Title: Fallen

Chapters: Sixteen to Twenty

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 SIXTEEN

The next few weeks, or was it months, everything felt new and exciting to 
Maglor. Mithedhel was the most curious child he had ever known; his inquisitive 
personality was infectious, and he took up much of Maglor's time when Legolas 
was busy with the other. He had a name too now - Ezelpathân - Sauron had 
appeared to inform Legolas of it in a coldly amused way that had made the young 
elf cry. Maglor, of course, knew what it meant. Although it was not Quenya, the 
beginning of the name at least was close enough for him to guess - *ezel*, 
meaning green - and the dark lord had ordered him not to tell. It seemed Sauron 
loved to come between them. Legolas had been angry with Maglor for a while, but 
then he seemed to give up, and the child's name had been shortened to 'Athân, 
which Maglor supposed must mean one thing. Leaf. 

It was strange too, because although Legolas and the children were left alone, 
Maglor wasn't. The dark lord still visited him at night, and now most of the 
time Sauron woke him up. It was like leading a double life, and Maglor was sure 
that if it hadn't been for Mithedhel, he would be sleeping much of the day away. 

And he was astonishing. With the stubbornness of the uruk-hai, he had soon 
learned to gain his feet for short periods, and sometimes could stumble around 
on his own for fully five minutes before falling down. But he was more 
intelligent than Sauron's creations would ever be, and he loved to listen to 
Maglor and Legolas talk, gurgling sometimes as if he would make words of his own 
soon. His development was incredible to watch. Even the uruk-hai that brought 
them their meals were fascinated with him; they often picked him up just to get 
a closer look, and for Mithedhel's part he was just as curious about them. 

In comparison, 'Athân didn't seem to have changed much at all over the weeks. He 
still depended on Legolas for everything, and was never far from his sight. When 
he cried, which was often during the day, Legolas was the only one who could 
soothe him, and so Maglor left them together much of the time, only interfering 
when it was obvious to him that Legolas needed rest, after all his body still 
required time to recuperate. They argued about that too, and Maglor was 
disturbed slightly by the way Legolas let 'Athân dominate his time, but he only 
mentioned it once. It wasn't worth being hostile to each other about. 

Because despite all this, the most wonderful thing now was their relationship. 
Being more or less left alone with only the children for company had been a 
blessing. Neither of them could forget where they were, but they could forgive 
each other easily, and they did. They lie together at night, and it was almost 
the same as it was at the beginning. But not quite, because what they had now 
was something that had matured, something stronger. There were no fights for 
dominance with them, and for Maglor at least that was a welcome change. Of 
course it was tinged slightly with bitterness. They both knew that Maglor would 
still do anything Sauron asked. But Legolas didn't blame him for it now, and 
Maglor took comfort from that. 

Sometimes he took Legolas, and sometimes it was the other way around. He had 
worried at first, because surely Sauron would know, but then nothing happened 
over it, and Maglor relaxed into this new existence, enjoying it. There were 
times he wanted to take Legolas, and it brought a kind of cathartic sense of 
relief, but there were also times he wanted to give something back to his lover, 
and he was happy that he could do so without either of them suffering for it. 

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

He was Maia, and so he didn't need most things, but that didn't mean he had no 
cravings or appetites. His body was like a piece of clothing that he could 
discard at will, but he chose this form for the pleasure he could take from it. 
He didn't need to eat, but he savoured food. He didn't need to sleep, but he 
loved a luxurious bed. He didn't feel the cold, but he delighted in keeping a 
fire. He didn't need sex, but he revelled in Maglor's desire for him. He was a 
hedonist. And in Maglor he had created the perfect vessel for all of his 
passions. Someone who not only wanted him, but also invited and willingly 
submitted to his cruel games and his tendency towards violence. Maglor was 
important to him. He didn't need the elf, but it would be a terrible act of 
self-denial to do without him now. Maglor was almost perfect, almost his. There 
were very few things left to teach, and to show him. And here was the next. 

Sauron stretched his long form out on the bed, and let himself fall back into 
the pillows. He was alone, at the moment, but now he called. He saw himself 
rising from the bed and leaving the room to haunt the corridors of his fortress. 
Like a breath of wind, he barely disturbed the dust as he passed. And when he 
reached the familiar door he drifted through it. 

There he was. Maglor stood with his back to Sauron. He was singing some song or 
other to the child in his arms. It didn't matter what it was. Legolas was asleep 
on the bed, with Ezelpathân. 

*In another part of the fortress, on a bed, Sauron reached out a hand to the 
empty air in front of him. *

The song continued past that line, but Maglor faltered in his recital of it. He 
shivered suddenly, when he felt an all-too-familiar hand touching his hair. He 
turned, and there was emptiness behind him. He and Legolas had made the room 
cosy between them, and Mithedhel helped. But now the room grew cold. "Yes, Hîr 
nín," Maglor said quietly. "I hear you." 

He walked quickly over to the bed and placed Mithedhel next to his brother 
gently. He was asleep now; Mithedhel loved it when Maglor sang him to sleep and 
he hesitated for just a moment, realising how much he had grown to love them 
over such a short period of time. Real love. He knew there was a difference, but 
he couldn't say what it was. Then he almost cried out. The ghostly hands were 
back, and they pulled at him, settled around his waist and clutched at his 
heart. Something about the touch was so intrusive; it wasn't just the cold. And 
Maglor couldn't help but allow the touch to draw him back, and away. He was 
being called, and he answered... 

*Opening his eyes, Sauron pulled his arms back into his body and for a second it 
looked as though he might be holding someone close. But he was alone. *

Walking through the darkness, Maglor looked almost possessed. He knew where he 
was going, and his steps were sure. He had made this journey a thousand times, 
maybe a million. Enough times to know every twist and turn on the way there. If 
there had been light enough to see, one would have noticed a vacant look to his 
eyes. But there was no one to see, and there wasn't light enough. Perhaps there 
was an urgent whispering that followed his progress, but it was ignored. 

When he reached the door in the pitch black, it was indistinguishable from the 
walls. But Maglor knew exactly where it was, knew where he needed to go. He 
didn't knock; he was expected. He opened the door and light spilled out of the 
room. But then he closed it behind him and the corridor was in darkness again. 
The ghosts that walked this part of the fortress had the place to themselves 
once more. The whispering stopped. 

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

From his place on the bed Sauron regarded his slave. The unseeing expression, 
the lifeless pallor of his skin. He opened his arms. "Come," Sauron commanded, 
smirking slightly at his word choice, and Maglor obeyed. Only when the elf was 
in his arms did Sauron give back what he had temporarily stolen. Maglor gasped, 
as always he didn't know exactly what had happened to him. That was good. 

And true to his training he didn't ask, didn't make any remarks about suddenly 
finding himself in Sauron's bed. He just began to do what was expected of him. 
The dark lord lay back and enjoyed Maglor's attentions. The gentle kisses and 
caresses; the soft whispers and worshipful touches. There was no need to rush, 
never any need. They had a long time, and Sauron enjoyed every minute, letting 
Maglor's ministrations wash over him like a calming wave. 

When the touches and kisses became more sexual, then Sauron began to react to 
that too. Occasionally he arched upwards, or swore under his breath. And 
eventually he found himself with his hands in Maglor's hair while his slave 
pleasured him with his mouth. Oh, he was flawless. There was no need for Sauron 
to be rough with Maglor, unless he wanted to be, of course. And he wasn't now. 
Maglor took him deep into his throat each time. He always did exactly what 
Sauron wanted. And when it was over, Maglor placed reverential kisses all the 
way up his Master's body and then settled down in his arms. 

If he had been anyone else, Sauron might have felt the need to sleep. But he 
didn't. Instead he turned his attention to Maglor, and his slave responded just 
as he should. Maglor was already hard and hungry for him, for his release, but 
he would have to be much more desperate that this to suit Sauron's purposes. He 
knew that what he would shortly ask Maglor for was almost too much. A little 
encouragement would push him the rest of the way. A little, or a lot. Sauron 
smiled against Maglor's skin. He was going to enjoy this game. 

It was almost as if their roles had been reversed, because Sauron made love to 
Maglor in the same gentle, sweet way. But there was a difference. While Sauron 
had been quiet and relaxed, Maglor was needy and on edge. So few times had the 
dark lord treated him this way that several times he began to speak, uncertain 
of what was happening. Each time Sauron cut short his sentence or question with 
a kiss that stole his words and his breath. 

Sauron too, took his time. He found himself relishing it all, the way Maglor 
moved and moaned at the things he did. And in the next hour or so he laid claim 
to every part of Maglor's body... every part except one. And by the time he 
reached it, his plaything was already begging in wonderfully lost whispers. 
"No," Sauron said, his voice all the warning Maglor could need. He almost kissed 
the sweet, yearning column of flesh. But he didn't. He smiled and licked his 
lips, aware of his elf watching him. But then he only moved back up Maglor's 
body, smiling against the smooth skin again when his prisoner moaned in 
disappointment. The last thing he wanted was to push Maglor over the edge. His 
aim was to get him as close to it as possible. 

Now Maglor was breathing his name. "No," Sauron repeated, enjoying the act of 
denying him, and his plaything actually swore at him in frustration like a bad-
tempered kitten. Sauron allowed him that; he would punish him for it later. But 
for now the dark lord laughed softly, and began to prepare his elf for what was 
to come next. It was nothing so vulgar as applying oil. It was up to Maglor to 
make sure he was ready in that way. No, his preparation was to pull at one of 
his slave's legs so that it was draped over his forearm, and to guide Maglor's 
hand down to touch him. He looked into Maglor's eyes, and thrust lightly into 
his hand, nudging at his entrance. His elf moaned beautifully, and it was then 
that Sauron finally felt a little jealousy. There was no need for it. He knew 
that Maglor and Legolas were bound to take comfort from each other. He had left 
them alone together for that very reason. But still, it was time to remind 
Maglor where his true loyalties lie. 

"Do you want me?" he asked first. 

"More than anything, Hîr nín," Maglor sighed on an outward breath. Sauron 
smiled. 

"More than him?" Sauron demanded, thrusting into his hand again, letting Maglor 
feel his length and girth. 

"Yes!" Maglor cried out, then he whispered again. "Please, Herdir! I *need* 
you." Need? That was better. Sauron began to push into Maglor, but this time in 
contrast to others he was gentle. He let Maglor adjust to him before he made him 
take more, and he watched Maglor's face at the same time. His eyes closed and he 
almost seemed to stop breathing. Usually this meant a 'yes', but this time it 
must be different. Sauron stopped and whispered to his prisoner. 

"No, not yet," Maglor began to cry then, and Sauron kissed his tears away with a 
smile. When he thought his slave could manage he began to move within him again. 
He angled his thrusts to pleasure him, so that Maglor trembled and begged again. 

"Aulendil," he pleaded, but using the name wouldn't help him this time. 

"No," Sauron replied, as firm as Maglor was desperate. He moved slowly, almost 
lazily. 

"I can't, Hîr nín! Please, stop!" Maglor begged suddenly in a panic, more 
concerned with obeying Sauron's will than giving in to his own pleasure, and 
Sauron did stop. But then he held Maglor's face and looked deeply into his eyes. 

"You won't, mûl nín," he warned. "You will wait, just as I say. I think you can 
take some more, yet." And then he moved again, proving his words true when 
Maglor managed to get through it. And he came for the second time deep inside 
his slave a while later. He repeated the command of 'no' even then, and Maglor 
whimpered. 

When he had calmed a few minutes later, and Sauron was still buried deep inside 
him, Maglor spoke again. "Did I not please you, Hîr nín?" he asked softly, still 
shaking, and there was such a note of regret and dismay in his voice that Sauron 
laughed. Again he kissed Maglor. 

"Yes, you always please me," he said, then smiled cruelly. He couldn't help 
himself. "You please me so much that I'll never let you go." He felt his elf 
tighten up a little around him as though he remembered what freedom was, and 
then he relaxed. "Is that what you want to hear, mûl vain nín?" 

"Yes," Maglor replied instantly, and then he seemed to realise that it was the 
truth, because he began to cry again. "Yes, Herdir." 

The gentleness was a welcome change, and in some ways it seemed to accentuate 
his prisoner's helplessness. But then, he had always known it could be like 
this. There would come a time when he could have Maglor precisely how he wanted 
him, all the time. Whether that was violently or gently. But now was not that 
time, and if he allowed his prisoner to become used to this treatment, he would 
be undoing all the work he had put in so far. He had patience. He could wait a 
little longer. Maglor would be his in the end, completely. 

For now though, there were other things to do, and Sauron got up from the bed 
and led Maglor with him. There were two adjoining rooms to this one, and now 
they entered the first. Sauron dressed, then watched Maglor clean himself in the 
small bathroom, and when he was fresh and ready, the dark lord led his slave to 
the second of the rooms that were connected to his. 

He pushed Maglor into the chamber before him. He already knew what was here, but 
he enjoyed hearing Maglor's shocked intake of breath just the same. It wasn't a 
large room, but it was larger than the bedroom. It was bereft of furniture and 
decoration. Indeed, this room was not in use most of the time. Once, when Barad-
Dûr was being built, it had been the room Sauron kept Maglor in, when he had 
wanted the elf close to him. But he doubted that Maglor remembered that now. 

Now all that remained of those times were the torches that burned on the walls, 
and the candelabra that hung from the centre of the ceiling. Sauron smirked; 
maybe his elf did remember that. But none of this was what had shocked Maglor. 
In the centre of the bare stone floor, asleep on a blanket of luxurious furs, 
was a human youth. He was naked and sprawled out as if he owned the place where 
he lay. One of his arms was flung out, and the other rested palm upwards beside 
his face, tangled in his red hair. 

"Herdir?" Maglor began uncertainly. "I don't understand -" 

"Yes, you do," Sauron spoke smoothly over his first protest. Oh, Maglor knew 
very well what this meant, what it was about. Sauron could feel it in the way he 
trembled. But he didn't know everything Sauron wanted of him yet. It was time to 
tell him. 

"Take him," Sauron suggested, speaking into his ear like a devil. "Don't you 
want him? I brought him for us." 

