Title: Fallen

Chapters: Twenty-One to Twenty-Five

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 TWENTY-ONE

When he had seen to the imprisonment of the half-uruk, Sauron returned to 
Maglor. He returned with 'Athân, and when his son ran into his father's arms 
with seeming happiness, Sauron smiled inwardly, but then he paid attention to 
his slave. He considered what to do. Maglor could be asleep, but his eyes were 
closed and his breathing was just a little too slow, a little too shallow. Now 
that he was calmer he could admit the truth to himself - that this was his own 
fault. He had simply pushed the elf too far, and although his magic could keep 
Maglor from fading whatever cruelties were inflicted on him - when the elf was 
hurt through someone else the spell was virtually useless. 

But what to do now... A plan began to form in his mind, and he knew how to bring 
the elf back to him. It would take time on his part. A few weeks at least. So? 
What were a few weeks after all the time he had spent perfecting the elf's 
reactions? He wouldn't let Maglor go now. There was no escape. 

Without explaining anything to Legolas, he picked Maglor up from the bed and 
walked away with him - leaving Legolas and 'Athân to themselves for a while. 

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

He awoke in his Master's arms, in his bed, and he felt the same dull, distant 
feeling as before. Memories of Mithedhel came to him, and he pulled back. He 
expected the hands that were gently stroking his back to keep hold of him and 
force him to stay, but they let go. Maglor sat on the very edge of the bed. He 
became cold, but it didn't matter. Every now and again as the time passed he 
looked at Sauron. The dark lord simply lay quietly, watching him. He sat on the 
edge of the bed for hours. At some point he realised he was painfully thin. *How 
long have I been asleep*? He fidgeted, feeling his bones digging in to him. He 
inspected his hair and found it lacklustre and lifeless, he caught sight of his 
hands and his fingernails were brittle and weak. *I'm fading*. It didn't matter. 

The time passed. Maglor didn't move. He was cold. He looked at Sauron, still 
watching him. There were no questions. Nothing mattered. After some time, maybe 
an entire day, Maglor crawled back into his Master's arms, and Sauron held him 
in the same gentle, undemanding way as before. Warmth. Maglor snuggled closer to 
this new, different Master. He felt Sauron's hands resume their gentle stroking, 
and he sighed. He lay with his face pressed against Sauron's chest and he 
breathed in Sauron's scent deeply. Something changed in him, but Maglor hardly 
noticed it. Nothing mattered. And so he moved slightly, relaxed completely, 
embracing the new feeling. Something he had never felt here in Sauron's arms. He 
felt safe. 

When he awoke again, he was faced away from Sauron. He must have turned in his 
sleep. He turned over and moved close to his Master. Those arms closed around 
him once more, and Sauron kissed the top of his head. Safety. He slept again. 

The next day, he found himself accepting small amounts of food. They still 
didn't speak, and the dark lord didn't command him to eat. He simply held tiny 
pieces of bread and fruit against his lips, and Maglor found himself eating. 
Eventually he refused to open his mouth, turning his head away listlessly, and 
then Sauron stopped offering the food to him. He drank some water though, and 
then Maglor lay as before, with those soothing hands stroking him. There was no 
real change. 

The days passed, until the time he awoke alone. He sat up in the bed 
uncertainly, unconsciously twisting the sheets in his hands. It was only a 
matter of minutes before Sauron returned, and he came to Maglor immediately when 
he saw that he was awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, and then opened his 
arms, and Maglor moved into the embrace gladly. 

He found himself in Sauron's lap with his arms around the dark lord's neck. 
Sauron was dressed this time. Maglor trembled. "Shh..." Sauron hushed him, 
resuming the soothing little touches as before. Safe again. He relaxed, and then 
for the first time in days, Maglor spoke. 

"Don't leave me again. I don't want to be alone." *I don't want to die alone*. 
Sauron's only answer was to kiss his forehead gently. Maglor looked up, finally 
feeling the need to ask. 

"Why?" His voice was flat and emotionless. "Why did you do it?" Maglor shook his 
head tiredly. *You have finally, actually killed me*. "He was beautiful. He was 
innocent. He was joy. He was hope." When he received no answer he began to pull 
away, and Sauron allowed him to go, but then he didn't really want to leave the 
safety, and he moved into the embrace again with a frustrated sigh, burrowing 
his face into his Master's shoulder. 

"Do you trust me?" Sauron asked softly. Maglor thought for a while. He was clear 
in his thoughts. His life seemed distant now, but he remembered everything. The 
answer he gave was as close to the truth as he could get in words. 

"Yes. But I don't believe you. I never did." Sauron seemed to consider that for 
a while, then he asked another question. 

"Do you love me?" Again, Maglor devoted thought to the question, and tried to 
answer honestly. 

"Yes. But I hate you. I always did." There was another lengthy pause, and Maglor 
began to think the conversation was over. Did everything he wanted to say come 
down to those few statements? It seemed so little for all that had transpired. 
Was this really all he had to say to Sauron? 

"Do you forgive me?" 

"No," he answered without bothering to think, but then he found himself thinking 
about it anyway, thinking about what Sauron was asking for. "No!" He looked up 
at Sauron now in shock, suddenly seeing what he was trying to do. "Don't ask me 
that!" he said, but in his heart he knew it was already too late. Sauron knew 
exactly what to do. He always did. 

"But I have to. Can you forgive me?" It wasn't a command. Sauron voiced the 
request with what sounded like curiosity and Maglor shook his head. 

"No, I can't," he said quickly. He glared at Sauron for even mentioning it. "You 
mustn't ask me for that. You must see that I can't." Sauron only looked down on 
him with something in his eyes that might be pity. But he was a liar, wasn't he? 
Maglor tried to remember that fact as Sauron replied. 

"I didn't take him to hurt you, or to test you." He ran a finger lovingly down 
Maglor's cheek. "He saw something he shouldn't have seen. I had no choice." He 
sighed and looked at Maglor earnestly, as if he was asking for such a little 
thing. "Can you forgive me for hurting you?" 

Oh! It was such a little thing! Not to be asked for forgiveness for the crime, 
but for forgiveness for what it meant to him. And it would be enough, he knew. 
If he gave in to this, then he would stay, and carry on being a prisoner here. 
"Please..." he begged, knowing that with his very words he was encouraging 
Sauron to continue. "Do anything you want to me, but not this." *Let me go*. 

"You know how important it is, forgiveness. Can you deny someone, even someone 
such as me, something you desire so much?" Maglor cried for the first time in 
days. Emotion returned, and he knew it was already done. Such a small thing. And 
it was the asking that made it so, whether it was genuine or not. Still, the 
dark lord asked. He took Maglor's arms from around his neck and held his hands 
in front of his face. He bent his head and kissed Maglor's palms softly, and 
then looked into his eyes. 

"Don't," Maglor pleaded desperately, somehow knowing what was going to come 
next. "Don't say it, please, no, don't speak." He shook his head, trying to make 
Sauron stop. Stop him from saying what he was about to say, because it was so 
very wrong. 

"Please," Sauron whispered. 

It was unnatural. It shouldn't be like this. And it was that feeling more than 
anything else that made Maglor give in to the dark lord's wishes. It was already 
done anyway, and Maglor gave it to him before Sauron could say 'please' again. 
"Yes," he breathed. "I forgive you." It was done, and now he would stay. 

"Thank you," Sauron said, and placed Maglor back on the bed before lying down 
beside him. Maglor cried, not for himself, but for Mithedhel. His short life had 
been worth something, hadn't it? Sauron allowed him to cry, but at the same time 
his touches were not so soothing as before. Now his Master felt dangerous once 
more. Maglor didn't breathe a word of protest when Sauron pushed him onto his 
stomach. Nor did he say anything when Sauron's intentions became obvious. He 
cried helplessly into the pillows when Sauron took him. His body was weakened 
and he felt dizzy for lack of food. Maglor relaxed even though he expected to 
feel pain, but it was much too easy for the dark lord to take him, and Maglor 
knew that Sauron must have prepared him for this while he slept. Sickened, he 
knew it meant only one thing. That all along Sauron had known he would bring 
Maglor back. 

The pleasure was as intense as the pain. Maglor moaned quietly, aware that his 
body reacted the same as it always did. He couldn't stop it, and it felt like 
disrespect to enjoy this now, but he couldn't help himself. Once more, Sauron 
was his tormentor and his comfort. Sauron was all things, and when the dark lord 
began to move harder and faster, groaning because he was near release, Maglor 
knew that he was lost. His own orgasm wasn't really important, and he endured it 
with a word of regret on his lips. He didn't know who the apology was for 
anymore, but he knew he hadn't wanted to enjoy this. 

When Sauron reached completion, and stopped moving at last, Maglor trembled and 
quivered beneath him, crying into the pillows as if his soul was being torn 
apart. Was his Master pleased? He hardly felt Sauron taking hold of one of his 
hands to clasp it tightly, but he heard the dark lord's words clearly. "I have 
missed you, mûl vain nín." Everything was back to the way it was. But nothing 
would ever be the same. He felt Sauron brushing his hair away to the side, so 
that he could kiss the back of Maglor's neck. It sent an electric shiver through 
him. 

"Don't cry," he said quietly. "I told you I wouldn't let you go. It was never 
your choice to leave. You should know this by now." Maglor only sobbed a little 
more for hearing the truth, but true to Sauron's wishes the tears stopped 
falling as he answered. 

"Yes, Herdir." But somewhere deep inside, in a place that was hidden even from 
Maglor, an old idea began to reassert itself. Escape. 

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

It had been at least two weeks, and 'Athân was slowly going out of his mind. For 
two weeks he really had no one but Legolas for company while his father was off 
somewhere else with the slave. He knew there was a price to pay for his 
insistence on saving Mithedhel's life, but even so he began to wish Sauron would 
return to take him away. A few times he managed to convince the uruk hai who 
brought their meals to lead him away in the morning. He could speak their 
language. Language was one of the things Sauron insisted on him learning; the 
more the better. And he was grateful for that now. On those days he went to 
visit his brother. Mithedhel was in a worse state than he was. He was terribly 
bored, just as 'Athân had expected. Still, it couldn't be helped, and at least 
he was still alive. He gave his brother books to read to alleviate the long 
days, but he knew it wasn't really enough. 

Although he had been taught to despise Legolas, nothing made him hate the elf 
more than knowing that he had stood by and allowed Mithedhel to be taken from 
him. His own son. The elves were weak, and stupid. Yes, all the things his 
father said were true. He observed Legolas' grief with a cold detachment, and no 
part of him wanted to spare Legolas the misery. He deserved to believe Mithedhel 
was dead. He had done nothing to save him, after all. 

Still, the amount of time Sauron spent away began to worry him, and his 
anticipation of the price for his defiance grew. With no one to confide in, 
'Athân found that stress was a difficult burden, and when Maglor returned he was 
at breaking point. To see the elf return after he had been fading was almost 
amusing. He was so easily controlled. What had it taken for his father to keep 
the elf here? Probably not much. 'Athân had no respect for either of them. 

The next morning, the uruk hai came for him as usual, as if his lessons had 
never halted, and 'Athân went gladly. He would face his punishment now. But his 
father did nothing. The day passed in much the same way as any other, and he 
began to feel uncomfortable. Sauron would not have forgotten. 

Before he was sent away, Sauron beckoned him closer, and at first 'Athân was 
sure this was it, but Sauron only measured him against the wall. It was one of 
the more peculiar things his father did; one of the things that gave 'Athân hope 
that Sauron sometimes thought of him as a son rather than a tool to be used. 
There were marks on the wall made by chalk. The first one was very low, a 
measurement of his height the first day he had come here to be taught. Every 
month was a new line, a visual depiction of his growth. 

Now he was measured again, but the month wasn't over, so why now? When he had 
finished, Sauron used the chalk to draw a line high on the wall, well above 
'Athân's head. He smiled then, and 'Athân was afraid. 

"How long do you think it will take to reach this line?" 'Athân didn't know what 
Sauron expected him to say. What was this about? He looked again, and he 
realised he would be fully-grown when he was that tall. He would be an adult. It 
was years away from now. 

"Thirteen years?" he hazarded, thinking that he must say something. 

"Anticipation is a useful tool, Ezelpathân. But, as always, I will show you as 
well as tell you." 'Athân stared at the line, so far away. "When you reach this 
line, I will punish you for your refusal to co-operate. Do you understand?" 

'Athân continued to stare at the line. So far away... for now. But it would get 
closer. He shivered, understanding completely what it would mean; and already 
anticipating how it would feel when he drew near it. A little closer every 
month. It would be torture. He looked up at his father, and Sauron was smiling 
at him coldly. 

"Yes, father," he said slowly. 

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

When he returned to Legolas and Maglor, 'Athân was still reeling with the final 
words Sauron had said to him. 'Athân had made the mistake of asking why he would 
need to be so tall. Apart from the terrible torture of the anticipation, there 
must be a reason his father had chosen so high a target. Then Sauron had 
laughed. 

"You are a child, and you are still so impressionable," he reached down to 
caress 'Athân's face. "When you are older, you will quite naturally resist." 
'Athân wondered what his father meant by that, and as if he had asked, Sauron 
answered him. "It will be much more difficult to make you scream." 

Now he was back with the elves, and their 'grief.' 'Athân felt his rage burning 
in him until he couldn't keep it in any longer... 

He said what he wanted to say to Legolas, finally telling the truth, regardless 
of the consequences, and when he presented himself to his father the next 
morning, it seemed that Sauron already knew what had happened. He walked over to 
the wall where the line was drawn in silence, and marked the number two next to 
it. 'Athân nodded in understanding. He wasn't left with the elves again, but 
given his own lonely room. In some ways it was a relief. 

