Title: Fallen

Chapters: Six to Ten

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 SIX

Before now Legolas wouldn't have believed it was possible to be with Maglor like 
this. Sauron had left them alone with a promise to return later. They looked at 
each other, and there were no words. This time Maglor didn't smile, and the 
darkness remained. It was an awkward silence; everything between them was 
spoiled and broken, and no apology could mend it. Love, if it had ever been 
there, couldn't save them, or make any of this right. Maglor turned away and 
that was when Legolas spoke. 

"You pretended," he said, in a lost tone of voice. He was confused - what they 
shared seemed so real, so natural - he couldn't believe it was a lie. He felt 
numb and betrayed, and more than anything he wanted to be back in his old room. 
He wanted to be alone in this place, and recognising that desire hurt more than 
anything the other elf had done. Maglor was walking away from him, but at 
Legolas' words he stopped and flinched as if he had been hit. He didn't turn to 
face Legolas, but his head fell down and he seemed to slump. 

Maglor sighed as if he wanted to say a thousand words in reply, but all he said 
was; "No, pen neth, I didn't." 

Suddenly Legolas was furious with the older elf. He had seen the passion in his 
eyes when he was with Sauron, *enjoying* whatever it was the dark lord did for 
him. His sigh and his words stoked the fire in Legolas - it all seemed so 
overdone and dramatic - and so much like pretence. 

"When did he come to you? While I was asleep?" Legolas demanded, wishing he knew 
of a way to hurt the other elf with his words as Sauron had. 

Maglor turned to face him then, and for a moment Legolas caught a flash of the 
same fire that was there when Sauron had taken him. "He didn't!" Maglor said 
forcefully. "It was obvious when he left you with me what he expected, and *I* 
was happy to do it." His words were bitter and resentful, and they struck at 
Legolas' heart like arrows. 

"But why?" he whispered, unable to hide the pain that gripped his soul. 

The coldness left Maglor's eyes at the sight of him, and for a moment Legolas 
was sure that he was going to walk over and somehow make everything all right. 
But he didn't move. 

"For too many reasons, but I didn't pretend, pen neth, never think that." Maglor 
was asking for something, and as he turned away Legolas got up from his place on 
the bed and approached him. He wanted something too, but he didn't know what. 
All he knew was that the anger was still there, eating away at him. He put a 
hand on Maglor's shoulder to force him to turn around again. 

Maglor resisted him, and his next words almost turned Legolas to stone, so cold 
and angry they were. "Leave me alone." 

How dare he desire to be alone here? Legolas thought disjointedly. Acting and 
sounding as if he, Legolas, was the one who had done something wrong. Anger 
turned to hate, and adrenaline began to race through his veins when Maglor 
refused to face him. 

"No!" he replied with all the intensity he could muster. And then Maglor did 
face him. For a moment Legolas glared at the other elf, so lost in his own 
feelings, that he didn't notice his look mirrored on Maglor's face. 

They were only a few steps away from the bed, and suddenly Legolas found himself 
being pushed back. The violence was so unexpected that he could do nothing as 
Maglor pushed him against the bed and then bodily threw him on it. Before he 
could rise the other elf was on top of him, knocking the breath out of his lungs 
and holding him down by imprisoning his wrists. 

"Don't you see?" Maglor almost seemed to hiss, as Legolas finally began to 
struggle, looking down at him with such loathing that Legolas closed his eyes 
and turned his face away. "I haven't changed... *in all this time*." Then his 
voice became lower, and Legolas began to realise that Maglor's anger was not 
directed at him - but at himself. 

"I may have lost my place, but I haven't lost my name, or myself... and 
*you*..." Maglor's grip on his wrists tightened and Legolas opened his eyes 
then. Maglor looked him up and down, deliberately, returning to his face with 
the same powerful resentment in his eyes. But then something seemed to change. 
He stared at Legolas as if it were the first time he had seen him and tears 
filled his eyes again. 

Maglor released Legolas and turned away from him, lying down on the bed. Legolas 
reached out to touch Maglor but his hand halted in mid-air when the other elf 
spoke. 