"No..." Maglor shook his head at what Sauron was asking for, but then he 
suddenly cried out. Sauron smiled as he caressed Maglor's erection, knowing that 
he still desperately needed the word. The word that would end it. He began to 
speak. 

"I know what you need, what you want." Maglor sighed and fell back against him. 
"You can't hide it from me, mûl vain nín." Now Maglor mouthed his name over and 
over, asking for permission. Sauron smiled again, and then continued. "And if 
you do this, then it's a 'yes.'" He felt the flesh in his hand harden even more. 
"You do want the 'yes,' don't you?" 

"Yes!" Maglor exclaimed, needing, longing. So beautiful! 

"Then do it," Sauron ordered, and let him go. And as Maglor walked forward, 
Sauron walked around the edges of the room. He would watch first. 

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

Maglor lie down next to the youth and reached out to touch the hair that was so 
much like his. He wanted! Was it such a sin, anyway? The youth awoke even at 
that gentle touch, and immediately tried to get up. Maglor held him gently down 
to the furs, hushing him. The youth grabbed hold of Maglor's shoulders and 
pulled him down, while he looked wildly around him. 

"We were attacked! Orcs!" He looked panicked and irrational for a moment, as if 
he could only see what had happened before he lost consciousness. But then at 
last his eyes cleared, and he looked to Maglor. He wasn't drunk, or drugged - 
but he may as well be. Maglor was well aware of the effect he had - elves would 
always be mysterious and bewitching to humans. But there was more at play than 
that. In the youth's eyes Maglor saw himself reflected, saw Sauron's magic at 
work. Nothing about his appearance had actually changed, but there was a glamour 
on him that made his skin appear all the softer, his hair shining and perfect, 
his eyes clear and bright. 

"It's all right," Maglor began, and the youth looked at him as though he were 
staring at an angel or apparition. He thought he had been rescued! Maglor closed 
his eyes for a moment, sure he couldn't go through with it - but then he 
remembered that Sauron was watching. And when he did this... Maglor almost 
moaned. He needed it so much! He didn't dare look in the direction of the dark 
lord. That would give the game away. He would do whatever Sauron wanted, as 
always, and perhaps he could even make the youth's last hour or so pleasurable. 

"You're safe now," he lied, surprised at how simple it actually was. But then it 
wasn't easy, because the youth looked up at him with such gratitude that Maglor 
felt it as a tight, constrictive pain in his chest. He swallowed. 

"Please," the youth began hesitantly, reaching up to place a gentle hand on 
Maglor's shoulder, as if he was afraid to touch him. "My sister," he said 
uncertainly, but then fear made him persevere. "She was with me. Is she...?" He 
couldn't finish the sentence. The youth's eyes were full of unshed tears, 
desperate to know but not wishing to hear the worst. 

Aware that he had to be convincing, Maglor took the youth's hand from his 
shoulder and laid it over his own heart, looking deeply into his eyes. "Rest 
easy. She is safe and well, and being cared for as we speak." Maglor was certain 
that whoever she was, she was already dead. And such a death as girls and women 
met at the hands of Sauron's orcs was something that could give even him 
nightmares. The youth looked up at him now with a glad smile and a kind of 
touching hope that made Maglor hate himself. 

A single tear fell onto the youth's upturned face. Maglor brought himself under 
control immediately. He couldn't allow the youth to see he was lying - it would 
be a selfish thing to do. And then he did the only thing he could, something he 
wanted, something that would take the youth's mind away from Maglor's tears. 

He leaned down and brushed his lips over the youth's, hearing the startled hitch 
of breath, and feeling the hand in his begin to tremble and pull away slightly. 
Maglor held on tighter, and the youth didn't protest, didn't take the chance to 
ask a question or voice a complaint. Maglor knew what it was like when your 
desires were controlled by another, and he took advantage of it. Maglor kissed 
the youth again, more deeply this time, trying to weave a spell of his own to 
make the youth relax and give in to him. 

Half thankful, and half sorry, Maglor took more when it worked. He led the 
inexperienced youth, teaching him how to touch and savour the feeling of skin 
stretched over muscle, guiding his hands. And he caressed and encouraged for 
himself. Centuries of experience at pleasing a demanding Master had made Maglor 
into an irresistible lover, and soon the chamber was filled with the youth's 
whispers and moans. He was sweet in surrender, and in the midst of their 
lovemaking Maglor almost forgot what would happen afterwards. 

Sauron was a constant dark presence on the edge of his vision. His shadow almost 
reached them where they lay, but Maglor didn't look up once. When the youth was 
lost and desperate, Maglor began to prepare him as best he could. He didn't have 
any oil, and so he made his fingers wet with his saliva and began to play around 
the youth's opening. 

"Please! Stop! I have not..." Maglor hushed him, brushing the hair away from his 
sweat dampened forehead gently. "But I don't know how..." he pleaded in 
discomfort, wide-eyed and frightened. Maglor smiled. 

"Shh... it's all right. I'll teach you. Trust me, pen neth." Maglor made sure 
the youth was accepting and quiet again before he pushed one of his fingers just 
inside. "Relax for me," he coaxed. "I'm not going to harm you, pen neth, I 
promise." The youth hissed and whimpered, but he tried his best to be calm and 
allow Maglor entry. He was so tight! This wasn't going to work. Maglor made a 
decision, and took his hand away from the youth, only to move down and place his 
head between the youth's thighs. 

Now he moaned and sighed again for Maglor when he felt the elf's lips move over 
his hardness. But that wasn't what Maglor needed to do, and he flicked his 
tongue lightly over the length of the youth, and paused to roll the fleshy balls 
underneath around the inside of his mouth, before moving further back. He teased 
the tiny opening with quick swipes of his tongue. Now he was in barely 
remembered territory. 

Playing a little, he began to push into the youth gently with his tongue, just 
enough for encouragement. The youth moaned and pushed against him. That was 
good. He went for more, and soon he was tonguing the youth's opening fully. He 
paid attention to what he was doing, and rubbed his tongue over the sensitive 
flesh just inside the youth, nearly stopping to smile when he heard the young 
one cry out. Now he tried with his finger, and this time it was easier. The 
young one was still very difficult, but he could stretch and prepare him now. He 
began to do so, and it was then he heard the dark lord's voice. 

*Don't make me wait, mûl nín. *

The order made Maglor stop what he was doing, and he moved back up the youth's 
body, removing his fingers so that he could position himself properly. With his 
free hand he turned the young one's head to look at him. 

"I don't want to hurt you, pen neth." He saw the youth's fear and Maglor leaned 
in to kiss him. "You have to relax for me so much," he said in a deep voice, 
when he drew back. "Don't think about what I'm doing, just accept it. It will be 
all right, I promise." Maglor looked into his eyes, and he saw something then 
that made him gasp. He knew! Well, perhaps not the extent of Maglor's lies, but 
he knew Maglor *had* lied, and he knew that he was in some kind of danger. The 
youth shook his head, and Maglor stopped just before he would have breached him. 

"Wait!" He reached up and ran the back of one finger over the line of Maglor's 
cheekbone and jaw. "My name -" Maglor caught the hand and shook his head once, 
firmly. 

"No names. Just let me feel you, know you." With that he finally pushed inside, 
not stopping at first because then it would only be more painful. Only when he 
was completely there did he stop and allow the youth to get used to the 
invasion. 

"Are you all right?" he asked in concern. The youth's eyes were closed, and his 
pain was obvious. Maglor hadn't wanted to hurt him. But then he opened his eyes 
and smiled a little. 

"Yes. I'm all right." Tears stood out clearly in his eyes, but he still smiled, 
giving Maglor what he needed to go on. And he did carry on. He gave the youth a 
couple of light thrusts before he angled the third in such a way as he knew 
would give pleasure. The youth moaned sweetly beneath him, and Maglor nearly 
laughed to see his eyelids flutter closed like that - he knew how that felt. He 
did it again, and again, and again - until the young one almost seemed to melt 
beneath him. He was still tight, but now he had relaxed fully, and he even 
wrapped his legs around Maglor's waist. 

It was all the urging he needed to lose himself, and he did. The body beneath 
him was so warm and inviting, and Maglor found himself forgetting everything 
else. It was as though a spell had been cast on him, and he couldn't stop - 
wouldn't. When the youth came, Maglor only paused and then carried on, and a few 
minutes later he found his own release too at a single word from Sauron. Maglor 
cried out and lost himself completely, almost fainting at the violence of the 
feeling that swept through him. He had been denied so long that it almost wasn't 
pleasant. But then it must have been, because when he came back some moments 
later he heard himself murmuring a 'thank you'. He wondered who he was more 
grateful to. 

But almost as soon as it was over, he wished it wasn't. Because now the shadow 
that had been on the edge of his vision moved. Sauron walked towards them and 
still Maglor didn't look up, trying to pretend to himself that they were 
somewhere else, wishing that they really were safe, that he had been telling the 
truth from the beginning. Not for his sake, but for the sake of the youth who 
had given him such pleasure unselfishly and generously. He would give anything 
to make his lies into truths. 

"Good, mûl nín. Now leave him to me." The youth looked around at the sound of 
that dreadful voice, and Maglor lowered his head for a moment before gently 
pulling out of the youth and rising to his feet. He didn't watch the young one's 
reaction, he simply walked to stand before Sauron and then sank to his knees 
praying that he had something, that he could stop this somehow. 

"Please, Herdir, don't do this. Spare him - he is innocent." Maglor buried his 
face in Sauron's robes, rubbing his cheek against his thighs. In his desperation 
he kissed Sauron through the robes, feeling the heat of his breath passing 
through the material. It was a promise he was making - but did he have promises 
to give? Sauron took whatever he liked from him. But let him have some 
influence, just enough if not to save the youth, then at least to spare him this 
horror. 

"Get up!" Sauron hissed. Maglor looked up into those dark eyes and blanched at 
what he saw there. He rose to his feet without another word and then dropped his 
gaze. 

"Forgive me, Herdir, I am sorry." Sauron lifted his chin and looked at him. 

"You will wait there." Sauron pointed to a corner of the room. "You will watch, 
and you will be silent. You will not move, whatever you see." Now a faint look 
of astonishment flitted over his features. "You will not beg for his life or 
appeal to my mercy," he added. "Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Hîr nín," Maglor said quietly, feeling his heart fall at Sauron's 
displeasure. When the dark lord released him he turned around and he faced the 
youth. He had stood and Maglor saw that he knew exactly whom he faced. From 
behind him Sauron moved Maglor's hair aside and kissed his neck. The youth 
watched - *watched Sauron playing with his hair* - then he looked into Maglor's 
eyes with such burning anger and hatred; his thoughts so potent that Maglor 
could almost hear them. 

//What are you? Why are you on his side? You know what you've done! I don't want 
to die! This is not your place, this is not your death, this is not yours. I 
hate you for this! //

"Go," Sauron whispered to him, and Maglor left them both to stand where Sauron 
directed him. And even though the last thing he wanted to do was watch, he 
couldn't disobey, and he saw the unfolding scene as if in nightmare. 

Sauron simply stood still as the youth backed slowly away from him, and then the 
youth began to speak, loud and clearly into the silence. "My name is Hallas. I 
am from Gondor. I am human. I am twenty years old..." He began to repeat 
himself, his eyes fixed on Sauron, but Maglor knew the words were meant for him. 
What had he done? 

Nothing happened for another moment and then it began. Maglor had seen Sauron 
change before, and at first he thought he was watching the same thing happen. 
But it wasn't quite the same. 

Those burning eyes Maglor had seen before. Yellow. Feral. And this time it 
didn't stop with the eyes. Sauron seemed to grow in size, but then he suddenly 
dropped forward onto his hands as if he was hurt. Maglor almost stepped forward 
then instinctively, to help if he could, but just in time he remembered Sauron's 
order not to move. 

His clothing split open and fell from him; the sound of the tearing fabric was 
somehow terrifying, too loud in the empty room. The skin of his back was only 
visible for an instant before it turned black and a sudden growth of coarse hair 
covered him. The youth still shouted, but now he was hysterical, and he repeated 
the words as if they were a mantra that could save him. But nothing would save 
him. Maglor fought to stay quiet as he watched. But it was nearly impossible. He 
knew what this was. 

Wolf. He knew; it seemed he had known for centuries, but he had never seen it. 
He had heard the word on more than one occasion. Where from he didn't know - it 
was a rumour without origin, without blame. But it had impressed itself on his 
mind over the years. He knew he hadn't heard it from Sauron, and yet he couldn't 
recall a time that he didn't know about this secretly. Most of the time the 
knowledge was hidden even from him. 

The werewolf was fully formed now, and it advanced on the youth in front of 
Maglor's eyes. He couldn't shake the impression that it looked more like a 
giant, black spider than a wolf, but then it wasn't facing him. He looked into 
the eyes of the youth, who had suddenly decided to look at him. The wolf had 
reached him now, and was sniffing around him horribly. Maglor nearly cried out 
when the wolf growled, low and menacing. Because he knew now why Sauron had 
insisted on the seduction. The wolf could smell it. It could smell *him* on the 
youth. On his skin, in his hair, *inside him*. He must smell so strongly of 
Maglor that the wolf would not even look to him. And it didn't... then. 

The attack was so sudden and ferocious that Maglor cried out, but it was lost 
anyway in the screams that burst from the youth. He was brought to the ground 
and Maglor was thankful then that he couldn't see. All he could see were the 
wolf's savage, suggestive movements as it tore into the flesh of its victim - 
the youth that it mistook to be him. It took far too long for the screaming to 
stop, far too long. And Maglor was crying helplessly when it was finally done, 
and death had come and gone. He was so lost in his guilt and pity that he didn't 
immediately register it when the wolf turned and faced him. 

When he did see the darkness in his vision coming towards him he blinked away 
the tears and watched helplessly, his eyes wide open as the wolf approached him. 
He was terrified, yet at the same time he felt incredibly calm. Maglor did not 
fear death. In fact, at the thought that he might soon face the same fate of the 
youth he actually felt relief. Freedom would finally be his. 