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

There were many places that he could have gone for this. Their boundaries were 
not made of stone, and so he could have just wandered until they found him. But 
he had come here, because he seemed to think of this hall as their place. Sauron 
didn't use the giant room for anything, and often their whispering could be 
heard here. 

He entered the hall quietly, and stood for a moment or two before walking into 
the room properly, away from the safety of the door. It was still silent, and 
Maglor walked quickly, until he could no longer see the wall behind him. Then he 
stopped and waited. 

As he waited he thought back on what had finally driven him to come here. Why 
would he ask for their help now, when he had no interest in it before? The 
answer was simple. For Legolas. 'Athân had finally shown his true colours, and 
had said such terrible things to his father that Maglor knew he would fade. On 
top of the certainty of Mithedhel's death, it was too much. For now Legolas was 
still hoping that 'Athân would return and apologise. But the more he thought on 
those harsh words, the more Legolas would come to realise that there was no 
going back on them. 

These were not heated, angry things, but truths that 'Athân had obviously been 
keeping back for a long time. He told Legolas how much he hated him for his 
weakness and his willingness to co-operate with Sauron. Told him how sick it 
made him to be 'looked after' by someone who obviously couldn't look after 
themselves. To top it all, 'Athân had finished by saying that after the way he 
acted, Legolas deserved Mithedhel's death on his conscience. The light in 
Legolas' eyes had died when 'Athân spoke the last few words. "How could I 
possibly look up to something like you? How could I ever seek to emulate you?" 
he had said in undisguised disgust. "My father is not an elf. My father is not a 
Prince. My father is Maiar." No, Legolas would not recover from that. 

And so he was here to ask for help. He wasn't scared of them. They had no 
substance, and could only threaten. He waited in the darkness, listening to his 
own breath, while the thick, unnatural warmth gathered around him. He saw 
movement, but he didn't turn and look. He still waited. Eventually the picture 
in front of him seemed to change somewhat. He blinked to bring it into focus, 
and he was right. There was a white figure walking towards him through the 
gloom. Maglor watched in silence. He didn't realise he was holding his breath. 
He wiped his hands down the front of the thin fabric of his clothes. 

Was it coming closer? He strained to see, and then it rushed him. Maglor cried 
out and stumbled backwards as the figure moved quickly forward until he was sure 
he must be knocked down by it - but it passed straight through him. He knew what 
it was now. The last impression he had was of a grinning skull, so close that 
even when it was gone he continued moving back, trying to get away from it. The 
whispering began then. 

What were they saying? He couldn't possibly tell. So many voices, all saying the 
same thing in a different way. From nowhere a hand shoved him, and he whirled 
around quickly to find that he was alone in the dark. Again, and slowly but 
surely Maglor was pushed around the hall, until he realised with a start that he 
was lost within it. He no longer knew which way was the way out. And at the same 
time he realised he knew what the ghosts were saying. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Lost... Forgotten... Alone... Dead... Silent... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I wish to speak with you." Maglor almost didn't recognise the sound of his own 
voice, but with the words a little of his fear dissipated, and he remembered why 
he was here. The voices around him laughed, and it seemed as if he must be stood 
in a crowd of people - but he was alone. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ We know what you want... We know why you are here... We know what you 
will say... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Again he was being pushed around, forced to step back and then to turn, until he 
was sure he was almost dancing with them. Some of the voices laughed again. 
"Then please tell me. There must be an escape," he said indignantly. The voices 
whispered back. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ No escape for his slave... No way out for his plaything...He will 
never kill you... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They were making fun of him! Maglor closed his eyes to their laughter. And with 
his eyes closed, he saw them. Oh, so many! Maglor had known none of them until 
they became spirits, trapped in this place. Until Legolas arrived he had always 
been alone. And yet they must have been real once. There were male and female 
here, old and young, sylvan, sindar and noldor. He couldn't even count them, and 
he saw the same story in them all. Sauron had failed with each and every one. 
Some of the elf maidens cradled their swollen bellies as though the life inside 
them had survived. Still others cried for their loss. And suddenly Maglor was 
aware of the sadness. Not sadness for their plight, and for their entrapment 
here, but for their children. So many! 

Then he realised that others had almost survived. Male elves for the most part. 
The wounds were only small, and in the same place as he had observed on Legolas, 
but they had not lived through the strange operation. Some though had not 
survived the first taking, passing away from grief despite the spell, only to 
awaken still trapped here. Maglor shook his head and opened his eyes, but now 
the vision was real. They stood in front of him. "I'm so sorry," he said 
helplessly. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I am sorry, hîr nín... Forgive me, Herdir... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The ghosts laughed at him in their misery, and Maglor began to despair. Why had 
he come here? They weren't able to help anyway. Elves they may have once been, 
but the centuries of imprisonment had maddened their very souls. He was given a 
sudden vision of himself as one of these, running through the fortress again and 
again, never finding a way out. Sauron appeared, and he watched himself try to 
draw the dark lord's attention. It was impossible. He was nothing. He saw 
himself with Sauron, and knew he was unable to intervene. The Maglor in his 
vision begged for the dark lord's mercy and favours. They had been watching him! 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Maglor... Criminal... You will never be forgiven... Accept your 
punishment... We wish it were ours... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Suddenly Maglor was angry. What right had they to judge? He did accept his 
punishment - he always had. "And what of the Prince? You must know of him. Does 
he deserve this place?" 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ We care not... We are no longer judged... Mandos did not claim us... 
We are forgotten... Why should we care? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Forgotten." He repeated the word as if it held meaning, thinking that in some 
ways their positions were just the same. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Alone... Dead... Lost... Silent... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There would be no help. "I shouldn't have come here," he admitted then, 
realising that they wouldn't help even if they could. But then they surprised 
him - they gave him a warning. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Too late now... He searches for you... Maglor is lost... There is no 
escape... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Please! You must help us!" he shouted desperately. But soon the ghosts melted 
away like frost in the sun, and Maglor realised that although they were gone, he 
was not alone. 

"Why are you here, mûl nín? What did you come here for?" He turned in dread to 
face Sauron, trying not to let his face show what he had been doing. What had he 
been doing? Maglor looked confused and then shook his head slowly, giving an 
answer to his Master that would surely mean punishment. 

"I can't remember." Sauron looked at him for a few moments, and then frowned. 

"No... you can't," he said slowly, as if in consideration. He looked around. "Do 
you think he can help you? You are trapped, and you will always be trapped! 
Useless in death as in life!" He turned to regard Maglor again, and took hold of 
his arm. He smiled when his slave trembled. 

"Come. I wish to hear you play for me," he said, and Maglor whimpered despite 
himself, unable to keep it in. "If you are good and please me, I might give you 
a reward," Sauron said devilishly, pulling Maglor close to him for a moment to 
claim his lips in a kiss. 

"Yes, Hîr nín." Maglor didn't remember what had transpired until he was returned 
to Legolas and left alone. But then he did, and the whispering began again while 
Maglor listened carefully to every word. 


AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This chapter was orginally written near Christmas - and by then I thought it was 
high time there was some light. So, if you will, I want you to imagine the 
scene. It's late on Christmas Eve; the snow is settling on the branches of the 
trees outside, but it's warm in here, in your large, comfortable armchair next 
to the fire. There's a golden glow over everything in the room. All is ready for 
tomorrow - the turkey is just waiting to be roasted, the presents are under the 
tree, your loved one/s are quietly fitting together a festive jigsaw some 
distance away at the large table. 

Feel free to get comfortable. Curl your stockinged feet up under you into the 
cushions, have a sip of the lovely red port in your hand. Now look at the pages 
in your other hand. Are you ready? Then let's begin...


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"You will show us?" Maglor asked uncertainly, wondering if this was some kind of 
trick. The hastily whispered assent scared him too though, and he wondered what 
the cost of their help was. He looked towards the bed and saw it was too late 
anyway. Legolas was sleeping with his eyes closed. It had begun. He couldn't 
carry the Prince from this place, and even if he could, what difference would it 
make to the pain in his soul? 

But then he noticed a shimmering in the air between them as the ghosts hovered 
around the Prince. Maglor stood up, already drawing in a breath to demand that 
they leave him alone, but then Legolas awoke. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ He will not fade... He will not die... He will not be silent... ~ ~ ~ 
~ ~

Legolas was awake, but not truly conscious, and he began to speak strange words 
that had Maglor completely confused until he realised what they were. The words 
were names. And the shimmering became clearer in front of his eyes until he 
could see them filing past Legolas, leaning to whisper into his ear. Their 
names. And every one Legolas repeated, committing them to memory for a reason, a 
reason that was becoming clearer and clearer to Maglor. 

The price for their aid was really nothing, and he almost cried for them. For 
what they wanted was so simple, and so moving. They wanted their names to be 
taken to the outside world. They wanted their fate to be known. It was 
heartbreaking. 

When every name had been repeated, Legolas awoke properly. The terrible pain was 
still in his eyes, but it seemed he could no longer give in to it. Perhaps it 
would return when he had fulfilled his part of the bargain, but Maglor hoped 
that other things would encourage him to stay by then. Because now it would 
finally happen. There was a way out. The ghosts had explained it to him. Now all 
that remained was for one of them to show the way. 

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

Silently, Legolas followed Maglor through the fortress. He knew who he was 
really following. He could still hear their voices in his head, their presence 
in his soul. They had kept him from sleep, from nothingness. Their grief was so 
much more insistent than his, and he could do nothing but obey. He hadn't spoken 
a word to Maglor, but he didn't need to. They would escape then. And maybe when 
all was said and done he could be left in peace once more. Legolas really didn't 
care about escape any longer, but he found he did care about what *they* wanted 
from him. 

It seemed there was no preparation for their journey, no gathering of 
possessions or useful items. It all seemed so rushed, and so there was barely a 
moment to think of the children, but he thought of them anyway. Poor Mithedhel, 
nothing could replace him. And as for 'Athân... Perhaps he had been bound to be 
left behind. He was Sauron's child too - and it seemed he was happy with that. 
It had hurt to hear the truth, but he couldn't deny it. He was weakened and 
pathetic in this place. 

If the choice had been his though, he would never have left while 'Athân was 
still alive. How could a parent ever give up on a child? But then the voices 
were talking to him, begging him to tell their story to the world outside, and 
he knew that he had to do it. And so now he followed, and he was silent, alone 
with his thoughts. 

He was surprised when they took a path through the fortress that led downwards. 
He had assumed they would be led to the great doors. Maglor didn't seem 
surprised at all though, merely resigned, although he seemed to get nervous as 
they passed several doors on what turned out to be the lowest level. 

Eventually they came to a door that could quite easily be just another cell, but 
when it was opened there wasn't a room behind the door, only a wide passage. 
Legolas looked around, and saw their companions standing with them. For the 
first time he realised that Maglor couldn't see them, that they were only 
revealed to him. And now he knew they couldn't go any further. One of them 
reached out to touch him, but stopped before those cold fingers would have 
brushed against his skin. They were bound from going any further. Legolas simply 
walked forward into their midst, ignoring the escape route, ignoring Maglor, and 
ignoring his own feelings for the moment. 

He wasn't aware what was said to him, but when the ghosts left he was filled 
with purpose, and he turned to Maglor as if to say that it was time to go. They 
had no guide from this point on, and it was never going to be easy. 

The passage became a wide tunnel carved into the volcanic rock beneath the 
ground. There were few torches to light the way, and as they walked they 
realised that this place was much more than a rarely used tunnel - it was a 
labyrinth. Occasionally there were small rooms set off the passages that offered 
scum-covered water, and very rarely - food. They tried to head in a constant 
direction, but it soon became clear that they were counting on luck to show them 
the way out. 

It must have taken weeks. Stolen hours in the quieter places for them to sleep - 
one at a time. Every now and again they were forced to hide from companies of 
orcs, although the way was a lot quieter than they had any right to expect. 

Maglor was astonished to find that the tunnels were real. He had thought they 
were a desperate dream. He had also thought there were no real surprises left, 
but he was astounded by this. In scale it was a gigantic undertaking, and yet it 
must have been made while he was with Sauron. After all, Sauron had brought him 
here. Comparing the tunnels to the giant fortress, however, made him realise 
that for someone such as Sauron, something like this was nowhere near 
unfeasible. Barad-Dûr itself had been built not once, but twice. For his Master 
this wasn't impossible at all.

As the time went on and on, both of them succumbed to despair, passing through 
phases where the going was slow because they could quite easily be wandering in 
here for years. At other times they seemed to almost run through the place, 
taking turns and junctions without any kind of pattern - just wishing to find 
something that looked different. But nothing seemed to change. Then, after an 
unknown amount of time wandering in the darkness, they found steps that led up. 

They considered. Although there were stairs here - it clearly wasn't the end. 
The passage they were standing in continued on past the stone staircase. After 
some thought they decided to continue on, reasoning that it could only lead them 
further away from the fortress, and closer to the edge of Sauron's land. When 
they found stairs again, they were much smaller, and this time the tunnel did 
end. There was nothing for it. Hesitantly, they walked up. It wasn't as easy as 
Maglor had thought. It seemed that they must have been headed downwards even 
though the labyrinth had seemed flat because there were so many stairs. It must 
have taken at least a day to climb them. 

When they reached the top, they emerged into a small brick building without 
windows. They had hardly made a sound, and still they didn't speak. They 
explored the building in silence, and came to a main hallway. The door was 
before them. It was so small! Before they could cross the hall to get to it, 
Maglor had a terrible feeling, and he turned to Legolas in fear. The familiarity 
of the feeling drained any hope he might have had. 