"You know I'm going to do it, don't you?" For a moment Legolas didn't catch 
Maglor's meaning. "Whatever he asks of me," he clarified, and Legolas felt cold 
all over. This is what it was really all about; all of Legolas' anger was 
concerned with the betrayal. How could Maglor have agreed to it, without a 
single word of protest? Legolas had never felt so helpless, and he simply could 
not put himself in Maglor's place. He would have resisted, even if it were 
pointless. He took a while to respond, his words sounding stunned and lifeless, 
even to him. 

"I know." 

Legolas sat up and stared into space. Everything was wrong here, nothing was 
exactly what it seemed, and he found himself with two enemies instead of one. 
Maglor was talking to him, clutching at his arms, brushing fingers against his 
face, and for a moment Legolas came back to hear what he had to say. 

"I am sorry." It was pathetic. Legolas wanted to laugh, but he didn't have it in 
him, instead he shrugged, and turned away. Like the wood, what had at first 
seemed a respite in the bleakness of his surroundings was turning out to be far 
worse. His mind alighted on different thoughts like a butterfly, unable to 
settle anywhere, but then he thought of Sauron. He thought of the fire that the 
dark lord's touch awoke in him, and at last there was something he could think 
about, something real, something that didn't ache, that wasn't completely 
hollow. 

Arms held him, hands stroked his hair gently, and Legolas closed his eyes. He 
said nothing, and didn't protest when Maglor's touches became insistent. He 
simply lie back and allowed it, while his mind tried to make him believe that 
the hair that brushed against him was black, that the hands caressing him were 
capable of cruelty. When Maglor penetrated him once more and rocked within him, 
taking whatever comfort his body could provide, Legolas wasn't even aware of 
calling out Sauron's name, or the brief flash of pity on Maglor's face. All he 
knew was that it stopped, and then he knew nothing. 

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

Maglor once more watched over Legolas' sleep. He looked away, and then began to 
speak quietly as if Legolas could hear him. 

"I know where you go to, pen neth, but it won't last. Nothing does. Resistance, 
submission, acceptance, and even madness; all these are short-lived in the 
context of eternity, and all fade in the face of his constancy. When you realise 
he won't let you go, your mind clings to the one certainty, as though it were 
comfort. There is a moment when you realise that the best and the worst thing he 
could do would be to leave you to yourself, and then his tortures are at last 
bearable. One day you will run just to be reassured that he will find you. One 
day he will hurt you and you will want to say thank you." 

Legolas mumbled something in his sleep, and Maglor looked down. He had been lost 
in his own thoughts again, and again it made no difference. He knew this was the 
unnatural sleep of escape, and he couldn't deny Legolas that. He looked lost and 
hurt for a moment or two, and then continued talking. 

"I didn't pretend, pen neth. How can you think so? But you do not realise yet 
what he requires of you." Maglor shook his head. "I thought this was my 
punishment," he mused, "but it seems that is not so. What can someone so young 
have done to deserve this? Your coming here means so many things, Legolas, 
Prince of Greenwood. It brings the torture of hope, the possibility of 
companionship, and the surety of jealousy and competition. I know he will not 
hesitate to take advantage of all of these. But still, I am glad you are here. 
Sleep. When you awake I will be waiting for you. You will not be alone. That 
much at least I can promise you, I hope." 

Reaching out a hand, Maglor let his fingers move lightly over Legolas' belly. 
"It should have been me. Why wasn't it?" He smiled bitterly; already aware of 
the slightest note of envy mixed in with the relief. But he had no answer for 
himself, and so he settled back, losing himself in the same thoughts that had 
occupied him for millennia, waiting for Legolas to wake up, or Sauron to return, 
whichever came first. 

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

Awakening to almost the very same sensations he had fallen asleep to was 
strange. He could almost forget he'd been asleep. He had been pulled from his 
place on the bed, and strong arms held him close. Warmth and darkness, 
drowning... 

"Sauron," he murmured, as he had when the darkness took him earlier. This time 
he was right. Full consciousness returned slowly, like the tide to the shore. 
The dark lord did nothing to shock him into wakefulness. His touch was gentle 
and indescribably sweet. Hands moved soothingly over his back and came to rest 
on his buttocks. Trapped between the body heat and the hands, Legolas moaned 
longingly, pressing himself against the dark lord like a favoured pet as 
awareness returned to his eyes. 