Yet the wolf didn't attack him. It sniffed around him, smearing the red blood of 
the youth onto his pale skin, and pushed him back, until he felt the wall behind 
him, and even then it didn't give up. He realised what it was after and he slid 
down the wall so that he was sat with his back to the stone, his arms up by the 
side of his head in surrender. And then the strangest thing happened. The wolf 
lay down by the side of him! It rested its head on his lap and closed its eyes. 
Maglor hardly dared to breathe. But then the bizarre desire to touch it came 
into his mind. Slowly he put one of his hands down until he touched its black 
fur. It was so much softer that he thought! The wolf growled then and Maglor 
almost lifted his hand away, but he couldn't. The compulsion was still there, 
and he obeyed it. 

The wolf quietened and Maglor was trapped beneath it. He stroked the fur of its 
neck for a while, and then his hand fell still. He felt dirty, Hallas' blood all 
over him where the wolf had sniffed at him. He looked over at the body and 
quickly looked away again. There was nothing he needed to see there. He waited, 
he didn't know how long, but it was long enough for him to rest his head against 
the wall and close his eyes. So he didn't see the change, he only felt it. And 
when he opened his eyes again he found himself with his hand in Sauron's hair. 
The dark lord was naked, and his head rested in Maglor's lap. His body was 
stretched out on the floor beside them. Was he asleep? He looked strangely 
vulnerable like this; in all the time Maglor had been his, he had never seen 
this side of Sauron and it shocked him. 

He lifted his hand away from Sauron's black hair, and quick as a snake strike, 
the dark lord reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist. Now he turned his head 
and looked up at Maglor. The same cold smile Maglor knew so well, and straight 
away he knew what Sauron intended. 

"No," he breathed. It wasn't a refusal, just hopeless denial, and Sauron didn't 
bother to correct it. He kissed Maglor's hand though, and when his lips moved to 
the inside of his wrist, Maglor turned away and closed his eyes desperately. He 
felt a change again, and despite knowing how it looked he couldn't help but moan 
when the dark lord drank of his blood. It didn't last long, but it was long 
enough for Maglor to surrender. So that when the bite was over he sighed 
regretfully, only wanting the feeling to stay. 

"Beautiful," Sauron said, and Maglor finally let the tears fall. He couldn't 
help weeping for what he'd done, the part he'd played. What he had seen. And it 
was time to ask again. Sauron sat up beside him to brush his tears away and kiss 
him as if he would steal away his conscience. 

"Please," Maglor began when the kiss was over. Sauron only looked at him. "Kill 
me," he whispered, asking for what he knew was possible now. He did want to die, 
but he knew that more than anything he wanted Sauron to do it. He realised that 
he was envious of the youth. Sickened by his own thoughts, he shut down that 
part of his mind before he could analyse the feeling. But Sauron wanted it, why 
wouldn't he give it to him? 

"You are mine, mûl vain nín." Sauron shook his head, and held Maglor's face in 
his hands possessively. "Some things last forever." 

Maglor moaned, and then Sauron laughed and stood up, pulling Maglor to his feet. 
"Come with me. You may choose your own punishment. I know what it means to you." 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Maglor awoke, he found he was being taken care of. Legolas was washing the 
wounds that didn't hurt so much anymore. How long had he been unconscious? He 
looked around, and then everything came back. He got up from the bed suddenly, 
upsetting the bowl of warm water that the younger elf was using to soak strips 
of material. He noted that the material was pink, and he realised that Legolas 
was using them to soothe Maglor's cuts. Before Legolas could say a word to him 
Maglor shook his head warningly. "Don't! Don't talk to me! I'm so sorry!" He 
almost cried then, but he had cried so many times - it never helped. 

"What is it? You've been asleep for so long I didn't know if you were going to 
wake up. Your wounds have almost healed." The concern in his eyes was too much 
for Maglor and he went to sit with his back against the wall on the other side 
of the room, wincing when the rough stone grazed the sore and broken skin. 
"Maglor...?" 

Resting his head in his hands, Maglor closed his eyes. "Leave me alone. Can't 
you see that I don't want to talk to you?" He sat in silence, and he was 
distantly aware of Legolas stopping Mithedhel from going to him. Maglor raised 
his knees against his chest and folded his arms over them. He huddled into the 
hard stone of the wall as if he was seeking comfort there. He couldn't stop 
himself remembering, and he felt everything all over again. What had he done? 

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

Oh, he remembered the youth, and the part he had played in his death. And in a 
way it had been his own murder he witnessed, whatever Hallas' last words had 
been. Something about the way he couldn't stop thinking about that bothered him. 
It was like a memory that you treasure no matter how awful it is. The idea that 
Sauron *wanted* to kill him... he tried to stop thinking about it, focused on 
Hallas instead, and how he had seduced him at Sauron's command. But he also 
remembered what had come afterwards. His 'punishment.' 

He had wanted one of the orcs or uruk-hai to administer it, and he had in fact 
begged for that, but Sauron insisted, and it bothered him. Why should it bother 
him? It would hurt just as much, be perhaps a little worse this way. Sauron 
could be cruel in a way nobody else could. But still, Maglor wished it wasn't 
him. He had chosen this purely for the physical pain. 

The orcs secured him into position for the punishment. They led him to kneel on 
the floor and then secured his arms out to either side of him with taut chains. 
Now he waited for the first blow to fall, but it seemed that he would have to 
wait a little while yet. Sauron was no doubt ready. The dark lord stood behind 
him - he could hear the swish of the whip as Sauron swung it experimentally 
through the air. Still, the wicked crack made him jump, and that made the chains 
clang and jingle. He felt a slight thrill of fear at being so helpless, and he 
wanted Sauron to erase that too. 

When he had to choose, he had chosen the only thing he could. Something that 
resembled more of a punishment than any of Sauron's sadistic games. Something 
that might have been prescribed by a court for wrongdoing. He knew it would 
hurt. He wanted it to hurt. But he wondered even now if it would be enough to 
erase the image of Hallas from his mind. 

"Before we begin, I would like to hear you tell me what you are being punished 
for." Maglor had almost expected this, and yet for a moment he couldn't answer. 
He hadn't stopped crying, and now his tears ran unchecked down his face. All he 
could envisage was the youth's thankfulness and gratitude in the face of his 
lies. "There are two reasons for me to hurt you, name them to me now." 

"I begged for you to spare his life, Hîr nín." Now Sauron came to kneel behind 
him, and he ran his experienced hands over Maglor soothingly, making him sigh in 
pleasure against his will. It was the last thing he wanted! 

"No. I would never punish you for begging." He paused and Maglor could almost 
see him smiling. "It suits you to be on your knees before me," he said in 
amusement, and then he raised his voice again. "Choose your words more 
carefully." Maglor thought about what he had done, and what exactly had been 
involved. He shivered as Sauron placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder; the touch 
sent a tingle down his spine. He wanted to say no, to beg for the pain to begin, 
but he didn't dare, and then he knew the answer. Maglor cleared his throat. 

"I supposed myself important enough to dissuade you from your desire, Herdir." 
He waited, for Sauron to tell him if he was right, and the dark lord took his 
time before speaking. 

"Yes, that is good enough." He reached out to imitate Maglor's position from 
behind him, and swept his fingers gently over the length of Maglor's arms, back 
into his body and around his waist in a move that made him want to beg for the 
dark lord to take him. "And the other?" Sauron asked. 

Trying to remember, and even trying to think was impossible when Sauron licked 
at his ear like that. Maglor moaned breathlessly, and then begged. "Please, I 
don't know." Sauron said nothing, and only continued his tormenting, nibbling a 
little now, so gently. Maglor couldn't keep it in any longer. "Hîr nín, please 
hurt me!" 

Sauron's amused laughter tickled against his sensitive ear. "We will not begin 
until you have recognised your fault." The torment continued. The dark lord's 
hands left his waist and moved down over the front of his stomach, and then his 
legs, only to scrape his fingernails lightly over the sensitive skin on the 
inside of his thighs. Maglor felt his body swaying, moving back against Sauron 
invitingly. He couldn't help it. And he knew that he would be asking for 
permission soon if this didn't stop. Then he remembered. 

"I swore at you!" How could he have forgotten that? He hoped, despite how much 
he longed for punishment, that Sauron would not inflict a torment like that on 
him for a while. It was strange, because while his body got better at obeying 
Sauron - it never actually felt any easier to Maglor, and sometimes he thought 
he would die of want when Sauron was in the mood to tease him. 

"Yes, you did," Sauron agreed quietly, but he finally stopped teasing, and 
pulled Maglor's head back by his hair. The kiss was more what Maglor had come to 
expect, dominating and leaving him in no doubt about their roles here. Even when 
Sauron didn't hurt him, there was something of brutality in his actions most of 
the time. The dark lord released him, moving his hair aside and over his 
shoulder so that it curled in front of him, exposing the expanse of his back. 
The dark lord stood and stepped back, and suddenly Maglor felt cold. He shivered 
unconsciously in response to the cool air as Sauron began to instruct him. 

"Now. I want you to keep these things in your mind. These are the things I am 
punishing you for. You will ask for every strike, and you will decide when it is 
enough. It that clear?" 

"Yes, Herdir," Maglor said quietly. He took a few seconds longer. And then he 
wetted his lips with his tongue, remembering what he had done. Seeing yet again 
the boy in front of him. When he said the next word he spoke loud and clearly. 

"Begin." It sounded like he was giving an order. But before he had time to 
speculate on it the lash fell. He cried out despite wanting the pain, and the 
chains rattled as he jerked forward convulsively, trying to get away from the 
line of bright agony on his back; the sharp, stinging cut. He waited. It seemed 
to get worse before it got better, unbearable, and Maglor whined helplessly, but 
then he breathed in deeply as the intensity died down a little to be replaced by 
the warmth of his blood, and the dull ache of a bruise. He recognised the feel 
of the whip, and he knew what it looked like. Sauron had many different kinds, 
but he knew this one just as well as the others. It was a long, wicked looking 
leather whip. He could almost see Sauron wielding it behind him. Then, with 
tears in his eyes, he focused his gaze onto a patch of the stone wall in front 
of him. 

"Again," he said clearly, and again the pain came when he asked for it. It 
wasn't easier this time, and he hissed and tried to move forward again. This 
time he spoke before the injury had a chance to become blunt. He asked for his 
punishment over and over, and he felt every single strike. Sauron handled the 
whip fluidly and with devastating precision. The whip was just like him - a 
cruel and dangerous lover. Sometimes the whip almost seemed to caress him, 
wrapping around him lovingly, but the sting it left behind made him cry. He knew 
that Sauron was holding back, that he wasn't feeling the full potential of the 
whip's destructive power. And he surmised, correctly, that it was because Sauron 
was ensuring he was aware enough to ask again. 

Before too much time had passed, Maglor hung limply in his chains. But he wasn't 
still. The touch of the whip made him respond even now, made him almost dance, 
and he obeyed it, helpless to do anything else. He cried, his agony so intense 
that he could no longer see or hear clearly. His world was only pain, and 
eventually he forgot to say the word. He stayed quiet, for longer than ever 
before, and as awareness of his predicament came back, so did the reason for it. 
Maglor thought he must have already spoken and was waiting for the blow to fall. 
But he hadn't. Now Sauron reminded him. 

"Enough?" He couldn't ask for this to stop. So much pain, but it wasn't enough, 
and in his mind Maglor knew it could never be enough. Nothing was going to take 
this away from him. Now that he had a brief respite, he could feel the damage 
the whip had done. His back felt colder than before. That was because it was 
wet, he realised suddenly - wet with his blood. But then he closed his eyes, and 
he saw an image that would never leave him. He spoke. 

"Again." Sauron obliged him. He asked again, and again, and it never became 
easy, but Maglor fell into a kind of horrible rhythm. It carried on, until he 
cried out the word every time he felt the whip against his skin. The pain didn't 
lessen, but the blows seemed to melt into each other until it was all just a 
blur. He even forgot what the word was. Eventually, the whip connected with his 
back and instead of the reflexive shout of 'again,' Maglor cried out, almost 
howling. He sounded like an animal being hurt. All he wanted was freedom, so 
that he could curl up on the floor and let his injuries heal while he slept. 

"Enough?" Sauron asked again, not giving him the time he needed to recover from 
the blows, demanding that he ask, or ask for it to stop. "Speak." Maglor groaned 
and whimpered. In his mind he still saw the youth - it hadn't worked. He knew 
that he could never suffer enough to pay for what he had done. He knew that he 
deserved more. But then he said something that he would both regret and find 
relief in. 

"Enough," he admitted, giving in, and then began to sob. Sauron gave him a few 
moments, and then he began to speak slowly, letting his amused words sink in to 
Maglor's mind. 

"I am gratified that you believe your insults to me were so deserving of 
punishment. Seventy-two strokes. What is fitting for you, clearly should also be 
fitting for Legolas when he is well enough." Maglor gasped. "After all, his 
crimes are far worse than yours." 

*You should have known*, his mind screamed at him. Mentally, Maglor relived 
every single blow, shuddering when he realised that in his desire to be rid of 
his guilt, he had brought such a cruel punishment upon the young prince. "Do you 
have something to say?" Sauron asked knowingly. 

"No, Herdir," Maglor sobbed brokenly. Now, for his selfishness, Legolas would 
pay for his crimes with the boy too. 

"The next time I tell you what to think, and what to consider, you will do as I 
say, won't you?" It was softly spoken, and Maglor answered instantly, realising 
that Sauron had known all along that he had disobeyed. Why hadn't he listened? 

"Yes, Herdir!" he cried out, in contrast to Sauron gentle tones. He was almost 
resentful, accusing, and he hoped with all of his soul that the dark lord 
couldn't hear it. Maglor could almost see that cold smile. 

"Good." 

Now he felt the dark lord kneel behind him again, he could feel that Sauron was 
naked, and he pulled Maglor's hips towards him. He thought he knew what to 
expect, but then one of Sauron's hands closed around his throat, squeezing. This 
act of gentle, quiet menace made him feel more vulnerable than any punishment he 
could have asked for; held like this, his arms still secured away from his 
defenceless body. And then Sauron took him. It was rough and violent, fast and 
brutal, a means to an end rather than an act in itself. The sensation of Sauron 
moving against him, rubbing against his tortured skin was an agony he hadn't 
foreseen, and he cried out. 