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

"He's here," Maglor whispered urgently. Legolas froze, and turned to look at the 
other elf questioningly. 

"I just know, pen neth, trust me, I can sense him." Legolas nodded once, 
silently, to show he understood, and then almost cried out when Maglor suddenly 
pushed him against the wall so that they were hidden in the shadows. 

Maglor held Legolas' palms against the wall, and he smiled a little when Legolas 
clasped his hands. They were so close, each could feel the other's heartbeat, 
racing wildly. Their lips were nearly touching, and Legolas could almost forget 
where they were, and what was happening, until a voice broke the spell. 

"You're hiding from me. It won't work. Come out, Legolas." And now there was a 
different kind of magic in the air. At the sound of the summons, Legolas' sense 
of fear and self-preservation vanished. His eyes half-closed, and his hold on 
Maglor's hands went slack. He moved a little, ready to walk away from their 
hiding place. He felt Maglor's grip on his hands tighten, and he looked into the 
other elf's eyes without comprehending for a moment. Then the insistent, 
panicked look in Maglor's eyes brought him back, and Legolas almost sighed in 
relief. Had he really been about to give them up? 

Before he could answer that question Sauron spoke again, but this time his words 
had a different effect. 

"Maglor, dannon nín, speak to me." 

Maglor closed his eyes as if in desperate prayer and rested against Legolas so 
that their foreheads were touching. He held on to Legolas' hands tightly as if 
he were holding on to his own life. But still, he drew in a breath, and Legolas 
knew if he didn't rescue his companion, it would all be over. Without giving it 
another thought, he tilted his head and kissed the other elf. Their kiss was the 
same as it had always been; silent, unhurried and serene. They connected with 
one another in a way that no other race had, and as they stood together, lost in 
each other, the shadow passed by them. 

They emerged cautiously after a long period of time just waiting. Sauron did not 
return, and so, feeling safe at last, the two elves ventured out. The small door 
led outside, and it was so bright that they spent some minutes in the shade of 
the building's entrance until their eyes became accustomed to the light again. 
Legolas hadn't realised how far they had come. This was further than the edge of 
Mordor, well beyond the massive gates. Perhaps this building was a secret exit, 
used for spies, or other servants than orcs. If he looked back he could see the 
dark, dry land behind them. But he didn't have any heart for looking back. 
Before him were the first trees of happier places and freer lands. Legolas ran 
to them, all forgotten except joy. 

Immediately he knew that these were not the same cursed woods. There was life 
all around, even at the very end of winter. Promise danced lightly on the very 
air. There were tiny buds on the trees; snowdrops grew in the more sheltered 
places, seeming to advertise spring. Daffodils! Even in the cold, and the bare 
understated winter there was enough colour to drown the senses. A single red 
squirrel paused where it was digging and looked up from the green moss-covered 
ground, before flashing away to climb the nearest tree, away from the strange 
being who was simply stood smiling at it, almost laughing. Life! He looked back 
at Maglor. 

If this seemed wondrous to him - how must it seem to Maglor? He had been shut up 
for so long. Kept away. Maglor looked around him as if he didn't believe what he 
was seeing. Taking his hands, Legolas drew him forward slowly into the trees and 
Maglor reached out to touch them, as if in shock that they really existed. He 
looked at Legolas and shook his head slightly, a smile beginning to show itself. 
It was the first true smile that Legolas had seen the other elf give, and he 
couldn't help but answer it. 

"Free," Maglor whispered quietly, as if to speak the word with any strength 
would make the world around them disappear. He suddenly looked around again, 
suspiciously, as if certain that he had broken some spell, and the trees would 
vanish like smoke on the breeze. Legolas laughed. 

"Free!" He shouted it, and the trees remained. But they shouldn't linger. He 
knew a way to make this fun though. Legolas began to run through the wood, 
casting a glance back as if daring Maglor to follow him, and he did. 

They ran for hours, exhilarated, drowning in the outside, in the blessed cold, 
and the crisp, fresh smell of the season. Drunk on freedom, the strong winter 
sun reminding them that they had escaped. That they were free! When they were 
tired they found a sheltered place to stay near some large rocks and built a 
fire. Maglor had almost forgotten such simple things, and to rediscover them was 
a pleasure in itself. He was thousands of years older than his companion, but an 
observer would have been forgiven for assuming Maglor was the younger. His eyes 
danced with joy and happiness at every one of his rediscoveries. 

It was cold, but it wouldn't bother them. Not now. The cold couldn't hurt them, 
and after the continual unnatural warmth of Mordor, both of them thought they 
would never tire of it. They ate the small amount of fruit and nuts they could 
find, and then simply sat in the dusk, watching as the world went to sleep. 
Their thoughts naturally turned to Mithedhel and 'Athân. They didn't need to 
speak, but after the joyous day melancholy stole over them as the twilight drew 
closer. They both shed silent tears for Mithedhel, and cried too for the 
corrupted spirit of 'Athân. Maybe they would fade with the light, Maglor 
thought. Out of the shade and shelter of Sauron's will - free - maybe there was 
a price to pay. Would the truth come crashing down on them, crushing them under 
its weight? Suddenly Maglor jumped. He looked up curiously, and instantly the 
childish joy was back. 

"Legolas!" His voice broke and he looked down, shaking his head. But then he 
looked around him and stood up, holding out his hands out to the air. "It's 
snowing!" Maglor breathed. He looked at the Prince, but Legolas had already made 
the discovery for himself, and he was like Maglor, standing with his hands held 
out to the flakes as if to catch and keep them. They marvelled at it together, 
but dark was fast coming, and night found them huddled together next to the fire 
for warmth. Maglor rested his head on Legolas' chest, who kept watch, and he 
looked for all the world younger. It was breathtaking to see him now. He wasn't 
the same elf who had lived under Sauron's hand. No. He really wasn't. Legolas 
smiled in the firelight and kissed Maglor's hair tenderly. 

When morning came they were asleep in each other's arms. Legolas cursed himself 
when he awoke. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but at least there was no harm 
done. Even the fire still burnt quite brightly. After a few more branches were 
laid on it, it gave off as much warmth as they could wish to wake up to. 
Overnight the world around them had turned white. Legolas was sure he had never 
seen snow settle so fast. He left the still sleeping Maglor for a while to walk 
out in it and stare. 

Action was required though. Legolas used the knife they had stolen to turn a 
largish branch into a rather crude spear and went to the nearby stream. He came 
back half an hour or so later with a couple of particularly slow moving fish. 
Perhaps they were just as struck by the sudden snowfall as he was. Whatever. It 
was breakfast. 

By the time Maglor awoke, the air smelt pleasantly of cooked fish, and he 
inhaled deeply. Then everything came back and his smile was radiant. "Free!" he 
exclaimed to himself, as if the word was all he needed to survive. Legolas 
nudged him with a little laugh. 

"Breakfast," he said, pointing out the fish he had caught and cooked while his 
lover slept in. He was beginning to wonder about the basis of their relationship 
now that they were away from Sauron, and out in the world together, but soon he 
didn't. Maglor ignored the food and leaned over to kiss him deeply, pushing him 
back so that he laughed. But Legolas gave in to the treatment and allowed Maglor 
to have what he wanted. 

He found himself pressed to the ground, beyond the reach of the fire so that the 
deep snow was behind his back, and he saw Maglor's eyes widen as he took in the 
scene. He didn't let Legolas up, but simply rested on him and examined the snow 
on the ground. Legolas moved a little as if to throw the other elf off, and then 
he smirked mischievously. While Maglor was busy paying attention to the snow, 
Legolas picked up a largish clump of it with his hand. Then he threw his arms 
around the other elf, rubbing the snow into his back as punishment for keeping 
him prisoner on the cold ground. 

Gasping loudly, Maglor lay flat on Legolas and buried his head in the Prince's 
blond hair. "You will pay for that," he threatened, and then ruined the effect 
of his words by giggling. They fought in the snow like children, laughing and 
for a while forgetful of just what they left behind. The snow still fell on and 
around them. They tumbled and wrestled, disturbing the pristine expanse of 
white. A deer watched them for a while - *elves playing in the snow* - it wasn't 
unnatural. Then a snowball flew past her, and she bolted, leaving the elves to 
their fun. 

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

It should be his by now. The fact that he couldn't find the ring bothered him. 
It more than bothered him. He couldn't even see it, and yet it should be easy to 
find. It was partly him, after all. He should be able to feel for it. Why... 
where was it hidden? And who was hiding it? Did they know what it was? 

The questions came back again and again, and they infuriated him. There were 
never answers. He almost stood, thinking that at a time like this he wanted 
something else. The elf would soothe this horrible uncertainty. Sauron couldn't 
bear uncertainty - especially not when it concerned him. Yes... the elf would 
make him forget. And what is more, Maglor would thank him for the opportunity. 
But then he remembered. 

They were gone. Oh, he needed to let them go, but he had wanted to keep Maglor. 
After all this time, all these centuries - no - millennia. Now he was alone once 
more, and it actually felt strange. Sauron smirked, although there was no one to 
see him. Did they really believe their hiding places had been good enough to 
keep them from him? He could sense them; smell their scent, hear their frantic 
breathing when he had come too close. Sauron shook his head, and paid attention 
to the Palantír again. He narrowed his eyes, and waved his hand across it, 
forcing it to show him something other than the endless search for the ring. 

A different scene presented itself immediately. There they were. Playing. The 
elf was lying back in the snow now. Flakes of it had settled on his hair and 
eyelashes, and once more Sauron appreciated Maglor's beauty. It wasn't too late, 
even now. He had a sudden vision of the wolf, running through the winter snows, 
tracking them, and when he found Maglor he would... Sauron closed his eyes and 
silently reminded himself why he should leave them be. Legolas had to escape, 
and Maglor... 

Far better to allow him freedom now, and to have him back, than to never let him 
see the truth at all. Sauron laughed at his own thoughts. What he meant was that 
Maglor should see the lie he had been living with. The Valar might very well 
forgive him, and in fact Sauron suspected that for centuries they had just been 
waiting for him to ask. But like all deities they were cold. And Maglor would 
find out that they made unreasonable demands. They hadn't been watching him at 
all. Sauron would surely have known if they were. No, they hadn't been paying 
attention, and when Maglor reached the point of asking, what would they say? He 
looked into the Palantír once more, and then spoke as if the elf would hear him. 

"They are waiting for you, mûl vain nín. They will offer you a dream, such a 
beautiful dream and you will want to share it. But you will see what they try to 
hide." He smiled, but he wasn't really amused; perhaps he actually felt a little 
sympathy. His voice became low and quiet. "They forgot about you, Maglor. They 
gave you up to me without a single word of protest. Here, with me, you have 
always been alone. And had the choice been theirs, they would have left you here 
forever." Maglor did not hear his words, and so he continued playing, carefree 
and happy. Sauron smiled a little when Maglor laughed, and dragged Legolas to 
the ground to cover him with snow. Maglor would remember whom he belonged to in 
time. It was what he wanted above all else, to have the elf with him alone. He 
grew tired of the way his slave always had to think of *them*. There should only 
be one concern on his mind. When this was over, it would be exactly the way 
Sauron wanted it. He continued speaking. 

"They will ask you for something in exchange for the dream, although they will 
phrase it as a gift. They will demand to heal your soul, to take away everything 
I have done. They will want you to forget about me, and make you what you once 
were. What you have endured means nothing to them, and they will require you to 
give it up." He leaned forward very slightly, never letting his eyes wander from 
the stone, staring intensely. "It has taken most of your long life to walk the 
path I chose for you, to become mine in every sense of the word. I alone 
appreciate your suffering, I alone take pleasure from it, and therein lies your 
reward too." He paused. "You *will* return to me." Sauron knew that Maglor would 
be happy to forget. But he would find it difficult nevertheless. They would ask 
to take away his experience. In a way, they would require a death of sorts. No 
one would agree to that, least of all Maglor - the elf only wished to find death 
at one person's hands - his. Satisfied, he waved his hand over the stone, and a 
dead, black cloud settled over its eye on the world. 

Getting up, Sauron wandered the halls, finding himself at last before the door 
to that room. But the elf wasn't within. Not ready and waiting to please him. 
Sauron hesitated. It wasn't loneliness. Absolutely not. It was... breaking a 
habit. He entered the room anyway and sat for a while on the bed. He inhaled 
deeply, and realised that he could still smell the elf in this place. He 
resisted the temptation to lie down and bury his face in the bedclothes. This 
was *not* loneliness. He began thinking of all the things he had done, and knew 
that it was enough. Maglor would be back, and when he returned he would be here 
forever - by choice. 

His mind turned to other things then, and he thought about the half-uruk. Was 
there potential for the child to serve him in some way? When he grew he would be 
like the uruk hai, but more capable of planning. Perhaps it was time to find 
out. 

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

Mithedhel awoke from the strangest dream. The little uruk had never really known 
cold, but he shivered now in his cell. Light suddenly flooded the room when the 
door opened at last, and Sauron walked in to study him. Mithedhel snarled at 
him. He had heard Maglor cry when he had been led away by Golrakh, and Mithedhel 
was sure that *he* had done it. Golrakh had put him here, and left him alone for 
so long where it was boring. *That* wasn't like him, and Mithedhel could only 
assume that his current boredom was Sauron's fault too. 

Of course, he wasn't completely alone. Sometimes 'Athân visited him, and his 
brother brought what he called 'books,' that were full of all the words Maglor 
had taught to him. But the best parts were the pictures - Mithedhel didn't think 
he had ever seen anything so beautiful. Books! What a brilliant idea! He had 
wondered why Maglor hadn't shown them to him before, but 'Athân said that Sauron 
didn't allow Maglor to have books. His resentment towards Sauron grew. 