From that first moment Sauron captured his gaze. They looked into each other's 
eyes and then Legolas was confused. Hadn't he been with Maglor? Maglor. Suddenly 
the rest of his memories clicked into place, and he realised that Sauron had 
returned to carry out his promise of punishment. And that meant... 

He held on to Sauron as if his life depended on it. His put his arms around 
Sauron's neck and buried his face in the dark lord's hair. He would do anything 
for this not to be real. A part of him knew full well that he was in the hands 
of the enemy, and that he would be better off with Maglor. But a larger part of 
him still clung to the idea of Maglor's betrayal. "Please," he moaned in 
supplication, partly for release, and partly to be freed from whatever Sauron 
had planned for Maglor to do. 

When Sauron spoke his voice was deep and silky, like velvet covered steel. 

"Legolas, listen to me." Legolas did listen, and he was unable to ignore 
Sauron's amused sarcasm. "I want to save you from him, but I cannot. I am so 
very sorry, pen neth. I wish it were different, but I'm powerless to stop this." 
Sauron paused there for a moment, before adding more loudly; "Isn't that right, 
Maglor?" As he spoke he turned Legolas around in his arms so that he stood with 
his back to Sauron, and faced Maglor. He almost flinched when Legolas turned his 
gaze upon him, and Sauron finished speaking. But then he looked at Legolas 
meaningfully when he answered. 

"Yes, Hîr nín." And if Legolas had not been aware of it before, then he knew now 
that Sauron was cruelly saying all the things to him that Maglor could not say. 
For a second he felt such tremendous pity for Maglor it was difficult to 
breathe. 

"Then smile, for today I give you a gift!" Sauron challenged. He pulled Legolas' 
arms behind his back, and then Legolas felt the dark lord tying his hands 
together with thin leather twine. He didn't even register the meaning of 
Sauron's statement. He leaned back against the dark lord and closed his eyes. He 
wanted to be outraged, but he couldn't deny the excitement that Sauron's actions 
awoke in him. It was a physical manifestation of his helplessness, and he felt 
sudden shame when he realised that he wanted it. He wanted to be helpless, for 
him. He couldn't even contain a moan when he felt Sauron pull roughly at the 
bonds to tighten them. 

"So hesitant. Anyone would think you had forgotten what presents were." 

The words brought Legolas back to where he was, and he opened his eyes. 

"Presents?" Maglor asked, looking sharply at Sauron. 

"Of course," Sauron continued smoothly. "Don't tell me that after all these 
centuries, Maglor, you don't dream of having someone else at your command, and 
at your mercy." Maglor's eyes burned with sudden desire as he turned his gaze 
back to the Prince, and Legolas stared at him in shock. "Yes, I thought so." 
Sauron leaned in to speak into Legolas' ear. "Imagine it. Wouldn't you like to 
hear him scream? To see his tender flesh marked by your hands? To have him beg 
when he no longer knows what he's begging for..." 

While Sauron spoke his hands touched Legolas' lips, moved over his collarbone, 
and brushed lightly against the sides of his waist. Finally, he lightly stroked 
Legolas' member, the fingers of Sauron's hand teased him, not quite tight 
enough, and Legolas couldn't help giving in to a needy sigh. 

In disbelief, Legolas watched as Maglor's desire darkened to lust. Although 
Sauron's words were disturbing, they had sounded almost seductive. But now he 
began to feel real fear when Maglor reached out to him. He struggled in his 
bonds and shrank back against the dark lord as Maglor rested his hands on 
Legolas' shoulders. 

"No! Please," he whimpered. "Don't!" There were so many things he wanted to say; 
don't listen to him, don't do this, don't hurt me. But Maglor seemed not to 
hear. He looked into Legolas' eyes without really seeing him. 

"Forgive me." And the words sounded like a knell in Legolas' mind. He began to 
tremble when he realised that Sauron was going to have exactly what he wanted. 
Had there ever really been any question? 

"Maglor," And all the fear he felt was in the sound of his voice. He felt he 
might be pleading for his young life, and it showed. Maglor put one of his hands 
over Legolas' mouth and he felt his heart miss a beat. 