Sauron's other hand stroked his member, quickly bringing him to hardness. Maglor 
moaned at that in protest, and as if to quiet him the hand around his throat 
tightened slightly and his air was cut off. He couldn't breathe! Acceptance was 
something he had learnt, and he didn't struggle for a few moments. But when the 
savage domination carried on, and the grip didn't loosen around his throat, he 
couldn't help but fight. But he was still completely helpless, and the chains 
jangled in the sudden silence as he tried to pull his arms in to get the hand 
away from his neck. Maglor knew he was in pain, but for the moment he couldn't 
feel any of it, everything was background compared with the desperate need to 
breathe. 

He struggled violently to free himself, to escape, and he heard Sauron laughing 
quietly into his ear. Felt those soft, sometimes generous lips curved into a 
cruel sneer, and for an instant Maglor wished he could see it. He wanted to see 
Sauron's victory over him and his own death in those dark, laughing eyes. He 
began to feel light-headed, and stars danced in front of him. He started to 
weaken, and his struggles became vain, feeble attempts to move away. When Sauron 
breathed the order into his ear, blackness had begun to creep in, and he was no 
longer aware of what it meant, but his body knew. It was permission to give in, 
and he did. His fight to get air into his lungs ceased at exactly the same time 
as he would have chosen not to breathe anyway. Golden white light filled his 
world as he came helplessly into his Master's hand, and Sauron climaxed too, the 
sudden warmth almost seemed made to soothe the fire of being taken so violently. 
When it was all over, the hand finally left his neck. He was released from his 
chains, and Maglor fell forward onto the floor. 

Maglor lay on the cold stone floor. The world was distant, and silent. 
Everything was over - the cruel grip around his throat, the domination of his 
body, his orgasm, and the pain. He wondered, a little too calmly, why when 
Sauron's hand was gone his body would not obey the command to breathe. He 
acknowledged to himself the way his gaze had fallen and fixed on a certain 
point. A quick flash of himself lying still and useless on the floor, his gaze 
glassy and vacant, came unbidden to his mind. Was this death? Did it matter? He 
waited, for what seemed like forever, and then he breathed. 

The world moved again, but Maglor hardly noticed. In retrospect he would try to 
describe this feeling to himself. He would think that the first breath was like 
water in the desert, that he couldn't get enough of the air, and that it was 
heaven - freedom! But for now all such romantic silliness was far away. Maglor 
was that first breath. It was noisy, whooping; and he sucked at the air forcibly 
rather than breathed it. His lungs expanded to bursting, and he looked at 
nothing. 

Then, as if to teach him not to be greedy, his body suddenly rejected the 
breath, expelling it, and he found himself coughing out all the air he had taken 
in as if he was drowning. He twisted, and raised himself up on one hand, almost 
crawling forward, while he tried to regain equilibrium and a natural rhythm. His 
other hand strayed instinctively to his neck, and he was aware of fingering the 
bruises Sauron had left. 

Walking around, Sauron came to stand before him, and as soon as he had recovered 
enough, and calmed down a little, Maglor kissed his feet. He felt faint, and yet 
at the same time exhilarated. There was more than one reason to be thankful to 
his Master, but Maglor had forgotten what it was. He was alive! That one 
consideration pushed everything else from his mind. He found himself being 
gently lifted up by his upper arms, and at Sauron's encouragement he tried to 
take some of his weight on his feet. 

"Now show me how grateful you are." Maglor's gaze dropped down through sheer 
force of habit, and he let his weight go as if he would fall to his knees, but 
Sauron maintained his grip and held him up. Maglor had seen many demonstrations 
of Sauron's unnatural strength over the length of his captivity, and yet somehow 
the effortless way Sauron could hold his weight always made him feel helpless 
and in awe. Sauron laughed, low and quiet, and corrected him. "No, not that way. 
Not this time." 

Oh... Maglor licked his lips and tentatively reached out his hands to cup 
Sauron's face. He leaned in closer, and just let his lips brush against the dark 
lord's. He did it again, and this time he increased the pressure and opened his 
mouth a little, enough so that he could flick out with his tongue and lick 
lightly at his Master's lips. Sauron gave way before him, and Maglor nervously 
let his tongue enter the dark lord's mouth. Their kiss reminded him of how 
Sauron himself made Maglor feel. Encased in warmth, it could be safety, but he 
knew nothing was further from the truth. Because he wasn't in control of this. 
He was only a servant, as always doing exactly what he had been commanded to do. 
And more than anything he hoped that he could please Sauron. 

He continued the kiss for a little longer, exploring gently, and when Sauron 
sucked lightly on his tongue, Maglor moaned. He had taken his own weight again, 
and now the dark lord's arms closed around him, pulling him closer, but the pain 
of feeling Sauron's hands pressing against the ruined skin of his back made him 
cry out. He broke the kiss. And then with tears in his eyes he said what he 
needed to say. 

"Thank you, Hîr nín," he whispered. It was almost a croak, and he felt pain in 
his throat for speaking. Again he put a hand to his neck, and he looked up into 
Sauron's eyes at the same time. None of it mattered; he still felt that he owed 
a great debt to Sauron for something. The dark lord smiled cruelly. 

"Are you forgetting something?" Was he? Maglor strove to think what he might 
have done wrong, what Sauron might still expect of him, and he came up with 
nothing. But then he did remember something. Maglor moaned as his memories 
returned, but still he couldn't let go of the gladness in his own survival. 
There was no resentment towards Sauron now. He took the responsibility entirely 
upon himself, and it was too much. He looked up at Sauron one last time, and 
then he fell... He knew nothing more. 

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

Now he rested his head in his hands, and he tried to ignore what he had to tell 
Legolas. But he would have to tell him - and soon. Because if he didn't - Sauron 
would. He was stopped from his brooding though when a tiny form clambered into 
his lap, forcing him to let his knees fall flat and making him raise his head to 
look. Mithedhel. He looked into that little face, and Mithedhel spoke. 

"Mag-lor!" he said happily, his green eyes sparkling in pure joy and pride at 
getting it right. Taken aback, Maglor looked to Legolas. The Prince smiled. 

"He began while you were away. I thought -" Legolas stopped, and reconsidered. 
"I was going to tell you." Now Legolas actually blushed and smiled again. "It's 
his first word. I think he missed you." Maglor looked down at Mithedhel again, 
this time in wonder. But then the uruk threw his little arms around Maglor's 
neck in a gesture that had become familiar to them both. 

"Ahh," he crooned soothingly, and Maglor couldn't help but laugh at that. At the 
same time he sobbed, and it was an incongruous sound. Mithedhel clung to him, 
and rested his head against Maglor's chest. "Maglor," he said again, this time 
softly. Maglor held Mithedhel close to him, feeling calmer for it, and kissed 
the top of his head. Then he rose to his feet and carried him back to Legolas. 
He sat down and looked at Mithedhel for a moment longer. 

"Shh," he told the little uruk hai, raising a finger to his lips. Then he looked 
at Legolas. It was time. 

"I have to tell you something," he began... 

Over the next hour or so he told Legolas about Hallas, and the wolf, and the 
punishment. And he stopped Legolas when he would have offered comfort. He didn't 
know the worst. He would. Taking a deep breath, Maglor went on to explain what 
Sauron had said when the punishment was over, and at that Legolas stopped 
reaching out for him. 

"I'm sorry." Maglor shook his head and looked down at Mithedhel again. The 
little uruk smiled at him sunnily, and raised a finger to his lips, shushing 
Maglor in an almost perfect imitation of himself earlier. Maglor smiled despite 
himself. Mithedhel seemed to know to stay quiet though, and he looked up at 
Maglor curiously. 

"I can't give you what you want," Legolas began. 

Maglor hadn't expected anything good to come from his confession, and certainly 
not forgiveness. In fact, if the truth be told he had expected Legolas to blame 
him, or to accuse him. He felt a little cheated by the quietness. "I know. It's 
all right," he murmured, and that seemed to get him what he wanted, because now 
Legolas raised his voice. 

"No, it's not! It's not all right! I know what he did to you - I've had plenty 
of time to look at it!" They looked at each other, and again Maglor wondered how 
long he had been unconscious, how long Legolas had been caring for him. He 
watched those blue eyes fill with tears, and he wished he hadn't said anything. 
Wished he had left it for Sauron to disclose, but that would have been too 
cruel. "Maglor, I'm scared." Now Legolas' voice was quiet again. 

He wanted to reach out and comfort Legolas so much, but he didn't. This was all 
his doing. "I'm so sorry," Maglor let his head hang down. He couldn't stop what 
was happening. None of it. He felt so useless. "But you will -" 

"Survive." Legolas finished the sentence abruptly, and nodded. "That's what I'm 
afraid of." He wiped the tears from his eyes, and there were no new ones. "I 
don't want to be you," he confided quietly. 

There was a sudden ache in his heart. A dull, hollow ache. "What do you mean?" 
he asked helplessly, as if he could deny it, even though he knew, deep inside, 
exactly what Legolas was referring to. 

"You must know. You see it, don't you, what he's done to you?" Maglor shrugged 
indifferently, and moved away from Legolas to sit further up the bed, taking 
Mithedhel with him, resting against the pillows. "What he's made you into," 
Legolas persisted, and Maglor looked away, deliberately ignorant. He didn't want 
to have this conversation. He could feel Legolas staring at him, and he refused 
to acknowledge it. He didn't have to face this. It was none of Legolas' 
business. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Legolas said at last, softly. 

But he was right, and Maglor knew it. He knew he had changed, and he knew there 
was very little of himself left. Even his brothers would barely recognise him 
now. What had happened to the singer, the teller of stories, and the carefree 
spirit he used to own? He didn't know if he had driven it away himself, or if it 
had been taken from him by Sauron. But it didn't matter - it was gone. What was 
done was done, and there was no way to change it, no going back. No one knew 
that better than he did. "It's all right. I deserve it," he admitted quietly. 
"It's true." 

He nearly turned away despite his words when Legolas sat beside him, but then he 
didn't. He allowed the closeness, and he put an arm around the young prince. 
Even though there was no safety in his embrace, it seemed to calm Legolas, and 
he rested his head on Maglor's shoulder, closing his eyes. Mithedhel lay on the 
other side of him, snuggling into his other arm, and that was when his gaze fell 
on 'Athân. The baby was watching Legolas steadily from where he had been left 
sleeping at the foot of the bed, almost staring, and something in the look 
wasn't quite right. He didn't seem like a child or a baby for a moment. He 
looked away from Legolas and at Maglor, and then Maglor could have sworn he saw 
a burning hatred and jealousy in those blue eyes before they became unfocused in 
a perfect imitation of reverie and innocent sleep. He gasped. 

"What is it?" Legolas asked sleepily. Maglor wasn't sure. It must have been his 
imagination. 

"Nothing," he said nervelessly, staring at 'Athân, his heart hammering at what 
he had just seen. Imagination. He was overwrought, and his mind was playing 
tricks. It had happened to him before, many times. "Rest, pen neth." He kissed 
Legolas' hair, and the prince fell into a troubled sleep. Maglor watched them 
all, and he stayed awake with this strange family all around him. It was a 
family that belonged to Sauron, just as he did, and Maglor wondered if any of 
them were really his. They felt like they were, but he began to wonder about 
'Athân in his heart. Had he been imagining it? 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Running through the stone corridors of his home, he felt exhilarated and free. 
He slowed down a little, as a pang of guilt assaulted him for where he was about 
to go. He had promised. Mithedhel wrinkled his brow petulantly in indecision for 
a moment, and although he didn't know it, he looked more like his uruk hai 
parent then than at any other time. He had promised. 

Every time Mithedhel ran away he was sure that it would be the last time. His 
father was always angry with him, and scolded him harshly. But Maglor was always 
so hurt and upset when he found him out. Mithedhel really meant the promise 
Maglor made him give. The promise that he wouldn't run away. Every time he meant 
it. At those times he didn't know why he had run. But then despite wanting to be 
good, and despite wanting Maglor to teach him and to sing to him some more, he 
felt the terrible need to run again. He couldn't help it. Surely Maglor would 
understand and forgive him? 

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

He opened his eyes expecting to see Sauron, but he was disappointed. He was left 
alone more and more often lately, and in some ways he resented it. Not that he 
wanted Sauron to take him here. Not now. He didn't. It felt uncomfortable now 
that he wasn't alone, even if Legolas and the children were enchanted - unable 
to wake up and observe him. But still, Maglor missed his Master in a way that no 
one would ever understand. He felt somehow incomplete without Sauron, without 
being in his company and giving in to his cruelty. 

But he had awoken alone, and he had almost fallen back into reverie before he 
realised there was something wrong. Or, more correctly, someone missing. 
Mithedhel had gone again. Maglor stifled a sigh and left Legolas and 'Athân 
together in the bed. He would have to find the young one again. There would be 
no rest until he had Mithedhel back with him. It was dangerous to be wandering 
in this place. There were worse things that ghosts and uruk hai in the darker 
shadows. Worse things even than vampires and wolves. Sauron had servants that 
were more terrible that an army of restless spirits or a company of war-hungry 
orcs. 

Kissing Legolas' brow, he silently slipped out of the room, hoping to be back 
before Sauron discovered that Maglor was not in his place, waiting and wanting 
to please him. He wondered what his punishment might be for going missing 
unexpectedly, and his mind skittered away from the thought. He couldn't afford 
to think about it, or his fear would keep him from what he had to do. 

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

Mithedhel resumed running wholeheartedly. He was stopped soon though, as he 
rounded a corner and collided with one of the uruk hai. Golrakh growled at him 
and picked him up, shaking him a little. Mithedhel wriggled fearlessly in his 
grasp, and with a growl of his own, sank his small, sharp teeth into Golrakh's 
arm. 