But, true to his personality, there were times he couldn't stand to be near his 
brother, times when the beast was upon him. And at those times he was left alone 
to shout and scream, and claw at the heavy door with his fingernails, desperate 
to be let out and to get to the uruk hai who alone understood him like this. But 
now, it seemed, his existence was about to change again. 

As he studied Mithedhel, the dark lord had a gleam in his eye. He smiled as if 
he liked what he was looking at, and he reached out, only to suddenly draw back 
with a pained cry when the young uruk sank his sharp teeth into the dark lord's 
hand. Sauron stood well back for a few moments, while his face appeared to 
change, but then it didn't. He breathed loudly in the small cell, and when the 
flitting shadows left his features he looked at Mithedhel with narrowed eyes. 
The little uruk snarled again. The dark lord nodded to himself, and sneered at 
his own foolishness, then turned and left, but the door remained open. 

Just as Mithedhel had decided to venture to it, someone else strode in. He 
sighed rather obviously when he saw it was only Golrakh. He wanted Maglor back. 
He had a question that needed answering. But then he ran to Golrakh when the 
uruk hai opened his arms and felt himself carried out of the cell and back to 
the uruk hai living quarters. 

"Elves are gone. You belong to us." He had never heard Golrakh speak elvish 
before, and Mithedhel opened his eyes wide. What else did he know? Maybe... But 
then what he had said struck Mithedhel and he wrinkled his brow for a moment 
before bursting into tears. 

"Dead?" Mithedhel asked in a little voice when he could stop crying long enough 
to speak again. Golrakh shrugged, and the little uruk was inconsolable. Maglor 
was gone! His father was gone! He was sure it was all Sauron's fault. Any other 
child would have cried and become quiet - but not him. He needed a fight, and 
when they got back to the large room that Golrakh and his company occupied, the 
uruk hai found it took a good long while to exhaust him, and when they did he 
still didn't seem at ease. 

Golrakh didn't understand why it should affect him so much. After all, what were 
the elves? But he tried to do something for the little one. He gave Mithedhel a 
drink, and then let the little uruk shove him around for a bit. Eventually, he 
quietened, and then he asked a question that had Golrakh completely stumped. He 
had no idea where it had come from. 

"What is snow?" Golrakh knew the answer; it was only Mithedhel's asking of it 
that had him wondering. He replied with confidence in the black speech. 

"It falls white from the sky." But that didn't seem to satisfy Mithedhel, and he 
sighed dramatically at the disappointing answer. Golrakh thought about it for a 
while, and then spoke again. 

"It is cold." At that Mithedhel suddenly smiled, as if he was seeing something 
other than the filthy room. He stood up and held out his little hands, turning 
around slowly in circles, his bewitching green eyes shining. 

"It falls," he repeated, as if he finally understood. "It is cold." Then he 
looked around, straight at Golrakh. "Snow!" he exclaimed, as if it was an answer 
to some question. Golrakh shrugged helplessly, confused at Mithedhel's sudden 
strange behaviour. "It's snowing!" he insisted, and one of the more stupid uruk 
hai nearby looked up at the ceiling as if expecting it to come falling down on 
them all. Mithedhel laughed at that, and then flung himself at Golrakh happily. 
Golrakh didn't know what it meant to Mithedhel, but when he thought, he knew it 
would probably be snowing out there. 

"Yes, it's snowing," he said with certainty, glad that the young one seemed to 
be calm again at last. "Silly little Snabokh," he said, calling Mithedhel after 
his other father, with what would pass for tenderness here, although the set of 
his face wasn't so far removed from a snarl. Mithedhel began to drift off to 
sleep again, happy to know what he was dreaming of, and what it meant. *Elves 
playing in the snow.*

From nowhere, he remembered something Maglor had once told him about dreams, and 
he smiled to remember it now, his waking mind almost gone. *Some would say they 
are telling you the truth*. 

And those kinds of dreams filled the world. While Mithedhel dreamed of snow, 
'Athân dreamed of being close to his elven father. Maglor and Legolas shared a 
waking dream of freedom. Sauron, however, had nightmares. He dreamed of losing, 
of never finding the ring, and before too much time had passed, he rose from his 
bed to stare into the Palantír again, looking for something. And when he became 
frustrated and angry - he was alone. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The woods weren't as large as they at first appeared, and it seemed that they 
grew on a rare plateau just below the mountains. The land began to slope 
downwards steeply just as the trees thinned out, until they found themselves at 
the bottom of the first hills that led upwards into the westernmost peaks of the 
Ered Lithui. 

Maglor found it distressing to realise just how much he had forgotten. He simply 
didn't remember Middle-Earth, and he had no idea which direction to go. Luckily, 
Legolas had not been a captive for as long, and he began to lead them in a 
straight north-western line, explaining that in time they would hit the river 
Anduin. All they needed to do was follow it and they would come upon Lothlórien, 
and then, eventually, northern Greenwood. 

But all that was a long way off, and in the meantime there were other things to 
be done. Before leaving the trees they took enough wood to make three or four 
bows and plenty of arrows. They made themselves cloaks out of leaves and grasses 
from the flatlands. It wasn't much, but it was the best they could do. And it 
was more than to be expected from the inhospitable land around the edge of 
Mordor. 

Their relationship was a true pleasure, although in the darkness of the watch at 
night, Maglor began to hunger for something else. Something different. He tried 
to shake the feeling off, but it stubbornly refused to budge, and when the first 
dreams of Sauron came to him in his sleep, he was not entirely surprised. Often, 
he dreamed of the dark lord coming upon him when he was on watch, and yet as 
much as he wanted it to, nothing really happened in those dreams. He even 
dreamed of the wolf once, and that at last scared him. The dreams were so real 
that Maglor couldn't say for certain they were not, and for the first time he 
considered that he and Legolas should split up, and continue their ways 
seperately. 

Not only might he be a danger to the young Prince if Sauron was indeed following 
them, but there was also the fact that Maglor didn't really know what to do with 
himself now. Freedom, he was finding, required more than just a jubilant cry of 
happiness. He needed to decide what to do. Should he try and settle somewhere? 
And if he did, was Greenwood the place to do it? At times he considered 
something that made him want to weep. He thought of making his way into the west 
of Middle-Earth and finally building a boat to carry him across the sea. West 
was a direction he understood. He would be drowned or allowed home, and after 
all of these centuries, the chance of returning to Valinor was a call he 
couldn't resist in his soul. It was a *pulling*. 

But for now he kept all of his thoughts to himself. Legolas surely would not 
understand. He was excited to be returning home, despite all that had happened 
to him. Legolas was still young, and he would survive what had happened to him 
now that he was free. Maglor knew he would not understand the weariness that 
demanded a final resting place. He kept silent about the dreams too. What could 
they do but worry Legolas? And he didn't want to talk about them for a deeper 
reason. Maglor secretly treasured them - every single one. 

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

He came awake the next night to the feeling of something wet moving restlessly 
on his neck, and when he opened his eyes he wished he hadn't. He drew in a 
breath to scream, but the giant wolf that stood over him lifted its head and 
growled menacingly, the yellow of its eyes burning bright in the darkness so 
that Maglor froze. 

It stood over him as it might stand over a kill, and when Maglor remained quiet 
it resumed it previous activity. It sniffed and nuzzled at him, paying 
particular attention to his neck as his mind screamed at him. He raised his arm 
instinctively when it tried to lick his face, and soon his found himself staring 
into its too-intelligent eyes, his arm held in the grip of its teeth, just tight 
enough to hurt him. But the wolf didn't draw blood. It let him go, and Maglor's 
arm fell lifelessly back to the ground beside him as the wolf licked at him, at 
his face, his lips, his ears... 

He sighed at that, and the wolf stopped to look at him again. It was too 
intelligent. "If you're going to kill me, why don't you do it?" Maglor hissed, 
and the wolf's eyes narrowed as if it understood the words. But then it lost 
interest and instead lay down, draped over him like some expensive blanket. It 
stayed there, with its head resting on his chest, while its yellow eyes moved 
around the clearing, watching, and then they closed. Its breathing became slower 
and at last Maglor dared to move. 

"Legolas," he whispered urgently, as he reached out for one of the crude, but 
lethal wooden bows they had made while fleeing. He needed Legolas to wake up and 
kill it... before it killed him. He froze again when he heard the wolf. It 
growled warningly and he looked at it. One of its eyes was open and watching 
him. Very slowly, Maglor pulled his arm back and still the wolf growled. Maglor 
swallowed. It continued growling, a low rumble deep in its chest as Maglor put 
out his hand to it. 

Then he was touching it. Its fur was soft and warm, and he stroked it lightly, 
finally letting his hand come to a rest on the back of the wolf as it lay on 
him. The growling stopped, and the wolf closed its eyes again. Maglor lay still, 
in complete silence this time, in awe that it had not killed him. At least, not 
yet. It slept, and he couldn't move from beneath it. Did an hour pass? Nothing 
changed, and at last Maglor drifted back into sleep. 

The wolf stayed the entire night, and nothing disturbed the elves again in that 
time. So it kept its place, the place it wanted to be. Maglor's arm still rested 
over its back, and in turn the wolf's giant paw held Maglor's other arm down to 
the ground as he slept. From the look of them, it would be difficult to say who 
belonged to who. Perhaps they belonged to each other. But when dawn broke over 
the clearing - the wolf was gone. When Maglor awoke he conceded to himself that 
he recognised the wolf from his dream, and he began to plan a way to let Legolas 
carry on alone. 

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

This was a quiet time. Second watch. It was still pitch black, the new moon made 
the nights darker, but soon the first grey and blue of early morning would light 
the sky. It had been a few weeks since they emerged from the secret labyrinth 
that lay underneath Mordor, and Spring was fully upon them. It was not so cold 
now, but there was still enough of a chill in the air that Maglor's breath 
fogged in front of him. 

He rubbed his arms briskly and walked to and fro for a few paces before the 
fire, trying to get a little warmer. Cold could make you less alert in exactly 
the same way as warmth. He was concentrating so much on his body temperature 
that he didn't hear the approach of a dark figure, and his eyes didn't note the 
blackness that moved through the dark, but he did feel the change when a warm 
presence came to stand behind him. One large, warm hand covered his mouth before 
he could cry out, and the whispered hush made his skin tingle in awareness. 
Sauron. 

Strange how when even the cold couldn't make him shiver, his Master's touch 
could. Sauron moved his hair aside and lips danced lightly over the soft skin 
behind his ear. Sauron's warm breath there made a delicious tingle run the 
length of Maglor spine so that he moaned behind the hand that covered his mouth. 

"Do you miss me?" he whispered wickedly, and Maglor leaned back against him in 
answer, closing his eyes. The hand left his mouth so that he could reply as 
Sauron embraced him from behind. 

"Yes!" he replied in a heartfelt hiss, aware of the need not to wake Legolas. If 
he awoke, then Sauron would be gone, and Maglor wanted him to stay. One of 
Sauron's hands slid under the layers of his clothes to rest heavily on his 
stomach, the other was raised to his lips again, and Maglor didn't think twice 
about accepting one of Sauron's fingers into his mouth. His heart leapt at this 
chance to please Sauron again, and his experienced tongue caressed the dark 
lord's finger as he drew it deeper inside, wanting to show that he was willing. 
Everything else ceased to exist except what he was doing, and when he heard 
Sauron moan behind him, Maglor felt the sound in his groin. 

All he wanted now was for his Master to touch him there, and when the hand left 
his stomach, and he felt the back of Sauron's hand brush lightly over the 
hardness in his breeches, Maglor whimpered around the finger in his mouth. He 
moved forward quickly to prolong the touch, but Sauron pulled him back, the hand 
once more resting on his stomach. 

"You are tempting me, mûl vain nín," he murmured now, his voice heavy and 
ragged. He pulled his hand away from Maglor's mouth, and he couldn't help 
moaning a little in regret. "What do you want most of all?" Sauron asked 
huskily. He forced his hand down the back of Maglor breeches so that he could 
slip the hand between his buttocks and slide his wetted finger over Maglor's 
entrance. Maglor spread his legs a little to make it easier, his breath coming 
in short gasps, needing to feel Sauron's finger inside him. Wanting more than 
that but afraid to voice it for fear it would all be taken away. The finger 
continued to tease him slowly, never quite entering him even when he pushed back 
against it wantonly. "Do you want this?" Sauron breathed. 

"Please, I want *you*," Maglor begged shamelessly. "Herdir." Oh! It seemed too 
long since he was last able to call Sauron that. In answer the finger entered 
him at last, and Maglor groaned in pleasure, pushing back, not caring that 
Sauron would feel how he still prepared himself for this. "Let me please you 
again." Truly, that was all he wanted, for his Master to find pleasure in him 
again, to use him as he was meant to be used. 

Sauron growled in pleasure. "Oh, mûl vain nín, somehow I knew you would," he 
said in a low, amused voice, referring to the easy way he could touch Maglor 
like this. Suddenly the finger left him, and Sauron pulled Maglor back against 
his body so that he could feel the dark lord's hardness against him. Maglor 
gasped, and rubbed himself against Sauron in pure desire. "But if I take you 
now," Sauron warned. "I will take you back with me. You understand that, don't 
you?" He matched Maglor's movements, and thrust against him lightly so that 
Maglor moaned again. 

"Yes," he said fervently. "Take me back." Was he really asking for Sauron to 
allow him to return? It sounded that way, and Maglor felt a little afraid for 
the first time, aware how much of a slave he still was to the dark lord. 

"Didn't you want to escape?" Sauron whispered, almost seeming to taunt him, 
thrusting again. "To be free?" 

