The dark lord couldn't disguise who he was now, and Maglor tried to pull back 
but it was much too late. 

Sauron pulled Maglor to his feet and up against him. Maglor struggled, staring 
in horror as the white robes darkened suddenly... to black. He couldn't seem to 
stop it as the dark lord embraced him, and it was as if he was being swallowed 
by the darkness. 

"No!" he cried out. But it sounded so quiet and hopeless, drowned out by the sea 
and the wind. Who would hear him? None but his enemy - *the* enemy, he corrected 
himself. Sauron pulled him even closer, pressing their bodies together, and 
Maglor was aware of Sauron's erection, thick and insistent against his belly. He 
was insulted by it, sickened, and he tried to break the dark lord's grip, to 
free himself, but Sauron was much too strong, unnaturally so. 

"Forgiveness," Sauron mused, whispering into his ear while Maglor fought 
fruitlessly to get away from his arms. "What you want is already yours." Maglor 
knew exactly who he was now, and yet his words had a ring of truth. He didn't 
understand them, but somehow he knew they weren't lies. He stopped fighting the 
embrace and decided to listen. 

"What you need is perspective," Sauron continued. "I will teach you this," he 
looked at Maglor hungrily. "over time. And eventually you will thank me." Maglor 
shivered. 

Then Sauron laughed for the first time. "Forgiveness can be much more than 
comfort." He paused, as if to think. "It can be beautiful." Maglor didn't 
understand, was sure he didn't want to, and he only looked up at Sauron 
fearfully. 

"You should not have waited for me, alone." He wasn't prepared for the dark lord 
to kiss him, and it took him completely by surprise. It was over before he could 
begin to struggle. A flash of an impression of soft lips brushing against his, 
an insistent tongue tasting him, and then it was gone. "So lonely and forsaken." 
Now Sauron smiled in the darkness, his voice alight with amusement. "And 
impetuous. Now you are mine, dannon nín, bÿr nín, mûl nín." 

He wanted to protest, but then the strangest feeling passed through him. *He 
wanted this*. Being controlled by magic was a much more frightening concept to 
him than any of Sauron's words, and he fought against it, but the desire he felt 
only became stronger, until he felt weakened, the intensity of it making him 
swoon in the dark lord's arms. He was dimly aware of Sauron carrying him away 
before he escaped into a faint, and the dark lord's words followed him into his 
dreams. My slave? 

Maglor would never forget the first days, weeks, and months as Sauron's 
plaything. And what he remembered was pain. Not that he had been tortured then. 
No, he hadn't - despite his wish for punishment. That had come much later. But 
at first it had hurt to be with Sauron, and that was what he remembered. The 
dark lord hadn't wasted an opportunity to show him his place, and Maglor had 
grown to expect being violated; it was as if Sauron couldn't get enough of him. 
And he had learnt to serve the dark lord with his mouth. He was aware that 
Sauron used magic on him, he was experienced enough to tell the difference, and 
he saw through it. Sauron used him in every way he could, and Maglor didn't know 
which he hated the most. He fell into the habit of preparing himself, and he 
recalled the exact moment when he realised what that meant - that he was 
accepting his treatment. 

Oh, at first he had fought. Who wouldn't? But that kind of resistance had to 
fade eventually. Sauron eroded his will over an unknown period of time; perhaps 
it had been a year or two. It didn't matter what Maglor did, Sauron always won, 
and the times he didn't struggle were the times that Sauron was less violent. 
Not considerate, never, not him. But he didn't hurt Maglor quite so much. He had 
been taught to yield, and to accept, but he couldn't remember when Sauron had 
begun to hurt him deliberately. It crept into his memories, but he did remember 
the first time Sauron had destroyed him, and taken his sanity. The awakening had 
been terrible. Screaming, begging for the pain to come back, and all the time 
Sauron had watched him, studied him, fascinated by his tears, wringing out his 
anguish with such well-chosen words that Maglor would have killed him - if he 
could - if he hadn't been taught to love him. 

You could learn such a thing, over centuries, when your only company was your 
pain and your pleasure. When your murderer was also your lover and your only 
friend. Sauron encouraged Maglor to confide in him, and he finally submitted to 
that after maybe five years? A decade? He told Sauron how different things 
affected him, how much it hurt, how it altered his feelings. He remembered a 
dark period, when Sauron had blinded him, and that had only brought them closer 
together. He learned to trust, and to obey the slightest order without question, 
ruled completely by sound and sensation. Indeed, by the time Sauron restored his 
sight, Maglor had only acknowledged it with a strange pang of regret that 
frightened him, and he confessed that too to his Master. 