Useless. Golrakh didn't budge, he just held Mithedhel up and away from him. 
Mithedhel frowned again, and began flailing his arms, trying to hit Golrakh's 
face. His arms were just too short, and he suddenly grinned and stopped moving. 
Golrakh eyed him suspiciously and then brought him closer to sniff or to bite. 
At that point Mithedhel hit the uruk hai clear in the eye and Golrakh dropped 
him with a pained grunt. It was a long way to fall and he wasn't fully-grown 
yet, but Mithedhel was gifted with elven balance and he landed on his feet 
easily. 

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

Maglor roamed the familiar corridors like one of Sauron's ghosts. He knew where 
he was; he had learnt much about the layout of the fortress over the centuries, 
at least this part of it. He wasn't comfortable though. He sneaked around 
corners, hoping that he wouldn't be observed by anyone, or anything. They all 
reported to one person, and he would be furious. His clandestine ventures to 
bring Mithedhel back hadn't been discovered yet, and for that he was thankful, 
but he knew that every time he was pushing his luck, and even though the 
fortress wasn't really cold - it never was, the volcano acted as a constant 
source of heat - Maglor shivered. 

The differences between 'Athân and Mithedhel were becoming more and more clear 
as time passed. Although the young elf child had caught up with Mithedhel in the 
last year physically, it had become obvious that they were completely different 
characters. They had both quickly learned to walk, and to talk in short 
sentences. And they were both curious, but only Mithedhel ran away from safety 
to explore. For 'Athân it was something different. 

As soon as the young elf was able to understand, Sauron had taken him away 
without bothering to explain his reasons. The first day it happened, Maglor had 
feared for Legolas. He couldn't be calmed, and Maglor had waited nervously for 
his panic and restlessness to be replaced by quiet uncaring. But then 'Athân was 
returned to him several hours later, before that came to pass, and Maglor had 
been so very relieved. It was selfish really. Probably the best fate Legolas 
could have was to fade. It would be an escape, but Maglor still didn't want to 
be alone, and he couldn't help being glad that the Prince would stay. 

Strangely though, Maglor couldn't seem to get on with 'Athân. He seemed entirely 
devoted to his father, and clung to Legolas almost unhealthily, but then Legolas 
seemed to want the closeness too so Maglor didn't interfere. He wasn't 
interested in learning songs or anything Maglor could teach him, and it soon 
became clear that when Sauron took him away it was to be given his own private 
lessons. 

One day he had returned and greeted Maglor in Quenya, and he had been so 
surprised to hear the old language spoken he hadn't even replied. But then when 
he recovered he knew it wasn't something he wanted to be reminded of anyway, and 
he didn't pursue the conversation. To speak Quenya would be to remember his 
earlier life, and that was something he tried hard to avoid. 

Lost in his thoughts, Maglor walked the empty halls, knowing the first place he 
would look, and hoping that Mithedhel would be there. He didn't notice the 
shadow that followed him, and maybe that was a mercy. 

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

Immediately he was running again, too quickly for Golrakh to catch him, and the 
exhilaration returned when he heard Golrakh thundering down the passage behind 
him. He shrieked in a mixture of fear and joy and opened a side door, 
shouldering his way inside the room. Scaly hands grabbed at him, and Mithedhel 
really began to fight then. 

He bit and kicked and punched, even scratched those who tried to hold him. He 
tasted uruk hai blood in his mouth, and he was hurt in turn. Their claws tore 
his skin, and their teeth drew his blood. Mithedhel hardly felt it. He growled 
and snarled and hissed, and although he was no match for them, they let him 
fight. Eventually though he found himself held down to the floor by Golrakh, who 
had followed him, and when all of his violence was over, he sighed in 
satisfaction, thoroughly and blissfully exhausted at last. The uruk hai chuckled 
around him. 

He grunted a word that he knew in the black speech. A word of greeting, and it 
was echoed all around the room. Mithedhel sighed again happily. He was back. It 
was at times like this that Mithedhel didn't know why he allowed Maglor to take 
him away. He loved being here. It was home. But he knew that by the time Maglor 
arrived he would want to leave. He didn't know why. 

But for now he enjoyed himself, and his life with the uruk hai. He had to climb 
to sit at the wooden table, but that didn't bother him. He was getting bigger 
every day. He remembered a time when Golrakh had needed to lift him so that he 
could sit on the wooden bench. They ate, and Mithedhel was so glad to be with 
them for a meal. Most of what they ate consisted of meaty bones that could be 
animal or human, or even elf sometimes. But it didn't matter to him. It felt 
right to eat like this, to tear the half-cooked flesh from the bones with his 
teeth, letting the blood and juice dribble down his chin. And they drank too, a 
fiery liquid that made Mithedhel want to shout and fight again, and later sleep. 

They all spoke the black speech, and Mithedhel knew some of the words, the ones 
that were important anyway. Usually he could get his point across with a series 
of grunts and blunt gestures, which he enjoyed immensely. While he was here he 
forgot all the things Maglor taught him. The pointless complexities of the elven 
language, the songs, and the numbers. Here everything was simple, and he enjoyed 
it with the simplicity of a child, letting the other side of his nature have its 
freedom. Maglor would never understand, and neither would 'Athân. He loved his 
brother, but he wasn't interested in fighting or drinking. He had tried to 
explain what happened when he needed to get away, and 'Athân seemed to become 
bored with his explanation. Mithedhel shrugged off the memory, and turned his 
attention to what would come next. 'Athân had his own life anyway that Mithedhel 
had no part in. 

Their place was so much bigger than the room he had come from. There was a long 
stretch of it devoted entirely to sleeping. The uruk hai who were off duty 
rested on filthy blankets after they had exhausted themselves with fighting and 
sex. To Mithedhel that was entertainment, and he watched it all with wide eyes. 
They wouldn't let him join in with this, but it was violent and brutal. 
Mithedhel wished he were big enough to be involved. It was so different to what 
he had seen his father and Maglor do when they thought he was asleep. When he 
was big enough he would enjoy it too - it looked almost as good as fighting. 

When Golrakh lie down to rest for a while, Mithedhel went with him. Golrakh 
growled almost tenderly when Mithedhel tried to climb on top of him, and then 
Mithedhel quite suddenly fell asleep half draped over the uruk hai, the drink 
having taken its toll at last. 

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

Taking a deep breath, Maglor strode into the room. It was some distance away 
from their chamber, and it had taken some time to get here. There would be a 
payment demanded for stepping foot in here, and he hoped that it would be worth 
something to have come, that he would find Mithedhel waiting for him. He looked 
around. 

A few of the uruk hai had looked up when he entered, and now those who noticed 
him chuckled nastily, but they weren't surprised to see him. That was a good 
sign. Maglor knew his position here in their domain, and yet he still felt 
superior to them. They were only beasts. He wished he didn't understand why 
Mithedhel came here, but he did. There was something of the beast in him, 
something he occasionally needed to let out, and although Maglor would make him 
promise not to return, he knew it was hopeless. 

Not bothering to hide his disgust at the smell and filth, Maglor let his gaze 
wander around the room, and spotted Mithedhel quite easily. He was asleep with 
the leader, the one who would for a price ensure the silence of his company. 
Sauron would not find out he had been here. They all played a dangerous game. 
And the cause of it all just slept, looking so innocent it hurt Maglor's heart. 

A small crowd gathered around him - as if he would try to escape! Some of them 
really were stupid, but not the leader. One of the lesser uruk's was sent to 
awaken him, and received a fist in the face for his trouble. But then Golrakh 
realised the reason for the disturbance and he grinned at Maglor, almost 
laughing. Maglor just stared back, and waited. 

Careful not to awaken Mithedhel, Golrakh lifted him gently away and put him down 
alone on the blanket they shared. Maglor was glad to see the proof that they 
probably wouldn't hurt him. No, they wouldn't. The danger was that they would 
allow him to leave, and Sauron's other servants would not be so taken by him. 
Maglor's greatest fear was that one day Mithedhel would go missing, and never 
come back. He couldn't face such a thought, but it was there nevertheless, and 
it was almost a certainty. 

Golrakh came to stand in front of him, and Maglor met his gaze. He knew enough 
of the black speech to converse with them, and he did so now. 

"Golrakh," he said with distaste. 

"Back again, elf?" The other uruk hai laughed quietly around him, and Maglor 
didn't drop his gaze. 

"Here only for him," Maglor replied calmly, wishing they didn't have to go 
through this meaningless conversation every single time. 

"You are a stupid elf!" Golrakh insisted, and then waited for the reply he had 
come to expect. 

"Yes," Maglor said quietly, at last feeling the need to look away. 

"Always you come back," the uruk hai captain remarked insinuatingly. 

"Always," Maglor said, not bothering to look up at all now. He just wanted this 
to be over with soon, and before Mithedhel awoke. 

"You must like to taste me, elf." And there it was. The conversation was over, 
and Maglor knew what was expected of him now. There wasn't much that Golrakh 
could take from him without Sauron knowing about it, and not for the first time 
he was grateful for it. 

Golrakh couldn't hurt him, mark his skin, or take him. All those things would be 
too obvious. In fact, Golrakh couldn't do anything to him at all. But there were 
things Maglor could do of his own free will that Sauron would not find out 
about. And this was one. He fell to his knees and closed his eyes for a single 
moment, before opening them and moving forward to take the uruk hai into his 
mouth. 

Once more he was insanely grateful that Golrakh couldn't do anything. He knew 
how dangerous this was. As he licked and sucked and swallowed around the 
hardened flesh, he knew that the uruk hai was barely in control. He imagined 
those claws in his hair, pulling him close again and again, fucking his mouth so 
that he choked, and Maglor moaned as he worked, the fear making him aroused 
against his will. 

Every trick and technique he had learnt he put into practice now, so that it 
would be over sooner. Golrakh just watched him, a low rumbling in his throat 
evidence that Maglor was doing exactly the right things. Swirling his tongue 
around, and then taking Golrakh deep into his throat while he used his tongue to 
rub the underside of the large shaft. Before long he felt the familiar tension 
in Golrakh's body, and he took as much breath as he could before it happened. 
For the only time during the entire act, the uruk hai took hold of Maglor's hair 
and pulled him forward. Gently enough not to leave signs of what had happened, 
but firmly enough that there was no possibility of escape. Maglor didn't fight, 
and Golrakh thrust into his mouth a few times before releasing his seed. Maglor 
swallowed it all, feeling sickened by it, but knowing that it was part of the 
price. 

When it was over, the uruk hai all left him alone without another word, and 
Maglor stay kneeling on the floor for a few moments before he recovered enough 
from the disgust he felt to stand up again. Before him Mithedhel lay alone, 
still asleep. So innocent. Wordlessly, Maglor went to pick him up and take him 
back, not regretting for one moment what he had to do to ensure his safety. In 
his sleep he clung to Maglor and made him smile. As he looked up he caught 
Golrakh's eye, and something passed between them. Something of understanding. 
The uruk hai actually smiled. 

"You will be back again, elf," he said, nodding. It was the first time the uruk 
hai captain had said anything to him afterwards and for a moment Maglor was 
speechless. Then he understood, and he knew it was the truth. 

"Yes," he admitted, and then walked away out of the room, leaving the uruk hai 
alone. When he was walking back, he thought for a moment that a shadow moved 
quickly across the path before him, fleeing from his sight. He stopped in fear, 
but nothing emerged from the darkness, and Maglor breathed again, blaming his 
imagination. He relaxed and then hurried back before he could be discovered. 


After he had made Mithedhel promise to stay where it was safe - again - without 
the slightest hope that it would work, Maglor stayed awake. He sat in silence 
for what was left of the night, even though he knew that Mithedhel would not 
disappear again for a little while. He knew what he waited for, perhaps only so 
that he could reassure himself he hadn't missed it, but the dark lord did not 
visit him. 

The next day began in the same way as the rest. There was nothing unusual. The 
children had stopped feeding from Legolas by now, but they required regular 
meals, and the uruk hai brought in breakfast. There was the usual rebellious 
flinging around of food from Mithedhel, although that wasn't as bad this time. 
He was always a little calmer after his visits to the uruk hai, as if he had got 
something out of his system. 

'Athân was silent, as usual, speaking in quiet, private murmurs to Legolas when 
the other elf brushed his hair. Golrakh came to collect 'Athân, and there wasn't 
even a glance between them, although Mithedhel ran to him and squealed happily 
when the uruk lifted him high into the air. There was nothing strange about any 
of it. Mithedhel of course stayed with them. So they went walking together when 
orcs could be spared to guard them. Not that there was anything to see here. No. 
There was never anything. Mordor was a cruel land, and it wasn't pleasant to be 
out in. But the exercise was good for the body, and the soul - even if the 
scenery left something to be desired. 

Their favourite game was something they were teaching Mithedhel, although he 
didn't truly understand the nature of it. How could he? Maglor walked up behind 
Legolas and covered his eyes. When he drew his hands away Legolas was stood 
still with his eyes closed, smiling slightly, and Maglor began. He whispered a 
vision to the elf Prince - a vision of Valinor from long ago - something he 
remembered. He pulled Legolas down to his knees as he spoke, cushioning the hard 
ground with a blanket they had brought along, creating for him the illusion of a 
meadow. He described the scene down the merest blade of grass, the cool blue of 
the sky reflected in the nearby lake, the slight breeze that drifted in off the 
water. At this point he nodded to Mithedhel, and the little uruk blew lightly 
against Legolas' face, making him giggle. 

When Legolas opened his eyes, he reached out for Maglor without giving reality a 
chance to exist or intrude. Legolas kissed him quickly before the young blond 
warrior rolled them around so that Maglor was trapped beneath him. They paid no 
attention to the orcs. Over time they became merely scenery, and neither of them 
could be taken from the world they shared. For a moment something flashed 
between them, and they grinned at each other, each remembering their nights 
together. 

"Close your eyes," Legolas whispered with a smile, and Maglor obeyed with a glad 
heart. This was a pleasure he never experienced with Sauron. This was 
acceptance. It was easy to give to the Prince like this, so easy, and Maglor 
listened while Legolas whispered to him of the woods. Maglor had never seen the 
Greenwood, and it was almost as good as being there, these fantasies they wove 
for each other. These descriptions were more than just a memory or a recounting. 
They carried a love for what they missed in every word and every expression. 
They were praising what they could no longer see, still just as gladdened by 
those lands and woods than if they had never left. 