"I am not free," Maglor replied, suddenly seeing it. It took more than distance 
to be released from this. It would take time. And just maybe he would never be 
completely free. 

"Not yet, no," Sauron stopped moving, holding Maglor's hips so that he was still 
against that heat and hardness. "But soon you will be beyond my reach." There 
was such a sound of regret and dismay in his voice that Maglor wanted to turn 
around and look into Sauron's eyes, but he was held still. 

"No..." he moaned, shaking his head, wishing that the choice were his. It 
wasn't, and somehow he knew that Sauron would leave him here. Sauron wouldn't 
take him back to Barad-dûr now. 

"I will make you two promises, Maglor Fëanorion." Those lips moved behind his 
ear again, and again Maglor trembled on his feet, wanting to fall into Sauron's 
arms. 

"If you ever return to me," he began in a low, threatening tone. "I will make 
you so sorry for running away, mûl nín, that the crimes you committed for the 
sake of gaining the Silmarils will fade into nothing." It was a serious threat. 
Maglor's mind gave him an image of all the punishments Sauron would inflict on 
him for daring to escape, and it should have curbed his desire, but it didn't. 
He wanted that just as much, because it would please Sauron to hurt him. The 
dark lord took hold of one of Maglor's hands, running his thumb over the fingers 
in such a way that Maglor knew Sauron could break them. He whimpered, but he 
didn't pull his hand away. 

"Yes, Hîr nín," he said, unable to disguise his longing, so that Sauron chuckled 
at his reaction to the threat. He raised the hand he still held, and instead of 
crushing Maglor fingers, he kissed the back of his hand softly. 

"But I miss you too," he said quietly, "and I will be happy to welcome you 
home." Maglor hardly dared breathe when he felt Sauron's lips and tongue moving 
down over one of his fingers, drawing it into the dark lord's hot mouth. His 
legs refused to support him, and the arm around his waist tightened to take his 
weight as Sauron sucked lightly on Maglor's finger. It was clear what he meant - 
such a promise! - and Maglor wondered how long this would continue. He wondered 
how long he could hold his breath. Those lips moved down again, taking the 
length of his finger into Sauron's mouth, and then as he drew his lips up, 
Maglor felt the lightest scrape of the dark lord's teeth on his skin, and he let 
out his breath at last in a long low moan at the thought of what Sauron was 
saying to him, what the promise was. He felt Sauron's tongue swirl around the 
length of his finger, and he imagined he could feel it somewhere else too. He 
jerked in Sauron's grip as the feeling travelled down, turning to jolts of 
pleasure along the way that made his cock throb in answer. But he needed 
something still - he wasn't free. 

"Please," he whimpered, his need a craving as desperate as thirst or hunger. 
Sauron's held Maglor's finger a moment longer - sucking. Then he let go, 
lavishing one last kiss on the wet skin. 

"Yes," he whispered, and Maglor felt his world shatter as his orgasm claimed him 
at the word. He was sure he was falling, but it didn't matter. All that mattered 
was that he had permission, and he gave in to it gladly. 

When he returned to reality, he found himself lying on the cold ground - alone. 
He looked around him quickly, feeling bereft when he realised that Sauron was 
gone. Had he ever been here? The light was already turning the sky a deep blue, 
and he knew he must have fallen asleep on watch. He sighed and sat up, shaking 
his head to clear his mind of the dream, and then he saw it. Maglor jumped in 
shock. He reached down to his tunic and picked from it a single, long, black 
hair. These were not dreams, then. He looked over at Legolas who lay in peaceful 
sleep a safe distance away from the fire. Then he looked back at what he held in 
his hand. He realised belatedly that one of his fingers was cold. It was wet. 
Maglor groaned, thinking of the promise. He licked at his own finger until 
nothing of Sauron could remain there. Once more he had the thought, and now it 
was imperative. For safety's sake, he and Legolas had to separate. 

All through the next day, Maglor thought long and hard about what he should do. 
It was clear now that Sauron was following them, that Sauron was following 
*him*. He imagined coming clean, and telling the truth, and he knew that would 
not be the end of it. Legolas would be certain that they should stay together. 
He was looking forward to the welcome home, and he assured Maglor over and over 
again that he would receive a welcome just as warm. Maglor wasn't so sure about 
that, but he let Legolas believe it as long as it made him happy. 

The land they travelled was bare and featureless. Perhaps it was a mercy after 
all his time in Mordor. Although Maglor had enjoyed seeing the trees, he had 
been a little glad when the wood ended. It had been almost too much for his 
senses after such a long time away. This, while it might be flat and boring, and 
occasionally marshy if they wandered too far west, was easier for him to deal 
with. 

He scanned the horizon, and there was nothing to see. There were the mountains 
if he looked behind them, and they served as an uncomfortable reminder of just 
how far away Barad-Dûr was. Was Sauron there? Or was the wolf silently tracking 
them even now? He couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean the wolf wasn't 
out there, somewhere. 

When evening fell and they made camp, Maglor's thoughts came to a startling 
conclusion. He looked at Legolas and considered it. It would work, but was it 
too cruel? Maglor knew it was probably the only way he could lose Legolas now. 
It would have to be so. Legolas would carry on alone, and he would escape. Any 
other course of action and Maglor could very well see Legolas refusing to accept 
the truth or the danger. They were lucky the wolf hadn't killed him so far. Even 
Maglor was lucky come to that. 

"What is it?" Legolas asked, a shy smile on his lips, noticing Maglor's stare. 
Maglor made up his mind, and he apologised silently in advance for what he was 
about to do. Without saying a word he moved to kneel behind Legolas where he was 
sitting on the ground and began to massage his shoulders. 

"I'm glad you're free," he said in answer, and it seemed Legolas didn't catch 
the slip in his words because he moaned in pleasure as Maglor's skilled hands 
went to work on his tense muscles, and closed his eyes. Although they were 
already lovers, Maglor decided that this evening should be more like a 
seduction. It eased his own mind to treat it as such, and by the time he was to 
take the Prince, he would make certain that Legolas was ready to beg for him. 

Maglor took his time with the massage, using the oil they had brought with them 
when they left to help him. He drew it out, easing every single knot from 
Legolas' muscles. He guided Legolas to lay down flat on his stomach, and then 
proceeded to knead and caress his entire body. At times Legolas would moan 
beneath his ministrations, and Maglor smiled tenderly, wanting Legolas to feel 
something he would never forget, despite what the night would bring. 

He ended the massage with a series of firm strokes down Legolas' body, 
remembering how it had felt for Sauron to do this for him, and he noted the way 
Legolas relaxed completely into his touch, his flesh pliable and soft. He 
listened to Legolas' breathing, slow and steady. Maglor leaned over the Prince 
on his hands and knees, and moved down, greedily drinking in the sight of 
Legolas' body. The smooth white skin of his back, the firm, round buttocks, his 
muscled thighs and shapely legs. Only when he reached Legolas' feet though, did 
Maglor touch. He began by kissing his lover's toes, one by one, smiling when he 
realised that Legolas was so relaxed he didn't try to move his sensitive feet 
away from the teasing touch. He brushed his lips over Legolas' instep, and then 
placed a bracelet of kisses around his ankle. Legolas sighed, while Maglor 
smiled and repeated the same actions with his other foot. 

He moved up Legolas' calf, and then licked lightly at the soft skin behind his 
knee, laughing against the flesh when Legolas let out a surprised squeak. Again, 
he repeated the actions, and then moved up still further, using his fingers now 
to tease Legolas' inner thighs so that he opened his legs. Maglor avoided the 
obvious, and instead set to placing gentle kisses on the back of Legolas' upper 
thighs, happy when he heard the Prince moan. 

He rested his hands on Legolas' buttocks and squeezed lightly, dipping his head 
at the same time and using his tongue to brush against the back of his balls, 
and then licking up in a line, over the place where his prostate ought to be, 
and then up further, teasing his opening so briefly that Legolas moved beneath 
him, trying to make the touch last. He laughed again, and took his weight on his 
hands again, now beginning to kiss the soft globes of flesh he had been lightly 
massaging. He moved up further still, and then quite suddenly licked a firm line 
up the lower part of Legolas' spine. 

"Stay," he warned quietly, when Legolas would have turned over. He remained 
motionless until Legolas flopped back down on the ground and sighed. Maglor 
smiled and continued to show his appreciation for the body beneath him, nipping 
lightly with his teeth at the left side of Legolas' waist in a series of small 
bites. 

Moving quickly, he settled astride Legolas and then pulled his left arm up 
behind him, letting his fingernails drag up the length of his arm to from his 
shoulder to his wrist. He held Legolas' hand in his, keeping the palm exposed, 
and then ran his tongue lightly over the top of his palm, just beneath his 
fingers. He let one of his fingers dance in small circles over the palm of his 
hand while with his teeth he pulled gently at the flesh between his thumb and 
forefinger. He let Legolas' arm back down to the ground finally after moving his 
lips down over the inside of his wrist so that he ended with kissing the inside 
of Legolas' elbow. He sat up a little straighter. 

"Now," he said quietly. "I'm going to do all that to you again, only on this 
side." He leaned down to begin the little bites, this time on the right side of 
Legolas' waist, and he couldn't help but giggle when he heard a slightly 
frustrated, dismayed moan from Legolas. 

When he had fulfilled his promise, Maglor brushed the long, golden hair away 
from the nape of Legolas' neck and kissed him there, before encouraging him to 
turn over onto his back. He held Legolas' wrists to the ground when he would 
have reached up to touch, and shook his head slightly. Legolas sighed a little 
petulantly and closed his eyes, and Maglor took that opportunity to kiss his 
eyelids. He took in the sight of the Prince like this, wanting to imprint it on 
his mind forever. His golden hair was spread out around his face, his long 
eyelashes fluttered while he waited for the next thing Maglor did. The light had 
faded more, and so now he looked ethereal in the dusk, with the firelight 
casting delicious shadows on his skin, and accentuating the highlights in his 
hair. The light shone on his moist lips, making them glisten, even as the 
approaching dark made them a deeper red. It was a perfect moment. 

*I love you*, Maglor thought. He had never said it, and he wanted to now more 
than at any other time, but still he found it difficult. Why? It wasn't as if 
Legolas didn't know. Would it change anything? It seemed the entire world was 
conspiring to make him say it out loud, and Maglor couldn't help himself. "I -" 
Maglor began, but then stopped when Legolas opened his eyes. They looked at each 
other, and the moment still wasn't over. Maglor licked his lips. *Say it!* 
Legolas lay beneath him, he still held the other elf's wrists to the ground - 
*he was beautiful*. 

"What is it?" Legolas asked a little uncertainly, and the spell was broken. 
Maglor smiled, feeling relieved even though he hadn't said the words. Something 
important had passed him by, but it didn't matter. Nothing had changed. He shook 
his head, and satisfied himself with showing Legolas what he had been about to 
say as he leaned down and covered Legolas' lips with his own. 

He resumed the slow lovemaking, covering every inch of Legolas' body with 
kisses, worshipping him with his lips, trying to remember everything. He traced 
the curving of his lover's ribs with his fingertips, and circled the dusky 
nipples with his tongue before biting at them so lightly it must feel like 
kisses. He rested his hand on Legolas' midriff while he followed the curve of 
Legolas' hip with his tongue. He wanted to taste everything he had to offer, and 
keep it with him. When he finally reached Legolas' cock, he didn't spend too 
long there, just long enough to feel Legolas begin to stir at his touch. 
Instead, he continued moving down slowly; finding all the secret places that 
made Legolas moan for him, and relishing the sounds he made. 

When he reached Legolas' toes again, he once more kissed each one, and then took 
hold of the oil again. While Legolas watched he spilled some onto his fingers, 
and then moved to sit beside him, reaching between Legolas' parted thighs to rub 
the oil over his entrance. Legolas' eyes darkened, and his breathing quickened, 
knowing at last that the time had come. He was so relaxed now that it was easy 
for Maglor to slip a finger inside him. Legolas moaned and pushed against him 
wantonly. But that wasn't enough. Maglor leaned over again, and licked at 
Legolas' cock, satisfied when he hardened immediately at the delicate touch. He 
didn't tease any longer, but took Legolas' hardness into his mouth while he 
spread the oil within him. 

Using two fingers now, he allowed Legolas to buck up when he brushed against his 
prostate, relaxing his throat and swallowing the head of his lover's erection. 
He kept his face close to Legolas and swallowed a few times, rhythmically, 
before letting him go so that he could rub his tongue over the underside of 
Legolas' cock right up to the glans. 

When he felt Legolas twitch inside his mouth, he stopped everything suddenly, 
making Legolas cry out loudly in denied need. He was ready. At the thought of 
what he had to do, Maglor almost hoped that he wouldn't be able to go through 
with it, but seeing Legolas so needy and desperate for him had already made him 
hard, and Maglor covered his own length with the oil before lying atop Legolas. 
He pushed one of Legolas' long legs over his shoulder, turning his head to place 
a gentle kiss on his thigh. 

"Please," Legolas moaned with his eyes closed again, moving his hips forward to 
try and impale himself on Maglor's erection. 

"You don't have to beg me, Legolas," Maglor replied and slid inside easily so 
that they both gave a satisfied sigh. He held still for a moment, allowing 
Legolas to adjust, and then set a gentle rhythm, almost rocking. He would never 
know this again. Maglor closed his own eyes and concentrated on the way Legolas 
felt around him, accepting and moving with him, so hot and perfect. He felt 
every contraction of the flesh around him, and then opened his eyes again so 
that he could take Legolas in hand firmly. Legolas arched up into his hand, 
taking Maglor inside him to the hilt at the same time. He gasped as Maglor began 
to move his hand too, matching the rhythm to his lovemaking so perfectly that 
Legolas cried out. 