And Sauron was his Master now, in every sense of the word. The escapes which had 
peppered his early imprisonment were much less frequent now, and only attempted 
because it amused and distracted Sauron to bring him back - and to punish him. 
His body and its reactions did not belong to Maglor anymore, but to him. He was 
a captive, a toy, a plaything. An instrument for Sauron to play when he was 
bored with the world. And Maglor almost laughed when he reflected - and he 
realised that Sauron had kept his promise. He had learnt all about forgiveness. 
What he had learnt above all else was that there was always something new that 
Sauron could ask of him, there was always another step to take, another cruelty 
to submit to. He wondered if his being left alone now was the next. 

What mattered was not this. He knew what Sauron wanted with him, and he believed 
with all his heart that it would never be his. The battle in his mind was not 
between Sauron and him, but between Sauron and the Valar. When the time came, he 
would be forgiven, and he would be allowed home. At times it was only this 
belief that kept him alive. He knew that Sauron's magic would not be enough to 
stop him fading if he didn't have something to wait for. And so he waited. 
Always patiently, but always with hope. And it didn't matter that Sauron knew of 
it, or that he used it. It didn't matter what he did. He *would* lose in the 
end. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Opening his eyes again, Maglor prepared himself for loneliness, having no choice 
but to accept it, but again he was disappointed. He hadn't looked around him at 
first, but now he did, and he realised he wasn't alone at all. 

Legolas lay beside him on the bed, turned away from him, curled up as though to 
protect something. And he looked different. Maglor gasped. While he was away it 
had happened. He forgot his own suffering then, and looked over Legolas' 
shoulder to see. He rested his hand on Legolas' waist, and he must have awoken 
him, for he only caught a glimpse of the two children before Legolas turned to 
face him. 

"Maglor!" he exclaimed, reaching out to touch his face. Maglor could have made 
his name into an exclamation in the same way. He looked so tired and worn out. 
There were dark circles under his eyes, and there was a look in them that Maglor 
didn't like to see - a look of age. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Can you 
forgive me?" 

Taken aback, Maglor just stared, and then he registered Legolas' words. 
"Forgive?" he repeated. "You...?" He remembered how he had felt during the 
torture, when he had wished for the prince to feel guilty, to deserve his 
punishment, and he had been so wrong. He didn't want to see this at all - his 
guilt. "There is nothing to forgive, pen neth." He stopped then, a memory 
catching at his mind again, and he spoke the next words almost in a daze, 
feeling close to some truth. He could almost say it. "This is not your fault. 
This is just how it is." Maglor searched for what he almost knew, almost 
realised. He knew it was important. 

"Still, I'm sorry," Legolas replied, and it only brought Maglor closer to that 
elusive something. He dropped his gaze to try and figure it out, and then he saw 
something else. Something that made him forget instantly. Legolas had a scar. It 
was fading, and it wouldn't last, but it was there now. And he saw where the 
stitches had been. He reached down, letting his hand hover over the wound, 
almost touching. 

"Oh!" Maglor moaned deeply, finally understanding what had happened while he had 
been away. He remembered Sauron's words to him: 'Oh, you don't want *that*, mûl 
nín. Trust me.' "No," he shook his head and looked at Legolas, who suddenly 
shivered. 

"Don't." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Don't ask me," Legolas pleaded. Then 
he smiled, and Maglor was so gladdened to see it that he smiled too. "Look," 
Legolas said, and moved to sit up on the bed so that Maglor could see the 
babies. 

There were two of them. Legolas picked up the first one and smiled down at him. 
He was a blond elf - the resemblance between them was striking, and Maglor 
grinned to see them together. He looked at the other. Really, he had never in 
all his long life seen a creature like this. It looked like the uruk-hai, but it 
was perfect and unmarked like an elf. *He* was all those things, Maglor thought 
suddenly. The little one awoke then and realised that his brother was missing. 

In a feat of some skill, the little uruk-hai managed to lever himself up onto 
his elbows before falling back down. Maglor laughed, and shocked himself with 
the sound. The little one sighed dramatically and turned over to look. When he 
saw Maglor he stretched out his little arms demandingly, and Maglor made a move 
to comply. But then he thought to look at Legolas. 

"May I?" he asked, almost timidly in the face of what Legolas had been through. 

"Of course!" Legolas exclaimed with a laugh, and Maglor picked up the little 
one. Now Maglor got a closer look at his eyes, and he drew in a breath. 

"He's beautiful," he breathed to Legolas, as the little one examined him 
curiously. Maglor giggled when the little uruk-hai suddenly threw his arms 
around Maglor's neck. 

Smiling, Legolas watched them both. Then he shook his head. "He's Mithedhel," he 
corrected gently. Maglor nodded, and then his gaze fell on the other, who was 
still asleep in Legolas' arms. 

"And him?" Legolas looked down at his child and thought for a moment. 

"I don