Mithedhel curled up beside him, and Maglor held the little one, knowing he was 
just as enchanted by Legolas' words as he was. *His* lies were never this 
beautiful, never this magical, however much sorcery he used. When the words 
became too much, as they always did, Maglor opened his eyes and placed a finger 
over Legolas' lips. Never carry on once the note of longing became too accented, 
too bitter. "Shh," Maglor said. "That was perfect, just there." Legolas smiled a 
little sadly and leaned down to take Maglor's lips in a tender kiss. "I believe 
you," he whispered then, and the young Prince just smiled at him again. 

"Thank you. I believe you too," he said with a little grin. But this was much 
more important than anything they might have said. To be heard and known and 
believed was to be real again. Maglor felt that he was a part of the world, even 
in his enslavement, and he had forgotten what that was like. 

There was a frustrated sigh, and both of them looked at the little uruk then. 
"But it's pretend!" he insisted, his brow wrinkled up in puzzlement. Legolas 
laughed and scooped him up. They dusted themselves off and resumed walking. 

"Then it is time for you to learn about the world, pen neth," said Maglor, with 
a quick glance at Legolas. He would need help with this one. Legolas took his 
hand and everything was fine. When they returned, Maglor began teaching 
Mithedhel what the outside world was like, and his wonder was joyful and yet sad 
to behold. Would he ever see these things? Would any of them see the outside 
world again? 

Some time later, 'Athân came back, and ran immediately to Legolas. It was 
usually the uruk, Golrakh, that brought him back so Maglor didn't bother to look 
up, made a point of it. And it wasn't until he became aware of a presence behind 
him that he realised Sauron had brought 'Athân back this time. He and Mithedhel 
were kneeling on the floor, drawing pictures of flowers and trees with a small 
piece of chalky stone. A split second before he realised what was afoot, Sauron 
had picked Mithedhel up and out of Maglor's reach. He made to stand. 

"Stay where you are," Sauron warned softly, pleasantly. He spoke in Quenya. With 
a sick feeling Maglor obeyed, but he turned around on his knees so that he could 
see what was happening. As he did so he caught 'Athân's eye, and the young elf 
stared back at him knowingly. What was this about? And then Sauron told him. 

"If I was to come here one night to enjoy you, and found you missing..." Maglor 
couldn't breathe. He watched Sauron with Mithedhel in his arms. Mithedhel was 
quiet, but unafraid. He hadn't been this close to Sauron since his birth. The 
dark lord didn't look down at Maglor, and only stared at the little uruk. 
Suddenly Sauron smiled. "Such beautiful eyes!" he exclaimed in Sindarin to no 
one in particular, as if he hadn't just uttered a clear threat. He returned to 
Quenya. 

"Or, let's put it another way. If I believed for one moment that 'this' was more 
important to you than me..." Slowly, Sauron's hand moved, until he held 
Mithedhel's neck in a light grip. The little uruk growled, and the dark lord 
laughed at the noise. "But that would be too foolish, wouldn't it? Even for 
you." He growled back at Mithedhel playfully, the golden-yellow light flaring in 
his eyes, and Mithedhel looked at Sauron now in awe, reaching out to touch his 
neck, to find out where the sound had come from. 

"Yes, Herdir." Maglor couldn't keep still, seeing the danger, and he almost 
touched Sauron's robes, almost held out his arms for Mithedhel to be returned to 
him. "Please," he whispered, his fear making his voice silent when he most 
needed to be heard. 

"Don't reach out," he warned, and Maglor's hands dropped to his sides. "Don't 
speak, don't even breathe wrongly." He paused, still with his hand around 
Mithedhel's neck. "You can't afford to care what happens here, Maglor." He 
understood it, and he wished he didn't. He had to look away! He had to ignore 
it! It was the hardest thing that Maglor had ever done, but he managed because 
it might be the only way to stop this from getting any worse. It seemed like far 
too long before Sauron spoke again, and the relief Maglor felt almost had him 
cry out. But that would have been a terrible mistake. 

"Your love will kill him." Again a pause, and Maglor looked at Legolas. All 
along this exchange had been in Quenya. Had Legolas understood the threat? 
Certainly he knew the danger. At some point Legolas had moved towards them, and 
now he was frozen in place, unable to move. A spell of Sauron's keeping him back 
from his child. "Do you understand?" Sauron asked at last, and it took all the 
will Maglor had not to look up, to make certain that Mithedhel was safe. 

"Yes, Herdir," he said through numbed lips, surprised that he could actually 
speak. 

"Good!" the dark lord said brightly, and then walked over to place Mithedhel in 
Legolas' arms, whereupon he released the Prince, and Legolas backed away as fast 
as he could. Sauron watched them for a moment, and then turned to look at 
Maglor. "Distance will ease temptation," he said, and Maglor knew he had to keep 
the eye contact. "Don't anger me," Sauron warned. From the corner of his eye 
Maglor could see Legolas and the young uruk, but he knew he couldn't afford to 
look. 

"No, I won't, Hîr nín," he said miserably, feeling his loneliness almost as a 
physical thing. He looked into Sauron's eyes, and he knew that whatever little 
joys he might have with this family around him, he was still alone. They weren't 
his. Sauron was all he would be allowed to have. Maglor closed his eyes and let 
his head drop, certain that Sauron was walking away at last, leaving it like 
this. And he was sure it wasn't enough, not anymore. For one instant, despite 
everything, he wished that Legolas had never come and that he was still alone. 

He didn't realise that Sauron hadn't left the room until he felt hands on his 
face and familiar lips covering his. He gave in to the kiss, but he opened his 
eyes, and he saw that Sauron had come to kneel before him. He closed his eyes 
again and despite what had just happened he couldn't help responding to it. 
Sauron was much more to him than a threatening presence. He had been everything 
to Maglor before Legolas had appeared, and it couldn't easily be thrown aside. 
The length of time he hadn't been alone was barely the blink of an eye, and 
after everything he had gone through with only Sauron as a witness, Maglor 
didn't know if he wanted to let it go. He didn't know if he could. 

The one great constant in Maglor's existence was Sauron. He was so much more to 
Maglor than Legolas could understand. Even if Legolas' coming had heralded a 
period of clear sanity, there was no escaping this destructive love and desire. 
It burned in him still and it was impossible to ignore. He was nothing more than 
a puppet. Not only did Sauron know the right strings to pull; he also had a hand 
in making them. And in the face of his fear for Mithedhel, and the terrible 
danger he felt for the little uruk, Maglor turned to one thing. To the one 
constant in his existence. He turned to Sauron. And just as at every other time 
when Maglor had needed him the most, Sauron was there, waiting. 

By the time Sauron left, Maglor had almost forgotten what he had come for. And 
then he looked around, and it all came back. There was nothing he wanted more 
than to go to Mithedhel and make sure he was all right. But he couldn't, and 
Legolas looked on him with distrust now, anyway. Distance would ease temptation. 
It was right. And Maglor began to distance himself from them. But someone 
smiled. 'Athân. He sat and he smiled at Maglor when Legolas couldn't see him - 
and it chilled Maglor's blood to see it. Now he knew how Sauron had found out.



CHAPTER NINETEEN

Over the next few weeks, Sauron's threat was never far from Maglor's mind. He 
didn't see the dark lord again in all that time - but he did see 'Athân - and 
Maglor began to pay attention to the child, watching for another instance where 
the mask of innocence would slip. It didn't happen. But Maglor didn't relax. 

Shunning company from Legolas or Mithedhel, Maglor spent long periods of time 
alone, staring at nothing. The little uruk didn't understand, of course, and 
more than once Legolas had to scold him for bothering Maglor with his endless 
questions. The young one was hurt by his sudden coldness, and sometimes there 
was nothing Maglor wanted to do more than take Mithedhel in his arms and comfort 
him. But he couldn't. 

It was a lonely time. Not only for him, but also for the Prince. They hadn't 
been warned away from each other, but during the day they had no privacy without 
Mithedhel. Their nights became sad affairs, desperately seeking warmth and 
understanding from each other instead of the slow lovemaking they had known 
before. 

At first Legolas had been adamant that he would go after Mithedhel himself when 
it came to that. He would go to the uruk hai and bring him back. But Maglor had 
become distraught at his words, convinced he would lose them both and be 
completely alone once more, until Legolas had relented and half-heartedly 
promised to stay. Although he was beginning to believe that 'Athân was not what 
he seemed, Maglor didn't mention his suspicions, and now he found that a help. 
Maglor used him on the Prince too, asking Legolas what it would mean to the 
young elf if he lost his brother and father at the same time. That, at last, 
seemed to have an effect on Legolas, and he sighed sadly, capitulating. 

But sooner or later, it had to happen, and when it did Maglor was torn between 
following his heart, and obeying Sauron's orders. As usual he awoke to find 
Mithedhel missing. The little uruk never went missing in the daytime; he and 
Legolas watched him too closely for that. At first, despite knowing it was 
impossible, Maglor had tried to stay awake, to keep an eye on the young one. 
After a week or two, he began falling asleep without meaning to, and he cursed 
himself now for falling asleep this time. 

His instincts screamed at him to find Mithedhel and bring him back. He knew the 
little uruk would have gone to Golrakh, and for an instant he was sorry that he 
had convinced Legolas not to go after him. Maglor considered waking the Prince 
up, but then didn't. Maglor hoped and prayed that Mithedhel had got there 
safely. But what would happen when he had enough of being there too and Maglor 
hadn't arrived to take him back? Would he disappear? Would Golrakh allow 
Mithedhel to leave them without an escort? 

Questions raised themselves over and over in his mind, and his fear for 
Mithedhel was such that he was oblivious to everything else. But through it all 
he didn't move. He knew Sauron's threat was real - and what would it mean if he 
saved Mithedhel from something that *might* happen, only to lose him to 
something that would *definitely* happen as a result of his disobedience? He 
looked to 'Athân. He seemed to be asleep, but Maglor knew he couldn't risk it, 
and with a weary, worried sigh, Maglor fell back onto the pillows. At least now 
he wouldn't sleep, he thought bitterly. 

Looking around now that he had made the decision, he realised he wasn't alone. A 
large shadow stood just inside the door watching him, and Maglor was suddenly so 
glad that he hadn't moved from the bed he almost cried out. 

Sauron came closer, and at a word from him, a sconce on the wall flared to life, 
throwing its light over his features. He was dressed, and he came to sit on the 
bed beside Maglor. Sauron didn't say a word, but Maglor could see that the dark 
lord knew of his internal struggle. A faint smile was on his lips, and as always 
he looked as though he were amused at the thought of Maglor's suffering, but he 
didn't comment on it, and for all that Maglor found himself strangely 
disappointed. It wasn't as if his Master would say anything to ease him. Rather 
the opposite, in fact. But still, he missed the acknowledgement. Instead, Sauron 
gave him an order. 

"Turn over." It was impossible for Maglor to judge what kind of mood Sauron was 
in from his voice. Not that it would make much difference to him, anyway. He 
complied immediately, without question and without resentment. This was his 
place. Maglor didn't even think about it anymore. 

He lay face down on the bed with his face buried in his hands, waiting for what 
was to come next. He was aware that Sauron moved slightly, then he felt the dark 
lord's hand on the back of his head. Using the palm of his hand, he slowly moved 
his hand down, the firm pressure and warmth moving over Maglor's shoulders and 
back, over his buttocks and the back of his legs. He knew it should be demeaning 
to be touched like this. After all, he was being petted. And Sauron surely did 
it purposefully. But he simply couldn't help himself. Maglor sighed. When the 
hand returned to his hair he moved slightly into the touch, eager to feel it 
again, and he heard Sauron laugh quietly. 

By the time Sauron had repeated the action another two or three times, Maglor 
was moaning for his Master's attention. It felt so good! He couldn't hate 
Sauron's touch. And to be caressed like this didn't feel sexual at all; it felt 
comforting and relaxing. When Sauron stopped Maglor almost whimpered, and he 
turned his head lazily as Sauron stood up. He rested his head on his arms and 
just watched while Sauron undressed. He didn't move. Sauron hadn't told him to 
move, and so he waited. 

He looked away again when Sauron returned to the bed. This time the dark lord 
didn't sit alongside him, but moved to cover the length of his body. Maglor 
parted his legs to give room and consciously relaxed, not expecting anything 
else by way of preparation, and he was right. The sudden penetration took his 
breath away though, as always, and as always there was still pain despite 
Maglor's careful preparation with oil. He expected the feeling to fade, but it 
didn't. Sauron took him in such a way that he felt the burning every time. He 
would pull out slowly, almost teasing, so that Maglor moaned into the pillows, 
then suddenly thrust in so that he cried out. Instinctively, Maglor moved 
forward slightly, away from the intrusion, and Sauron took hold of his shoulders 
firmly and pulled him back to his original place. 

"Stay," he commanded, just as he would an animal, and Maglor knew he would obey. 
He pushed back to meet his Master, trying not to let the strength of the thrusts 
push him forward on the bed. Maglor simultaneously loved and hated Sauron to 
take him this way. His larger form was somehow smothering like this, and it 
almost made Maglor feel a kind of claustrophobia. But at the same time, 
something about his weight was comforting. Sauron's skin felt warm against his 
back, and somehow he felt less vulnerable, less exposed. 

The dark lord reached forward so that he could grasp Maglor hands, and they 
stayed this way for a while. The rhythm settled down, and Maglor found it less 
uncomfortable. He wasn't told to be quiet either, so he moaned without abandon, 
as always the simple act of being taken by his Master making him hard, and he 
felt his erection rubbing against the bedclothes in time with Sauron's thrusts. 

After a while, it didn't seem to be enough for Sauron, and he pushed deep inside 
Maglor before putting an arm around his waist and pulling him up so that he was 
on his knees before Sauron. At least, he was nearly on his knees. The dark lord 
had pulled Maglor back against his chest at the same time so that he held 
Maglor's weight with that one arm. He could almost take his own weight, but not 
quite. Maglor let his head fall back, closing his eyes, aware of his hair 
cascading over Sauron's shoulder. He let his own hands drop and take hold of 
Sauron's arm around his waist just as the dark lord began to take him again. 
With his weight like this, Maglor had no control whatsoever, and his cries were 
almost whimpers. 