It didn't last much longer after that. Maglor stopped thrusting when Legolas 
began to orgasm, milking him of every drop before moving up his body and holding 
his arms to the ground again. Legolas looked up at him in complete trust, and 
Maglor felt sure he couldn't do it. But then he thought of the boy he had 
seduced before, and he remembered the wolf. He began taking Legolas again, 
feeling his orgasm approach, and as he came he leaned down to whisper into 
Legolas' ear. 

"Beautiful," he breathed. He came inside Legolas, but he was aware of how still 
his lover had become beneath him. He groaned with his release, letting Legolas 
hear that too, making his last few movements a little more selfish, a little 
more violent. He lay for a while with his head pressed close to Legolas' neck, 
not wanting to look and see what he had done yet. There was always the chance 
that Sauron hadn't used the word on him, but Maglor didn't see why he wouldn't 
have. He composed himself and used his grip on Legolas' wrists to raise himself 
up. 

The look on Legolas' face was something he *didn't* want to remember, but he 
knew it would be there along with everything else. The moment when Maglor hurt 
him. He knew that whatever happened now wouldn't matter. Nothing he could do or 
say now would ever take this back. Legolas looked at him for a minute in hurt 
confusion, and then he began to fight. He tried to throw Maglor off him, and 
struggled desperately to free his arms from Maglor's grip. When he eventually 
realised that he couldn't dislodge the other elf, he stopped in defeat. 

"Why?" he asked, all of his pain there in his voice. "Why did you say that 
word?" Nothing would ever take it back. Maglor knew that, knew that he had 
wounded Legolas, and still he couldn't let up. He plastered a smile on his face. 

"Doesn't it work for you?" he asked nastily. "It works for me." He moved against 
Legolas again, feeling his softened sex move inside him suggestively. Legolas 
moaned at the same time as he cried out in anguish. 

"Why are you hurting me?" he said then, still not giving up. Maglor pulled out 
suddenly and let Legolas go, standing over him coldly, wishing that his legs 
wouldn't feel so shaky. 

"Why don't you run away from me?" he challenged, watching Legolas as he pushed 
himself back, away from Maglor's feet. He drew his knees into his chest and 
hugged himself like a child, shaking with threatened tears at what Maglor had 
done to him. 

"I never will," he said quietly, refusing to believe in what had happened 
between them. Maglor sighed heavily, and crumpled to the ground in defeat. It 
hadn't worked! The young one still wanted to stay with him. He had hurt Legolas 
for nothing, and Maglor hated himself more than ever. He looked over at Legolas, 
and Maglor realised again just how young he was. He looked so innocent and 
vulnerable, despite everything. Maglor decided to try a version of the truth. 

"You want to go home, don't you?" he asked gently, with sympathy. Legolas looked 
at him and Maglor knew that all he had to do was ask, and forgiveness would be 
his. Again, the words came to his mind from earlier. *I love you*. 

"Yes," Legolas admitted at last, turning his gaze away to stare miserably at the 
fire. The time for the words had passed earlier, and saying them would make no 
difference now, Maglor realised. 

"So do I, pen neth," he said meaningfully. "So do I. I'm so very tired." As he 
spoke, Maglor felt the truth of his words, and he shivered wearily. It had been 
so long since he had left his home; he had been away for an eternity. "Time is 
never short, but still it stretches too thinly over me now. It becomes *old*." 
He was aware of Legolas watching him speak, and he had to continue. 

"No," Legolas denied his words, but he must know it was hopeless. 

"There is nothing left for me to do here, Legolas. I've played my part," he 
sighed, "such as it was. You must go on alone." He held his face in his hands, 
and he gasped when he felt Legolas touching him, pulling his hands from his face 
to look at him. The tears still threatened to fall, but there was acceptance 
there that Maglor didn't deserve. 

"I understand." Maglor wanted to say that he didn't, but what use would it be? 
He ached to tell Legolas of the dreams, and to say sorry for hurting him in such 
a way, but he knew that if he did Legolas would refuse to leave him alone. He 
kept silent as the Prince dressed and divided up their belongings. "I *will* see 
you again," Legolas said in surety, kneeling down in front of Maglor and 
managing to smile a little. Maglor reached out to caress his face. 

"In time, yes," he said, not stopping Legolas when he drew back and stood up. He 
let his hand fall back down. It was night, but Legolas would not stay with him 
now. This was the time for them to separate. Maglor had engineered it, but he 
still didn't want it, not really. He watched as Legolas backed away from him, 
and he remained silent. Maglor didn't want take away his freedom. 

"Time," Legolas mused, and smiled secretly. "It gets old, you say? Not yet." He 
shook his head. "Not for me!" Maglor was surprised when Legolas came back to him 
and kissed him passionately, and he couldn't help but respond to it. Once more, 
the words rang in his mind. The kiss ended, and still Maglor didn't speak. 
"I'll never forget you," Legolas vowed seriously. "Watch for me?" Maglor smiled 
earnestly. 

"I'll be looking for you, pen neth," he said with a kind of gladness. "If I give 
you a promise now, will you keep it?" 

Legolas laughed at his choice of words and played along, making their final 
words something to remember, something that could almost be poetry. "Until time 
grows old," he said with a little bow. 

"Then I promise you'll see me again." It didn't feel like a lie, and Maglor took 
heart from it. Whatever happened, they would meet again, he was sure of it. 

He watched Legolas until he couldn't make him out in the dark. He would survive 
alone, and he would reach home. Maglor remained on watch for a while, and then 
supposed that whatever happened to him would just have to happen. He rested, and 
in the morning, his sleep had been dreamless. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

No dreams. The next day, when Maglor awoke alone, he felt unaccountably cold. He 
roused himself, kicked dirt over the remains of the fire, and gathered the few 
things that Legolas had left with him. He faced the cold, grey morning and the 
world already defeated. He stood for long minutes looking in the direction he 
must go, in the direction he *should* go. For the first time in thousands of 
years, his fate belonged to him, or so he thought, and it wasn't a welcome 
change. It must be a change for the better though. His mind reminded him that 
every step he took would be a step closer to home, closer to leaving behind all 
the nightmares and once more being himself. Yet he didn't move. 

He didn't understand his feelings. After everything, he had gained his freedom! 
But instead of the joy he expected to feel at the thought, he was dispirited and 
lonely. Even in the loneliest days of his imprisonment in Barad-Dûr, his life 
had been determined, his suffering measured and his reactions expected. His 
loneliness there had been engineered; it wasn't like this crushing emptiness. 
There wasn't a thing Sauron had done to him that made him fear like this. The 
possibility for good and evil was terrifying, and suddenly he appreciated just 
how structured his existence had been before. Maglor found that freedom meant 
responsibility, and it had been so long that he couldn't be comfortable with the 
thought, especially considering what that very freedom had led to before. 

He stood still for long minutes, with his back to the sunrise, and eventually he 
realised he wasn't going to do it. He couldn't take one step in that direction, 
even though his heart and soul demanded it. There was no guarantee that he was 
forgiven, even after all this time, and Maglor dreaded the refusal so much that 
he couldn't bring himself to step forward, and to ask. What did that leave? 
Maglor turned back towards the distant mountains, and everything in him screamed 
against it, but it was inevitable. Slowly, hating himself for every step, Maglor 
began walking back. 

When night fell he found himself at the same place he and Legolas had camped the 
night before last. He remembered Sauron then, and a more familiar, welcoming 
fear rippled through him. He denied it, even to himself, his consciousness 
insisting that he hoped he wasn't disturbed, but in truth he desperately desired 
for Sauron to do what he had threatened before, and take him back. 

He sat on a rock, not bothering to light a fire or to eat, and stayed there 
until the twilight deepened into night and he couldn't see into the empty dark. 
He finally admitted he was waiting when the stars began to fade with the 
approaching dawn. He stood and walked forward, then he held his arms out in 
supplication. 

"Please, Herdir. Are you out there?" That was a silly question, wasn't it? Of 
course he was. But then Maglor drew in a shocked breath, and considered for the 
first time something unthinkable. What if Sauron had been following Legolas all 
this time? What reason would he have for such a thing? Suddenly the need to see 
Sauron became much more important than it already was, and Maglor voice was 
strained when he spoke. "Please, speak to me." He fell to his knees. "Please..." 
He was begging a merciless being, but Maglor only wanted one thing. "Take me 
back." *Forgive me*. There was no answer. 

Faced by the silence, Maglor despaired. He didn't want this anymore! He only 
wanted to be back in his place, the place Sauron had given him. Nothing else 
mattered. Not freedom, not home, not forgiveness, and not choice. Endless, 
impossible choice. Maglor did the one thing that might make Sauron pay attention 
to him again, the one thing he knew how to do, and the one thing he probably 
shouldn't do considering what this was. Maglor began to sing. 

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

Sauron stood tall and unmoving in the darkness. He was naked, having come 
forward from the form of the wolf, but there were none to see him. Still as a 
statue, he stood and listened to the song that carried through the still night 
air. Maglor was singing for him. 

A smile of true pleasure curved his lips as the song continued, every phrase and 
every turn of the melody expressive of Maglor's love for Sauron, and for the 
dark things they did. It wasn't natural, and it wasn't meant to be, but it was 
the most beautiful thing Sauron had ever heard. It really was an unexpected 
surprise, and Sauron treasured every single line of the lament, savouring 
Maglor's longing and dedication. 

He listened carefully until the last poignant notes disappeared, watching the 
lonely figure through the lightening gloom. He was seized by the sudden 
desperate need to take what was his, and he almost gave in to it, seeing Maglor 
beneath him in his mind's eye so clearly that he almost moaned. He remembered 
what he had done a few nights ago, and he knew that temptation was something 
that could ruin even his plans. But he wanted more than this from Maglor, much 
more. 

The elf was still a prisoner, still trapped by the games Sauron had used on his 
mind, and he wanted something much more important. When Maglor came back of his 
own free will, although everything would appear the same, everything would be 
subtly different. When Maglor returned he would still be a slave, but he would 
no longer be a captive, he would be a companion. In time, he might even become 
an accomplice. Oh, there was a world of difference. And yet... there was the 
slightest doubt. Truly, Maglor would be beyond his reach soon, and he had no say 
then in what happened. What if he did sail, despite everything? What if he was 
wrong about some things? Could he be wrong about *their* reaction? 

Just as he was pondering the likelihood of a mistake, Maglor saw him. Sauron 
stood still, watching his slave's eyes, knowing every thought in his mind, but 
for a moment struck by the need to possess him. Once, centuries ago, when the 
elf was newly broken, Sauron had been surprised that the desire didn't wane. But 
it didn't. It was still there, and it took every ounce of self-control he 
possessed not to simply take what was offered. Despite everything he had done to 
the elf, every subversive need he had implanted in his mind, every warped desire 
he had given to Maglor, something still called to him. There was no resistance 
anymore, and so that wasn't it. Maybe it was his beauty. But there were many 
beautiful things in Arda, and Sauron didn't feel the need to possess them. Even 
Legolas had been easy to let go. 

Maglor walked uncertainly forward, encouraged by Sauron's silence, and sank to 
his knees without saying a word. Was this it? Maglor was so very moulded to his 
every wish and desire that his actions could be predicted, but that didn't make 
them uninteresting. Quite the opposite. Sauron was many things, but he was not 
ignorant, and he likened Maglor at this moment to a favourite book. No matter 
how well you knew every action and every piece of dialogue, you were never 
unhappy to read it. Or perhaps it was the very history they shared? As if the 
elf's mind and soul were a sculpture and his reactions were a reflection of 
that. Sauron could trace every line and curve, and remember what had helped to 
shape this part or that. 

The elf looked up, made unsure by his Master's silence and stillness, and even 
that was a pleasure to behold. But there was an imperfection there. Sauron 
looked down at Maglor, searching for it, and saw it again. Hope. It was 
something Sauron couldn't take from him; it was something that would have to 
play out without him. All he could do was ready Maglor for the confrontation in 
such a way that the outcome would be in his favour. All these changes and 
dependencies were unacceptable to *them*. He had to chance that Maglor would not 
want to let them go. 

But he considered that imperfection now, saw it shining with the elf, and Sauron 
became coldly angry. Maglor was not asking to return because it was his will, he 
was treating this as an escape. Despite his annoyance, Sauron smirked a little 
at the idea that Barad-Dûr could be considered a place to hide by anyone. This 
was not what he wanted. Still, he desired, and he commanded Maglor to rise to 
his feet with a single sharp backwards tilt of his head. 

When the elf stood before him, Sauron found his hands naturally reaching around 
to cup the elf's buttocks and draw Maglor close to him. His slave stood on 
tiptoe to wind his arms around Sauron's neck just at the perfect time for Sauron 
to lean forward and kiss his neck. He inhaled the familiar scent, enough of the 
wolf remaining that the action made him want to be violent. The kiss turned into 
a bite, and Maglor moaned, tilting his head to one side to make it easier. Even 
in imperfection, he was bewitching. Sauron drew back, and became transfixed by 
the sight of Maglor's lips. The elf trembled in his arms, and for a single 
moment he was completely irresistible. 

They kissed, the elf opening up to his questing tongue and surrendering before 
him so perfectly that Sauron forgot where they were and closed his eyes in 
pleasure, groaning into Maglor's open mouth in appreciation. Every response was 
perfect, every sound, every movement. Until he felt the imperfection again. 
There it was, behind the kiss, beneath the submission, something that should be 
eagerness was reticence. Barely noticable except to someone who knew Maglor as 
well as he knew himself, and it wasn't enough. Sauron drew back, Maglor moaned 
longingly as the slight movement disturbed the easy way they had rested against 
one another, and Sauron hardness nudged his. 