Sauron gently brushed Maglor's hair aside with his free hand, then leaned in 
close, his breath hot and ragged over the sensitive skin of his neck. Sauron 
took hold of one of his slave's hands and led it down so that he held his own 
hardness in his grip. What he wanted was obvious, and Maglor obeyed him in this 
too, beginning to move his hand without Sauron's encouragement. He moaned 
desperately now, needing to let out what was happening to him in one way or 
another. 

"Louder," Sauron whispered in his ear quietly, and it was easy to comply. But 
then he realised that being told to make a noise was different to being allowed. 
It seemed that his cries only made it more difficult to hold back, and it wasn't 
long before he was begging. 

"P-Please... Aulendil..." He didn't need to beg more than once. Sauron chuckled 
into his ear, still keeping up the fast pace for a moment longer, before he 
stopped and whispered. 

"Anytime, mûl vain nín." Maglor came a few seconds afterwards, somehow unable to 
help watching himself spill all over the bed before him. He felt strangely 
detached from his own orgasm, even though it was his own hand doing the work. 
When it was over Sauron let him down gently so that Maglor took his own weight 
again. Then he pushed Maglor forward and down, so that he ended up on his knees 
with his face pushed down into the pillows. After that Sauron began moving 
again, and now it was a fast, purposeful rhythm. 

For the first time, Maglor truly felt he was being used. His Master was hard and 
merciless inside him, and Maglor's early satisfaction only made him want to 
plead for Sauron to be careful. He tensed up automatically whenever Sauron 
brushed against the sensitive gland inside him, the stimulation feeling 
uncomfortable now. In response his Master hit that same spot over and over, 
moaning when Maglor's body tensed up repeatedly around him. After some minutes 
spent using Maglor this way, Sauron came, and with that he pushed Maglor down to 
the bed completely so that they were in the same position they had started in. 

Sauron said nothing, he just lay on Maglor, almost crushing the elf beneath him. 
Then he pulled out so suddenly that Maglor hissed and buried his face in the 
pillows again. He moved away, and Maglor was sure it was over until he felt the 
heat of Sauron's palm on his hair again. Again the hand traversed the length of 
his body, while he shivered beneath it, realising that he was a pet of sorts to 
Sauron. Still, he couldn't help but be soothed by it. 

"Thank you, Herdir," he said softly. 

"Shh..." The dark lord managed to be comforting like this, and Maglor cried for 
his loss of self. He needed something to replace what was missing, and as always 
he received it. "Beautiful," Sauron whispered, and the word made everything all 
right, stole away his tears. He was where he should be, and he had done well. He 
had pleased his Master. This was all he ever needed. The pain and discomfort 
were only objects on the way to this gentleness. This soft touch and quiet word 
that was almost kindness, and Maglor was more grateful for this than for his 
release. 

"Tell me." It wasn't a question. It was a command, a demand to know what he was 
feeling, and where he was. Maglor answered honestly as always. 

"I love." He didn't say 'I love you;' it wasn't that kind of love. This was 
dark, destructive, and unwholesome. There was nothing for free here, and love 
shouldn't exist with him. But it did. It was different, but it was there, and it 
seemed to be enough for Sauron. 

"Show me." Although Maglor would always do what Sauron wanted, there were times 
when his orders made Maglor's heart sing in the same way a kiss from a lover 
might have gladdened him before he came here. There were times when to do his 
will made his soul sigh in the same way that thankfulness for life and Arda gave 
him peace before. And this was one of those times. Without even thinking about 
it, Maglor grabbed at Sauron's wrist. He turned over on the bed and looked into 
his Master's eyes while he reverentially kissed his palm, and then the inside of 
his wrist. 

"Meleth nín..." The words were sighed rather than spoken. Maglor sat up and 
wrapped his arms around the dark lord's neck. Encouraged by Sauron's silence, he 
buried his face in the dark lord's hair for a moment, inhaling deeply. 

"Hîr nín..." Another breath, and then with his eyes wide open, Maglor turned his 
head slightly and brushed their lips together. It was a brief kiss, all the more 
meaningful for it's seeming innocence. 

"Herdir nín," he said at the last against the dark lord's lips, and then pulled 
back a little. During this display Sauron had been silent and just watched him, 
allowed him to do what he would. Now for the first time he saw how coldly 
Sauron's eyes glittered in the small amount of light that came from the torch on 
the wall, and Maglor trembled. 

"Tell me," he demanded again. 

"I fear," Maglor replied in the manner of a confession, wanting to look away 
from that cold glare but unable to. 

"Show me." And then Sauron was kissing him deeply. Maglor surrendered 
gracefully, leaning back a little and finding himself supported by Sauron's arm. 
He trembled at this reminder of Sauron's unnatural strength, and whimpered into 
the kiss when he felt Sauron's other hand caress his neck as a reminder of what 
he could do if he wished. Maglor didn't forget that his Master had more than one 
identity. Sauron plundered Maglor's mouth for a time, seeming to enjoy his 
slave's trembling and submissive behaviour. When the dark lord ended the kiss, 
his hand moved down over the front of Maglor's exposed body slowly, pausing to 
circle a nipple with his thumb, rubbing in the seed that his skin had picked up 
from the sheets, and watching for his slave's reaction. The hand moved lower 
still. With the fear, Maglor had become aroused again, and he gasped when 
Sauron's hand closed around his erection. He pulled at Maglor's hardened member 
slightly, just teasing, and looked into his eyes. 

"And now?" he asked. 

"I obey," Maglor answered without hesitation. Sauron smiled then at last, and 
Maglor closed his eyes to shut out the sight as the hand around him began to 
stroke him more vigorously. 

"That's right," Sauron said while he continued to pleasure his slave. But this 
wasn't really pleasure. It was a test. And when Maglor thought he must lose all 
control, he found that for as long as he didn't have the word, release was 
impossible and he moaned not in pleasure, but almost in pain. Finally, Sauron's 
hand stopped moving, although it didn't leave him. 

"Now," he commanded expectantly, and he wasn't disappointed. Without any further 
encouragement, Maglor climaxed for the second time in his Master's hand. When he 
was finished, Sauron lay Maglor back down on the bed, and wiped the seed from 
his hand in a diagonal line over his slave's chest and belly. 

"Thank you, Herdir." He said what was expected of him, and Sauron smirked at the 
sight of him, before dressing and beginning to walk away. He turned at the door. 

"Sleep." It was more than a suggestion, and Maglor stared at his Master for the 
last few moments of consciousness, before he fell into a deep and restful sleep. 

Despite the magical sleep, Maglor awoke long before Legolas and 'Athân, and once 
he had cleaned himself and the bed, he waited for the day to begin, hoping that 
Mithedhel would be brought back to them when Golrakh came to collect 'Athân. 

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

When Legolas awoke, Maglor told him of Mithedhel's disappearance, and it was 
only then that he realised his mistake. Sickened with his own worry, he hadn't 
even thought about how Legolas would react. Oh, he had known Legolas would be 
worried and upset, as much as he was, but he had been blind to exactly what it 
would mean. 

"Why didn't you wake me?" Legolas demanded, as he paced the small room they 
shared. He would occasionally walk to the door, obviously considering venturing 
out into the fortress despite the dangers. And Maglor didn't know how to calm 
him. Especially since it seemed he had made a mistake by letting him sleep. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. But you couldn't do anything for him, Legolas." 
Maglor felt frozen in place when the blond prince whirled on him and for the 
first time he realised that Legolas was elven royalty. There was something cold 
about his eyes now. 

"And so you take it upon yourself to decide if I should or shouldn't know 
straight away? You are mistaken, Maglor! It is my right to know." He glared for 
a while longer, but then his conviction seemed to falter and his eyes filled 
with tears when he looked at the bed and saw only one child lying there. "He is 
my son," Legolas whispered then, seemingly to himself, and fell to his knees 
beside the bed. 

It seemed like the wrong thing to do, to watch the young one cry for his lost 
son, but Maglor knew his comfort would not be accepted. He had certainly made a 
mistake by not waking Legolas up at the first opportunity. Of course he would 
want to know, even if there was nothing he could do. Maglor blamed himself, but 
then he told himself that he hadn't been thinking clearly. Mithedhel's 
disappearance was not his fault. Thinking that, Maglor silently busied himself 
with other things, keeping calm, still hoping that the morning would bring the 
young uruk back to them. He couldn't begin to consider any other possibility. 

In comparison Legolas was short-tempered all morning. His worry and his fear 
were never far from his face, and it showed up in his treatment of 'Athân. He 
cleaned and dressed the youngster in a shorter space of time than usual after 
breakfast, as if he was hurrying the day along. When it came to combing 'Athân's 
hair, Legolas actually hurt the young elf, and he protested, only to be told off 
by his father. It was only by chance that Maglor heard the whispered insult. He 
had decided not to get in Legolas' way. But the sound of Quenya caught his 
attention, and he looked towards them. 

"Stupid elf!" It must have been 'Athân. Legolas didn't know Quenya, and he saw 
that it was indeed the child. He was stood in front of Legolas, out of sight of 
his father's eyes, and the look on his face was knowing, and chilling. 

"What are *you* looking at?" he asked Maglor, sneering. The comment had been 
directed at Legolas then. Probably for pulling his hair with the comb. 

"How dare you speak of your father like that!" Maglor replied, giving in and 
speaking the old language at last. "Show more respect!" 'Athân only smiled 
coldly - the inanimate smile of a doll - and Maglor suppressed a shiver as the 
room almost seemed to darken, throwing 'Athân into stark contrast, as if he was 
the only real thing left. 

"Oh, but I *do* respect my father." It was impossible to mistake his meaning, 
and suddenly 'Athân didn't seem like a child at all. At least, not in spirit. 
With his child's voice his next words almost didn't make sense to Maglor. And 
when he did catch the meaning, he wished he hadn't. "Not nearly as much as you 
do, though." 

They stared at each other. The room darkened still further, and Maglor felt 
power slipping away from him. Power over a child. This was ridiculous! "Be 
quiet!" he insisted sternly, but 'Athân wasn't even nearly done. 

The humourless grin was still there, as if 'Athân was a puppet of sorts, but his 
next words put paid to that idea. 'Athân asked the questions with a clear and 
sincere desire for knowledge. But these were not a child's questions. "Slave. 
What does it feel like? Do you really like it?" Maglor involuntarily took a step 
backwards. He shook his head, as if the action would make 'Athân's words go 
away. Surely the child was not conspiring with Sauron in this? But he was. "He 
lets me stay awake sometimes. You know... so that I can watch? He's right about 
you, too. You're very obedient." Now Maglor did shiver. Something about all this 
was so very wrong, and disturbing. It was an insult to the form of the elf child 
who stood before him. 

"What are you?" he breathed. The question being the only reply he could give. 
'Athân laughed - and his laugh was as innocent and childlike as ever. 

"I'm an elf!" But something in his eyes still wasn't right. Something in there 
seemed to know too much, was too old. 

"You know what I mean!" Maglor almost shouted it, desperate to make all this 
stop. It had seemed up until now that the rest of the world had ceased to exist, 
and there were only 'Athân and himself still here, and still talking. Now 
everything else came back with a rush and Maglor found himself bewildered by the 
light and the noise. 

"What is it?" Legolas demanded impatiently. "What are you both talking about?" 
He looked to Maglor, and maybe he saw the fear, or maybe he just saw someone he 
still didn't want to talk to. Maglor stared back at Legolas helplessly and shook 
his head. 

"He..." Maglor gestured to the child. "He's not what you think, Legolas!" he 
managed to gasp out. He continued to look at the Prince, but he was horribly 
conscious of the little mouth curving upwards in a cold, cruel smile. His gaze 
was drawn back down to 'Athân and he couldn't stop it. He didn't want to see any 
more, but it seemed it wasn't over yet. 

"What am I?" 'Athân whispered, still speaking Quenya. "I am a reminder. I am a 
watcher. Be careful, mólinya." And Maglor could see Sauron's dark presence 
staring out of those blue eyes as clearly as if he was in the room. The sheer 
insult of using the child this way made him uncharacteristically angry. 

"Stop it!" he shouted. "I don't believe this! It's not real!" 'Athân laughed 
silently, and then turned toward Legolas, burying his face in the other elf's 
chest, still shaking with his laughter in an uncanny imitation of tears. 

"What did you say to him?" Legolas asked in suspicion at 'Athân seeming upset. 
He held his child close, and Maglor didn't know how to say it. 

"Me?" he said disbelievingly, certain that Legolas couldn't have failed to feel 
the menace and sheer evil in the room, even if he didn't understand the words. 
"You don't understand, Legolas..." Something occurred to Maglor then, and it was 
a thought that made him shudder. When he spoke the words he had the feeling 
there was something else he was trying to say, something he would understand if 
he knew more, if he had a clearer view. "*He is his father's son.*" 

Legolas stared at him and then sighed and shook his head. "Leave us alone." 

Leave him alone? With that? Maglor faced his fear and drew nearer, reaching past 
the hateful child to take hold of Legolas' hand. "Please! Don't be like this. 
Don't push me away. Not now." He should have put a stop to it before this. He 
should have heeded his intuition much earlier, and stopped the unnatural 
closeness between Legolas and 'Athân, because Maglor suddenly saw that it could 
be nothing but bad for the young one. What would it do to him when he *did* see 
what 'Athân really was? 

"I don't want to talk to you." Legolas said, and he looked hurt then. "It's not 
me who has been doing the pushing away." Maglor felt hurt too, remembering their 
days that had turned so silent and coldly real. Legolas continued. "I have 
wanted you, when I was lonely. But I was wrong." 

How could he say such a thing? Maglor had been keeping them all safe. It had 
been for their sake. "Please, Legolas," he began in a low voice, almost 
unwilling to talk of such things in front of 'Athân, although it was obvious now 
he understood too much. "You know why I have to -" 

"Yes!" Legolas snapped, and then for a moment Maglor saw compassion in his eyes. 
But he also saw disbelief. Legolas thought he was losing his hold on reality. He 
watched as the Prince tightened his embrace around 'Athân, rocking him slightly, 
and he had to hold back from tearing the child from Legolas' arms to show him. 
Maglor had a strong feeling that such an action would only prove Legolas right. 
He couldn't win here. He never won. It was a lesson he had learnt more than 
once, but it was bitter to see it applied to others; when there was more at 
stake than just himself. "Just leave us alone," Legolas said quietly but firmly. 
"You've done enough." 


CHAPTER TWENTY

They stayed in uncomfortable silence. Maglor sat on the floor and rested his 
head against the wall, while Legolas busied himself with 'Athân, and there was 
nothing he could do about it. He wondered how long it could last. Sooner or 
later the child would hurt Legolas - Maglor was certain of it. Would Legolas 
fade? He kept turning these thoughts over and over in his mind until the door 
was opened, and Golrakh stood waiting for 'Athân. But then he stepped aside, and 
a small figure came rushing into the room and flung itself at Maglor. Stunned, 
he could do nothing but catch Mithedhel. He was safe! And he was back! Maglor 
thanked all the Valar he could remember, and all of Sauron's warnings fled from 
his mind as he held the young uruk close to him. 

"Maglor!" Mithedhel exclaimed and returned the embrace wholeheartedly. Then he 
looked around. "Hello, Ada!" he said as a seeming afterthought. Legolas was 
staring as if he couldn't believe his eyes - and then he smiled in relief. 

Mithedhel's words came out in a rush as though he had been waiting to speak them 
for hours. "Where were you? Why didn't you come? I was so bored!" He frowned at 
Maglor accusingly, as if he were responsible for the lack of entertainment. "I 
need to know some things," then he quietened his voice, but not enough, "and 
Golrakh is stupid!" Maglor caught the surprised look of the uruk hai and 
couldn't stop himself from laughing. 

"What things?" he asked indulgently, as he checked that Mithedhel was all right. 
He wrinkled his nose a little when he realised that Mithedhel had been drinking 
again. He reeked of it! 

The little uruk gave Maglor the most serious look he could muster. "Why do 
dreams lie to you?" Maglor only smiled mysteriously. 

"Some would say they are telling you the truth." Mithedhel raised his eyebrows 
in disbelief, and Maglor found himself giggling again. 

"No." He shook his head. "I'm not big yet," he said regretfully, stretching out 
his arm as if to check the length of it. Then he looked at Maglor again. 

"Why can't I see colour in the dark?" He didn't even pause for the answer. "Why 
have I got green eyes?" 

"Ah, that is because your grandfather has green eyes." At that Mithedhel 
actually nodded sagely, as if the knowledge Maglor had given him then was 
wisdom. Maglor shook his head. Mithedhel leaned in close to whisper to his 
teacher, and this time he was quiet. The misplaced politeness made Maglor smile 
again. 

"Why does Golrakh smell?" he asked. Maglor looked up and met the uruk hai's gaze 
with a barely perceptible nod of thanks. The uruk looked back at him for a 
moment and then smiled at Mithedhel with too many teeth. 

"He drinks too much..." Maglor whispered back meaningfully. "Amongst other 
things." Unfortunately, Mithedhel completely ignored the hint. 

"Why didn't you come to get me?" he asked then, looking genuinely puzzled, and 
Maglor sighed. 

"I can't follow you anymore, pen neth. I am forbidden." 

"Forbidden?" Mithedhel echoed. 

"I'm not allowed," Maglor explained, and then his gaze fell on 'Athân. He and 
Golrakh had still not left, and quite suddenly he felt he was putting Mithedhel 
in danger by talking with him like this. He stood up with Mithedhel in his arms. 

"So?" asked Mithedhel, plainly uncaring whether it was allowed or not. 

"So..." Maglor said simply, carrying the young uruk over to his father. Legolas 
reached out his arms to take his son, and Mithedhel began to struggle. 

"No!" he shouted. "I missed you, Maglor. I thought you would be happy to see 
me!" His brow wrinkled the way it always did when he was upset, and Maglor 
looked away, forced himself to look away. 

"I am, pen neth," he said. "I really am. But I can't be..." Mithedhel began to 
cry. Cried for him, but he couldn't do anything about this either, and Maglor 
began to wish he was anywhere else. That Sauron played with him, he could live 
with - and did. But that he played with the children was unbearable. Maglor 
couldn't watch, and yet he couldn't do anything else. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
It had been too easy to escape Golrakh. The other uruk hai who were awake didn't 
keep a close enough watch, and in all the confusion and noise, it was easy for 
him to leave. A few months had passed since the first time Maglor hadn't come to 
get him from the uruk hai. At first he had tried to stay put - but it was so 
boring! Maglor wouldn't even teach him anymore, and all his father was concerned 
about was 'Athân. Not that he minded. His brother was not like him. And besides, 
there were times he just couldn't stay. Times when he had to fight and play. And 
at those times there was one place he needed to be. 

So he had begun to creep off at night again. 'Athân asked him why he did it, but 
as much as Mithedhel tried to explain, his brother never really understood. When 
he realised that his brother would still run away, 'Athân had sighed and 
explained to him about the kinds of dangers out in the fortress, and Mithedhel 
had listened carefully. He knew to ignore the whispers of the ghosts, to flee 
from any shadows that moved, and to keep out of Sauron's sight should he see 
him. There were other things too, but none of them were near him now. 'Athân had 
taught him to recognise them. He was alone here. 

Sometimes all he wanted to do was explore, and that need had become greater just 
lately. The world was too small for him; he couldn't be kept in! He wouldn't! 
Golrakh was just as bad as his father was sometimes. He tried to keep him close 
until he took him back to their room in the morning. It annoyed Mithedhel no 
end, who thought that it was likely no one in this entire place understood him. 
He remembered Maglor telling him about trees. Perhaps if he got out of here he 
could see one. Would it be ugly? Maglor had said they were pretty, but also 
green. How could anything that big and green be pretty? 

For now, just exploring was enough for him though, and in his mind he began to 
map out the parts of the vast fortress he had seen. Soon though, the corridor he 
was going down began to look boring. There were nondescript doors set into each 
side. All of them were locked. Except for one at the very end. That one was 
open, and Mithedhel heard voices when he strained his ears. Creeping silently 
closer - he listened. It was 'Athân! But he was saying something wrong. 

Mithedhel listened and crept, until he could see, and when he saw into the room, 
it was Sauron who decided to speak. 

"No! Again!" The dark lord was shouting, and he saw that it scared his brother. 
Mithedhel wasn't frightened, and yet 'Athân had told him he should be scared of 
Sauron. "You *will* remember these things, Ezelpathân. I have a long, long time 
to teach them to you." 'Athân was pale and trembling as he looked up at his 
father, and it confused Mithedhel who stood watching. "Should we run out of 
time, then I will make some for us. You will know these things if it takes 
millennia. Again. Answer the questions before you." 

Continuing to listen, Mithedhel wondered what it was Sauron was trying to teach 
his brother. None of it seemed to make sense, and then they spoke a language 
Mithedhel didn't recognise, but he realised he knew what they were saying 
nevertheless. He had to get away from here! He had to find his way back! 
Mithedhel must have made a sound, because suddenly Sauron turned to glare at 
him. 'Athân saw him too. There was alarm in his eyes, and he only said one word 
before Mithedhel headed back towards safety as fast as he could. 

"Run!" 

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

It had taken forever but at last it was in sight. Mithedhel had been running and 
running. Sauron only walked behind him, but somehow he didn't seem to get any 
further away. When he entered the room, he headed for the one person that would 
keep him safe. He threw himself at Maglor. 

"Mithedhel!" But then Maglor must have seen his distress. "What is it?" 

He tried to say it. What he had seen, but he had no breath left, and soon it 
didn't matter, because Sauron must be here already. He hadn't been far behind. 
Mithedhel screamed and buried himself in Maglor arms. "Don't let him get me!" he 
panted. And then he hid his face again. 

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

They looked at each other, and it was clear that Maglor had just as much idea as 
he did about Mithedhel's strange behaviour. What had happened? Don't let him get 
me? Him? Legolas had a very bad feeling, and he saw that Maglor shared it. 

"Shh," Maglor said, kissing Mithedhel's hair while the child shook and trembled 
in his arms. But there was no soothing him, and there was no wonder. Sauron had 
followed him here. 

"Give him to me, Maglor." Both of them looked around then, and he was there. 
Already he came forward, his hands outstretched, and Maglor backed away with 
Mithedhel in his arms, shaking his head. 

"No." Maglor said it quietly, but he could have shouted. Nothing would have 
stopped Sauron coming towards him, and the dark lord's intentions were too clear 
to be mistaken. Maglor carried on speaking, magnificently undaunted. "I will 
not. You can not ask this of me." He held Mithedhel closer to him, and continued 
moving back, in defiance rather than fear. He was more beautiful than Legolas 
had ever seen him before in this moment. For the first time Maglor stood tall 
and straight in the face of Sauron's advance; his red hair shining like fire in 
the torchlight. He must know there was no hope, and still Maglor managed to look 
as if he could refuse - and win. 

Orcs had followed, and now they grabbed hold of Legolas, who looked to Sauron, 
and was then frightened by what he could see in the dark lord's eyes. Challenge. 
He screamed to be let go and fought against the orcs, but they just held him 
still and out of reach of his son. When Sauron spoke, everything stopped to 
listen, including Legolas. 

"I can't? But I do, Maglor," he stated, sounding frighteningly persuasive. He 
had reached them, and he touched Mithedhel, who had been crying, but was quiet 
now. For Legolas it was a moment of foreboding, to hear that voice fall silent. 
He could hear Maglor's breathing, see the fight in his eyes when he looked at 
Sauron. Mithedhel buried his face in Maglor's neck as Sauron reached to place a 
gentle hand on either side of Maglor's head. "Don't make me force you to give 
him up," he advised quietly, and Legolas saw Maglor's eyes fill with tears even 
as he shook his head. He wouldn't make it! 

"No!" screamed Legolas frantically, but neither of them heard him. They were 
lost in something else, a silent battle that Legolas wasn't a part of. He fought 
the orcs holding him so violently that he felt the muscles of his arms and legs 
*tearing*, but still it was no use. 

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

"Don't make me force you to give him up." Sauron's gaze was intense, and it 
seemed he chose to speak directly to Maglor at this moment, because he saw the 
things that Sauron would do to him in his anger. Staring into his Master's eyes, 
Maglor saw all that, but still he shook his head. He was sure and certain for 
what seemed the first time in decades. This was one thing Sauron couldn't take 
from him so easily. He wouldn't willingly give Mithedhel up to him for any 
price. Tears came to his eyes for the young one though, because how could he 
win? All he could do was make it difficult, and Maglor despaired. 

But then suddenly the battle didn't exist outside. Maglor felt Sauron's presence 
in his mind, and he fought it. Every ounce of psychic energy Maglor had, he used 
to turn the dark lord away. But it was no use. He came back with renewed vigour, 
the tendrils of his overpowering will like stubborn fingers in his mind, making 
him forget everything, trying to make him give in to the unthinkable. Letting 
Mithedhel go. The tears began to fall, an outward sign of the strain he was 
under, and while Sauron fought with him in this intimate way, Maglor saw some of 
his thoughts too, and he knew that the dark lord himself believed that to win 
like this was unfair. 

It didn't matter why, and Maglor had no time to examine the idea that Sauron was 
capable of mercy. But he knew that he could appeal to it, and he did... 

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

"Please," Maglor said imploringly after a minute or two of struggle, looking 
into his Master's eyes as if asking for permission. To give in? To keep him? 
What difference did it make, really? It was over. Sauron smiled at him, and his 
hands moved down over Maglor's cheeks gently, and then over the little uruk's 
body, until he was holding Mithedhel under the arms. 

"Just let him go," he said soothingly, almost crooning as Maglor's grip began to 
falter. Legolas watched, and he moaned, somehow knowing it wasn't even going to 
come to a fight. 

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

No! Maglor felt what was happening. He barely had time to register that his 
appeal hadn't moved Sauron at all before the voice was commanding him. Maglor 
denied it, he pushed that dark presence from his mind again and again, and yet 
somehow he wasn't winning. He felt his hold on Mithedhel loosening against his 
own will, and inside he screamed. This was more than pain. This was fury again 
at last, something Maglor hadn't felt for centuries. 

His aimed his devastating anger at Sauron with all his will, letting him feel 
the force of it, and something flickered in the depths of his dark eyes. Maglor 
hoped for regret, but he knew what it was. He had seen it so many times before. 
Sauron enjoyed the challenge, enjoyed his resistance. And when he realised that, 
Maglor knew why he was going to lose. He knew why his treacherous hands obeyed 
Sauron before they obeyed him. It was so simple, and his anger turned upon 
himself then. He had simply spent too long giving in to him, obeying him. Doing 
Sauron's will was more than a habit; it was even more than an addiction. It had 
become an unalterable part of him, and he could no more disobey than he could 
stop breathing. He would give Mithedhel up... and it would be his own fault. 

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

"That's right, mûl nín," Sauron breathed, taking the weight from him. "Good." 
Maglor cried silently as Mithedhel was taken from him, oh, so gently, and he 
still couldn't break the eye contact. Until that is, Mithedhel was passed to a 
waiting uruk-hai. He followed the progress of his protégé with his eyes, 
refusing to look back at the dark lord even when Sauron took hold of his arms to 
keep him from falling. Legolas sobbed as Mithedhel was taken from the room, 
heartbroken. And Maglor was no better. He watched until there was nothing to see 
before he looked back at Sauron, and when he did he didn't really see him 
anymore. 

"Why do you cry? You know there is nothing I cannot take from you, don't you, 
mûl nín?" Maglor only murmured Mithedhel's name quietly, and Sauron shook him a 
little. "Don't you?" 

"Yes, Herdir," came the trained response. Sauron still held Maglor up, and his 
pain was so vibrant and striking, it was as if Sauron held it in his hands. Once 
more, Maglor was perfectly broken, tantalising in his despair. He pulled Maglor 
closer, a