Slowly, Sauron ran his hands up over Maglor, making the elf shiver in his arms. 
He covered well known territory, bringing all the secrets of Maglor's body to 
mind again as he did so, until he had his hands on the elf's upper arms where 
they were raised up to encircle him. And then, very slowly, he dislodged his 
hands and pushed the elf away from him. 

"Hîr nín?" asked Maglor cautiously, his eyes expressive of hurt the way they had 
been before Sauron so many times. But this wasn't a new lesson he wanted to 
teach, this had to be an ending. 

"I will not accept you back like this, Maglor." He saw the hurt but carried on, 
determined to make the elf face his past, and embrace his future. "If you return 
to Barad-Dûr, you will die. My servants have been instructed to kill you on 
sight just as they would any other." Maglor shook his head. It was clear he was 
trying to understand what he was supposed to learn. 

"Please, Herdir." Maglor reached out towards him, and Sauron didn't even think 
twice. He lashed out at the elf, catching him on the jaw, and watching in 
satisfaction as he fell heavily onto the hard ground. Sauron walked to stand 
over him. 

"I suggest you make sure you are far away from here by daybreak," he said 
coldly, and then kicked Maglor hard in the stomach, so that he doubled over, 
wheezing and throwing his arms around himself to protect his body from any more 
as he tried to move back from the dark lord's feet. 

Advancing, Sauron kicked him again, viciously, only closing his eyes briefly 
when he heard Maglor begin to sob. Losing patience then, he dragged Maglor up so 
that they were at eye level. "Are you stupid?" he hissed. "Run away from me!" He 
threw Maglor back down to the ground, fully intending to carry on kicking him, 
and Sauron achieved with Maglor what the elf hadn't been able to achieve with 
Legolas the night before. He made his lover flee from him into the night. 

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

Maglor ran until the sun was high in the sky, and he was exhausted. His lack of 
sleep made him sink into a heap on the ground, and he looked towards the 
mountains for a few minutes. He thought he could see the suggestion of Barad-Dûr 
beyond them, but that was probably his imagination. He rested until he felt able 
to move again, remembering what Sauron had said. 

Maglor turned away from Barad-Dûr, admitting for the first time how utterly lost 
he felt without Sauron to command and to guide him. His fate, it seemed, was in 
his own hands for the first time in thousands of years, and he simply didn't 
know what to do with it. 

He considered what he had said to Legolas, and when he thought of Valinor he 
felt a homesickness he had never experienced while in Sauron's thrall. Now, the 
chance of returning home was possible, and his heart begged him to do it. He 
would return to the western shore, at least. Finally making his mind up, Maglor 
wasted no more time. He began to walk. 

It took weeks to cross to the western edge of Middle-Earth. Maglor travelled at 
night, keeping clear of strangers on the road, and speaking to no-one. He stole 
or killed what he needed to survive, and after perhaps six weeks or so, when the 
second moon was full, he came upon the shore. He had been following a river, 
which opened into a great bay where it met the sea. He wondered even now if he 
had the nerve to try, and realised that after all this time he did. 

Away from Sauron's influence, and the need to endure his punishments, he found 
himself thinking clearly, and what he found was not what he expected. There was 
still guilt, but when Maglor looked back over his life, he considered that what 
happened to him could have happened to anyone. He didn't take his crimes 
lightly, but he realised he understood the circumstances that had led to them, 
and he couldn't continue to hate himself. He forgave himself, and in that, he 
found the courage to dare the anger of those who could grant him true 
forgiveness. 

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

The dark lord gazed into the Palantír, searching for something. He spent long 
hours in this room, occupied with the same activity, but this time was 
different. A rare smile lit his features, a genuine smile, when he beheld what 
the swirling depths of the stone showed him. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A lone elf worked on the beach. He was building a small boat. It was obvious he 
had laboured for long hours. It was not grand and intricate, like the ships the 
elves usually sailed in, but it was enough to carry him over the sea, that much 
was certain. 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Do you know how captivating you are? Feed all my desires to the end of time, 
and I'll make this world a place for you to run from me." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The elf on the shore stopped for a moment. His long, red hair shone in the sun 
as he sat down and leaned back against a tree to rest for a while. Absently, he 
stroked his hand against the bark of the tree, and a fleeting look of lost 
sadness darkened his blue eyes even as he smiled. 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Yes, I see the beautiful scars that I have created, scars on your mind and your 
soul, and I can't regret them. They make you love me, make you desire and obey 
me. All things I have come to expect from you, and yet knowing this does not 
diminish the need to possess you." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Letting his head fall back against the tree at last, he closed his eyes. It was 
a perfect vision of peace; he was so beautiful he looked as though he slept the 
sleep of the innocent. Although for him, nothing could be further from the 
truth. 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Where is your place but by my side? Would you truly leave me to sleep endlessly 
on the shores of Valinor? I can't let you go, my beautiful slave, it's no better 
than suicide. Elves! Do you think you will be able to rest when you dream of me 
so far away, where I can't make your dreams and nightmares a reality?" 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Abruptly, the elf stood up. It seemed he couldn't rest after all. He walked back 
to the beach and stood looking out to sea thoughtfully, with something in his 
eyes that could be called longing. 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"When you think back, and I know you do, you feel that jewel in your hand 
again." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As if directed, he looked at his palm. He looked and it seemed he saw something 
else there. He closed his fist tightly and once more gazed out to the horizon.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Do you really think they want you over there? Unforgiven, forgotten by all but 
me, and I believe as you once did - that you were right. You could be someone 
else, if you ever made the choice. And I would be with you forever." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Now he was back at his work. It was nearly done, and he stopped to sigh and 
shake his head. He mumbled something to himself. 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Why don't you give in? Make the decision you made once before, and belong to me 
in truth. How many centuries will I need to convince you of who and what you 
are? Mine." 

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

Maglor went back to his work with a weary sigh. He had spent so long staring out 
to see, praying for them to speak to him, so that he could ask for their 
forgiveness. He was beginning to believe that they would never answer. Perhaps 
in their eyes, he didn't deserve anything more than ignorance. If he died trying 
to cross the sea, then so be it. He would find himself in Mandos, and would have 
to pay for his mistakes there. Eventually, one way or another, and however long 
it took, he would return home. 

Then, so slowly he couldn't say for sure when he first noticed it, he became 
aware of a quiet whispering. It was barely audible over the sound of the gentle 
waves that broke onto the sand a short distance away. The tide was fully in now, 
and Maglor closed his eyes to listen better, feeling a kind of peace steal over 
him when the whisperings became definite voices in his mind. 

The voices were no louder though, and it gave Maglor the disturbing impression 
that it was *they* who had been waiting for him to listen, rather than him 
listening for them to speak. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling, 
and listened. 

// Makalaurë, we have been waiting for you... // He hears us at last!... // 
There is forgiveness in his heart... // Yes, listen, and ask... //

In his mind a great image rose unbidden as he tried to formulate the words he 
wanted to say. That after all he had done, he was so desperately sorry for his 
crimes, that he took the responsibility for them upon himself, and that he 
wished only for peace in his soul. It seemed they didn't need to hear his words 
to see his desire. But then, why should they? It was written on his heart and 
soul for them to see. 

// You are tired... // He wishes to rest... // He wishes for forgiveness... // 
Come home to us, Makalaurë... //

Maglor cried out in ecstasy as a vision came to him of home. After all this 
time! And he remembered it so well; every tree and leaf and blade of grass. But 
not well enough. He had forgotten how glorious it was, how perfect, how 
peaceful. Oh, so peaceful! He fell to his knees, and felt the warm sand beneath 
him as something else. He sank into cool, green grass. When he looked up he saw 
the perfect sky above him. Please, let me return, his soul begged. 

// This was always yours... // We waited for you... // For you to hear us... 
//For you to have mercy on your own heart... //

Maglor became confused, even in his happiness. There was an unspoken question in 
their words. As if commanded, his mind gave them the answer, and Maglor moaned 
in regret as the first thoughts of Sauron came to his mind. For a while he had 
completely forgotten about his time with the dark lord. Now everything came 
flooding back for their perusal. Every hour of every day of every year of every 
century. "Please," he gasped. They couldn't want to see all this, surely? They 
had seen it before... hadn't they? 

// So alone, Makalaurë... // So lonely there... // He hurts!... // He suffers 
so! //

Maglor moaned as the visions continued. One after the other, until he was sure 
he must lose consciousness or go mad. And always, there was Sauron, taking 
pleasure from him in every way he could. Taking his body, tormenting his mind, 
playing with his emotions. "No more..." Maglor moaned helplessly beneath it all. 
For a moment the hope he had kept and treasured even during the darkest moments 
of his imprisonment shone in him, and then, quite suddenly, the visions stopped. 

// How could you believe we required such a sacrifice?... // We would not see 
this happen to you... // We would take you as you were... // We loved Makalaurë 
before... //

Maglor began to cry at this simple assurance, feeling the weight of his guilt 
lifted from him, and he only became aware of himself speaking after a few 
minutes. His lips moved without his knowledge, and he found himself thanking 
them over and over again. So relieved, and yet so sad. He felt their sympathy 
for him. They shared his pain. 

// Makalaurë... // Let us take these things away from you... // They are too 
heavy for your soul... // Forget what you have suffered... // You were never 
meant to live through such things... //

In a part of himself, he recognised what they were trying to offer him, and he 
reached out with his soul and his heart to take it gladly, but his mind wasn't 
in it. Maglor shivered in the throes of the vision he was being given, as he 
became conscious of something he already knew, but didn't want to admit. 

He really had been alone! 

// There is no need to be alone anymore... // Come back home... // Allow us to 
heal you... // We can take the pain away... //

There was no trick in their words, there was nothing hidden, but Maglor couldn't 
reach out to them anymore. His mind circled around one thought, even when he was 
given the dream of Valinor again. He saw everything they promised, and still he 
couldn't be rid of the hesitation. *I have been all alone*. He thought back over 
all his time with Sauron, and saw it all as it was. No one had been watching 
him. He saw himself caught in the web of some giant spider, and no one would 
have saved him from the monster. He had not only been left to die, he had been 
left to *that*. Forever. 

He thought further, about what exactly they wanted him to forget, and Maglor had 
no use for the millennia he had spent as Sauron's plaything. Or did he? 
Something in his heart demanded that he not let it go so easily, and he tried to 
understand why. He didn't really love Sauron, did he? No, it wasn't that. And he 
didn't need those memories, did he? A little uncertainty. The memories 
themselves were painful, and useless, but it was what they meant. Maglor for the 
first time considered the fact that he had forgiven himself. What had led to it? 
And all of a sudden he knew. What he had endured at Sauron's hands was so 
absolute. It was beyond any punishment he would have chosen for himself. They 
might not require the sacrifice, but he did. And he knew that were he to allow 
them to take away these experiences, they would fall silent to him anyway. He 
had to make a choice between his own forgiveness, and theirs. And if he chose 
theirs, nothing would change. He would still wander, unable to return home. 
Alone, forgotten, and unforgiven. 

Suddenly Maglor saw it in all its perfection; he saw the trap Sauron had set for 
them all. He couldn't afford to let his past go; and as their voices began 
again, Maglor silenced them with a single, thundering shout. "No!" 

Maglor collapsed fully onto the ground, sobbing. Slowly, the outside world came 
back. He realised he was lying on the warm sand in the heated caress of the sun. 
The voices had gone; all that remained was the sound of the sea, and the 
whispering of the waves on the shoreline. He knew he would not hear the voices 
again. They were still there, probably trying to catch his attention even now, 
but he couldn't listen. He wouldn't hear them again unless he forgave them for 
leaving him alone, and even then he would not be free to return. Maglor had 
always believed that he would eventually return home, but now he knew the truth 
was never certain. Despite wanting him to hear them, they hadn't been watching. 
He would have remained with Sauron until the end of the world if it had been up 
to them. Alone, lost and forgotten. And without a doubt he knew they would do it 
again. Whatever he did now, and wherever he went, they would not intervene. He 
*was* forgotten. 

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

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The elf on the beach was crying He was on his knees at the side of the boat that 
would never take him anywhere, crying in the afternoon sun, alone and forgotten.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"One day you will give in to me. And how they will fear you, Maglor. They will 
never forget you again." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With tears still in his eyes, he looked away from the sea and the boat and his 
plans. He looked towards the beginning of the woods, as if he was already there. 
He knew how far away his prison and home was, how much distance he had covered. 
Still, he looked as though he was waiting for someone to appear from the shadow 
of the trees. Or something.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Come back where I can reach you, melethron nín..." Sauron breathed, waving his 
hands over the crystal, making his magic carry his very words to a beach where a 
lonely figure waited. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Suddenly Maglor tensed and he closed his eyes as though he were listening. 
Slowly he stood again and made his way to the trees, his work and his dream of 
sleep as forgotten as he was. He truly was going home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Come back to me." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
But he wasn't forgotten, not completely, not by everyone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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

Wordlessly, Maglor knelt at Sauron's feet. He had heard the summons and had 
given in to it. *Come back to me*. He looked down. He had travelled so far, all 
the way back here, to him. And now he waited patiently. 

"Choose it for yourself, mûl nín," came the amused voice. Maglor looked up then, 
and as always caught his breath at the sight of the dark lord looking down at 
him. He truly did deserve to be worshipped. But he had something to say first, 
before his punishment. Something he wanted Sauron to know, something he intended 
to remember, even before the will of his Master. 

"I don't deserve this." Sauron simply smiled at him, and there was something of 
long-awaited victory and triumph in it. Maglor looked away, confused. 

"No, you don't," Sauron agreed enigmatically. He reached down and lifted 
Maglor's chin, forcing him to make eye contact again. "Choose it for yourself," 
he repeated, and Maglor began to cry silently in understanding. He knew what had 
happened, knew how the Valar had allowed Sauron to trap him, and he wasn't sure 
whose side he was on. But he realised what Sauron had made him into - a slave. 
His slave. The dark lord had decided and created all of his desires, needs, and 
even his comforts. Sauron would spend forever giving him exactly what he had 
been taught to want, and sometimes exactly what he didn't. But still, Maglor had 
chosen, by returning to this place; Sauron knew that just as well as he did. 
Never any secrets, not with him. Still, it felt so right to be on his knees 
before the dark lord, as always. Sauron waited for an answer. 

"I could play for you, Herdir," Maglor suggested eventually. 

"Yes, I think I will enjoy that. You will suffer for my pleasure alone, as you 
always did." Sauron pulled him to his feet, and then there was a kiss. The 
strange tenderness always felt like such a contradiction, coming from him. But 
it didn't last, nothing did. He wore the clothes he found waiting for him on his 
return, after he had cleaned and prepared himself to face his Master. They were 
the same sheer and flimsy garments that Sauron had allowed him to wear before. 
It was the work of moments for Sauron to take them from him. He stood before the 
dark lord, unsure and certain at the same time, feeling that gaze move over him. 
He couldn't help but be excited by his regard and Sauron smirked. 

Sauron lifted him, and sat him on the desk. Maglor hardly dared breathe when the 
dark lord began to stroke his hardness with his hand, kissing his neck, and then 
suckling on his nipples. Maglor let his head fall back and tried desperately to 
ignore what was happening to him, aware that he wasn't allowed to find release. 
But it was impossible to be ignorant when Sauron moved lower, now placing gentle 
kisses on his ribs and stomach, making him shiver and moan. 

"Shh..." Sauron hushed him, and he concentrated on keeping silent, closing his 
eyes. So he didn't see what was happening, and he couldn't help but cry out when 
he felt Sauron's lips and tongue replacing his hand. His eyes flew open and he 
looked down, just in time to see the dark lord taking him fully into his mouth. 
Hot, and slick. He felt the dark lord's tongue sliding over his length again, 
and again. And his mouth, so welcoming, so perfectly tight when he sucked like 
that. He trembled now with the force of his desire, seeing his Master's lips 
moving up and down his shaft, feeling his tongue running over him. It was too 
much! But then a familiar voice came into his mind. 

*Not yet... * the voice warned. *Stay exactly as you are, mûl nín.* 

Maglor moaned inarticulately, unable to tear his eyes away from Sauron and what 
he was doing. He automatically raised his hands until he could twist his fingers 
in Sauron's hair, not quite daring enough to pull him closer. That perfectly 
soft, black hair. And then he felt one of Sauron's hands reaching beneath him, 
his fingers searching for entry inside him. He felt Sauron moan around his shaft 
when his first finger slipped in easily, because Maglor had prepared himself 
before coming here. 

"Herdir... Aulendil, please..." Maglor gasped in excruciating need as Sauron 
began to massage him inside, the sensations so intense that the holding back 
began to hurt. But the dark lord didn't let up, he carried on sucking and 
licking, taking Maglor deep into his throat each time. Carried on massaging, 
rhythmic and sustained. Maglor was moving mindlessly now, alternately thrusting 
into his Master's mouth, and then moving back, only to feel Sauron's fingers 
rubbing deep inside him. He tried desperately to hold back, afraid of the 
punishment, but he couldn't. And he felt his orgasm rising in him, completely 
out of his control, despite Sauron's order to wait. All he was and ever would be 
was centred in one place, his existence narrowed to a single point. It was as 
though Sauron wanted him to disobey. He did! 

His climax came then, and he cried out, finally passing that smallest instant of 
time. Too late! He thought incoherently, and then realised it didn't matter. As 
soon as he had the thought, he surrendered himself, almost unaware of Sauron 
encouraging him, swallowing his seed greedily. He called out Sauron's true name 
over and over, feeling each wave of pleasure washing over him as it slowly 
dimmed, leaving him floating and breathless, weakened and barely conscious. He 
had fallen back, and now his weight rested entirely on Sauron's arm. It felt as 
though his blood had been replaced with warm honey, and it moved through his 
veins slowly, lazy and languid. He half opened his eyes just in time to see the 
dark lord licking the last traces of his essence from his lips, still kneeling 
before him at the desk, and the sight made him groan. For a long minute or two 
there was silence, and Maglor was the first to break it. 

"Thank you, Herdir," he breathed, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had 
made the right decision, surprised that he could still form the words. Things 
were different now. Maglor almost looked forward to forever. He thought back to 
their very first meeting on the beach. Perspective - hadn't that been a promise 
too? 

Sauron smirked at him, amused, and now he remembered Sauron's threat, but Maglor 
didn't have the strength left in him to react. He simply watched, and then 
listened, finally understanding how this would work from now on. 

"Thank you?" he asked mockingly, deliberately taking his words the wrong way. 
"Did I give you permission?" 

"No, Hîr nín," he returned, already sorry for it. 

"And what is the punishment for that?" Sauron asked, cruelly taunting him. 

Now Maglor did shiver, it was fitting to do so. But he wordlessly held out the 
hands that felt heavy and useless, giving himself over to his Master, choosing 
it. He had no God; by rejecting the Valar and his home, he had rejected 
Ilúvatar. He had no friends, and no enemies. He had no sins to be forgiven for, 
and no guilt. Why didn't it feel like freedom? Sauron took his hands and he 
knew. He did have a God, and a friend, and an enemy. Someone to please or anger 
with his deeds. He would never be free, but he didn't want to be. Not anymore. 
He was being given a comfort that Sauron would never bestow on the world. The 
dark lord stood up and chuckled, seemingly satisfied to take that as a reply, 
and led Maglor slowly away to the fate he had planned for him from the 
beginning, when he had heard the question: "Are you my punishment?"


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Returning from the borders for some rest - he never liked it. It always felt as 
though he was admitting he couldn't defend himself. He knew exactly why that 
feeling bothered him, but he could never talk about it. Over a hundred years had 
passed since he had returned. As soon as he had fulfilled his promise, and sent 
anonymous letters to those who mourned for the missing, he had set to work on 
forgetting. There was no letter for his father. Merenon had gone missing too, 
while searching for him months after everyone else had given up. Sometimes he 
wondered about that, and he remembered Merenon's green, laughing eyes, his 
enthusiasm for life... so like someone else that sometimes he was almost glad he 
didn't have the reminder. He still refused to talk about where he had been and 
what had happened to him - even to his own father. And he really had tried to 
forget. Most of the time he succeeded. But still, helplessness was a terrible 
thing. 

That was partly the reason he was so glad that his father hadn't been able to 
lock the creature, Gollum, away. Such a sad thing it was. Legolas knew only too 
well what it was like to be captured by the enemy. Really, there was no wonder 
he was maddened and incoherent. Tonight he would rest, and when he awoke he 
would study himself in the mirror, trying to see if there was any indication of 
the scar he himself bore. He never did see it, but it was there, buried deep 
inside his mind. He would never be helpless again. 

But now he walked with several other guards, and he lost himself in their 
conversation. He was well respected, well liked. Legolas was sometimes quiet but 
always dependable: a Prince who was a formidable archer. It didn't matter to 
them the reasons for it. Prince Legolas was their pride, and their comrade. A 
role model for the younger generation since Daeron had retired to spend time 
with the King as his advisor. In turn, he genuinely enjoyed their company, and 
he hoped none of them would ever know loss. 

"It seems Gollum has climbed a tree again, and he is refusing to come down," 
remarked the elf wryly. Legolas sighed at that. Those around him shared his 
pity, though for different reasons. He was glad of it. There were those who took 
the view that Gollum should be locked up for his own safety, but Legolas was 
glad that those elves were few and far between. 

"He will come down when he is ready to eat," Legolas observed, and his companion 
nodded. Legolas smiled. "And talking of food..." he said, when he noticed the 
'Welcome Home' preparations were already begun. The others around him grinned, 
and a few ran into the arms of those awaiting their return. He smiled again. 
Tonight would be a good night. 

The patrols stayed on the borders for weeks at a time. And while for Legolas 
this wasn't too much of a hardship, for some of the older Captains it was a 
great thing to return. They had families. Some had lovers that they missed 
desperately. Legolas had no one, although he wasn't short of offers. But that 
didn't mean he didn't enjoy the welcome home just as much. Good food, good 
company. And of course he could catch up with his father. Yes, coming home was a 
good thing. But before a week had passed he would be longing to return. He 
enjoyed fighting a little too much. But his experience was such that the King 
would never forbid him to go. Besides, his strength was not in politics. 

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

Much later, Legolas strolled in the quieter parts of his home. It had indeed 
been a good night. Music, dancing, wine. He had been propositioned several 
times, but this evening he wanted to take for himself. He had several casual 
lovers, who knew what they were and didn't ask for any more than he was willing 
to give. But he always preferred to spend his first evening back in reflection. 

None of the elves he enjoyed being with could hold a candle to a certain dream 
he once had. Maglor. He still thought about him. Legolas hoped that he had 
crossed the sea safely, and it was only on nights like this that he gave any 
thought to him at all. Tomorrow he would forget again, and lose himself in life. 
He really wasn't unhappy. 

Wandering through the woods, he came to a largish tree with a couple of guards 
posted beneath it, and when they realised who he was they saluted immediately. 
So this was where Gollum had decided to hide out. He motioned for the guards to 
be at ease, and looked up curiously into the branches of the tree. A muffled 
singsong voice could be heard. Gollum was talking to himself. 

"We wants to be free, precious. Don't we? Yes, we wants to be let go! Horrible 
elveses' watching us down there." A sudden rustling and Legolas caught sight of 
a tormented face peering at him through the leaves. He frowned, and the face 
disappeared. A horrible laugh floated down, and the guards looked at each other 
and shivered. 

"He does that a lot," explained one of them to Legolas. "It's really eerie if 
you ask me, how he talks to himself. As if there were two of him." Legolas 
looked up again, but there was no movement now. 

"Two of him. Yes. There is you, isn't there, precious? And there is... me!" The 
disconcerting laugh again. "We is sorry!" Now the voice sounded genuinely sad. 
"But we wants to be free, we wants it so much, we will be hiding in this tree." 
Gollum giggled at the rhyme. Legolas shook his head and made to walk on. Such a 
sad fate. 

As he walked away, a slight movement caught his eye. Legolas looked suddenly to 
the left of him. Orcs! How had they got here? Was it possible they had sneaked 
past those on watch? Legolas was never unarmed, even for a night of dancing. It 
was one of the things his lovers teased him about. But now he was glad of 
insisting on it. He fitted an arrow to his bow, and fired at the first pair of 
yellow eyes he caught moving in the bushes. The two guards were only a second or 
so behind him, and their arrows flew straight too. 

There were a couple of pained grunts and sounds of falling in the brush, but 
then suddenly the entire woods seemed to be twinkling with shining eyes. Legolas 
cursed, and then he had a sudden vision of those on guard at the edges of the 
safe area lying dead. Outnumbered and slaughtered easily. 

"Prince Legolas! We must retreat. They have come for the creature, I'm sure of 
it! Let us hasten to give the tidings that orcs run in the woods!" There was 
sense in the argument, and Legolas turned to the guards, and he saw what they 
did. There was no retreat - they were surrounded. 

The first wave was easily despatched, but more came, and they began to crowd in 
on the three elves. They switched to swords when the orcs came too close for use 
of the bow, but the two guards were quickly overpowered. Legolas frowned. None 
of the orcs would challenge him. Why not? He cut a couple down where they stood, 
and still there were none for him to fight, but then he looked forward and he 
gasped. An elf walked towards him, through the ugly crowding of orcs he almost 
seemed to shine, and he was so very familiar. He looked just like Legolas. After 
all this time. 

"'Athân!" Legolas stayed still and waited as the vision came closer. Was it 
true? Had he come home? He found himself embraced by his own son, and Legolas, 
Prince of Mirkwood, fighter and warrior, began to cry happy tears. He hadn't 
told anyone about 'Athân. He thought he never would. But now he was home. 

"Adar," 'Athân breathed into Legolas' ear, and then he was being kissed. It 
should be wrong, but it wasn't. It shouldn't be natural, but it was. He knew 
these lips, this face, this body as well as his own. A sudden hunger burned in 
Legolas and he kissed back with a fiery passion that his lovers' had never 
known. 

The orcs were forgotten, and there was only this, only them, only him. A 
frenzied kind of lust that needed to be sated, almost like a desperate thirst 
for knowledge. Legolas wasn't sure who was where, who did what. He became 
confused as to who was who in the tumbling together on the ground, and the 
tangling of long limbs. He saw through both sets of eyes and watched himself. 

A warm hand stroked against his thigh. Smooth skin beneath his palm, pale and 
beautiful. And as if their touches could speak, Legolas thought his words so 
strongly he could hear them. 

// Never wanted to leave you there, not really. I had no choice. //

It was incest and narcissism perfectly combined, it was almost a blessing, 
almost right. His son! Taking this stranger he knew so well, making love to a 
reflection, it was almost a sin, almost wrong. His father! And 'Athân answered 
with his hands and his kisses. 

// I know. I'm sorry, Adar. So sorry. //

If there was time for tears this was surely it, but they wouldn't come. There 
was only the welcoming home, and the joyful reunion. 

// Please, don't be sorry. //

Time slowed for them, and an eternity was theirs for the taking. This was 
different. This was real. This was hunge