"Shh..." Maglor warned him, and it seemed such a final gesture to Legolas' mind, 
that he couldn't help crying a little. His tears spilled over Maglor's fingers 
as Sauron pushed him into Maglor's embrace, and then walked around them both to 
speak into Maglor's ear. 

"His blood will be as sweet as his tears, don't you think? And then, of course, 
he will be so desperate to please you." 

Legolas continued to stare at Maglor, searching for any sign of compassion. But 
at Sauron's words Maglor's eyes half-closed, and he whispered something Legolas 
couldn't quite catch. 

"But I see I don't really need to remind *you* of that," Sauron said, bestowing 
a chilling smile on Legolas. "Come. Bring him." 

Maglor removed his hand from Legolas' mouth and for a moment they looked at each 
other. "Don't do this," Legolas begged immediately. Maglor's eyes hardened. 

"You have to be quiet," he said in a strange voice that wasn't quite his own, 
and pushed Legolas to walk in front of him. 

For a few steps, Legolas allowed Maglor to push him forward in stunned silence, 
but then he saw the reality of the situation he was in and began to struggle. 

They turned into a narrow corridor and Legolas cried out, pushing himself back 
against Maglor, but the other elf seemed immovable. It was almost impossible to 
fight with his hands tied behind his back, but Legolas never stopped trying to 
get free. His panicked screams sounded loud in the confines of the corridor, but 
still they moved forward. It was hopeless. 

In a last, desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable, Legolas let himself go 
limp and heavy in Maglor's grip, letting his body slide to the floor. He gasped 
when Maglor grasped hold of his arms and pulled them up behind his back. It was 
painful, and he had no choice but to stand again. Too soon they reached a door 
in the corridor, which Sauron unlocked and walked through in front of them. 

Legolas didn't think it was possible to struggle any more than he had been 
doing, but when he saw the familiar room with the harp, he found a new strength. 
He pushed himself back against Maglor so suddenly that the other elf moved a 
little, and Legolas turned, ready to run from the door to that room. But 
Maglor's moment of weakness was over and he simply took hold of Legolas' 
shoulders to push him backwards. 

"No! Please!" Legolas begged and shouted. "Not there! I won't!" He tried 
everything he could. He stamped on Maglor's feet, bit viciously at the hands 
that held him, and threw himself against Maglor again and again to get him to 
move out of the way. Nothing worked, however, and finally Legolas spat straight 
into the other elf's face. Maglor responded by shoving him backwards roughly, so 
that Legolas lost his balance and found himself sprawled on the floor. 

He scrambled across the room away from both of his captors, and stood once more, 
trying desperately to free his hands from Sauron's bonds. 

They both advanced on him slowly, until he was backing into a corner of the 
room. The only sounds in the chamber were his own piteous sobs of helplessness 
and terror. Legolas looked wildly at both of them, from one to the other, 
looking for a protector. There was none. 

Feverish with panic, and looking for a way out, Legolas' mind registered the 
fact that Sauron had stopped moving towards him, and as if commanded Legolas' 
turned to him and away from Maglor. He almost threw himself at Sauron's feet, 
and at his mercy, trembling and incoherent. 

"Shh..." Sauron hushed him. And when a hand lifted his chin, Legolas looked up. 
Feeling the dark lord's gaze on him calmed Legolas' mind immediately like a 
drug, and he rose gracefully to his feet in silence. There was no mercy in his 
dark eyes, and yet there was no hint of cruelty either. When Sauron's hand moved 
to stroke his cheek, Legolas automatically turned his face into the touch and 
kissed Sauron's hand. 

Next, he was pulled into a tight embrace as Sauron's arms closed around him. 
Legolas sighed and let his head fall back. His lips parted a little, just a 
short space away from his, and Sauron smiled. He almost cried out when he felt 
Sauron releasing his wrists from the cruel bonds he made earlier. He felt a 
sudden, heavy lump in his throat, and tears filled his eyes, spilling 
soundlessly at the unexpected kindness. 

The dark lord brought his hands in front of them both, and regarded the marks on 
Legolas' wrists impassively for a moment or two. Legolas found his eyes drawn to 
the same thing. His wrists were bleeding where he had struggled, but he hadn't 
even felt it until now. He watched as Sauron brought one of his hands to his 
mouth and licked at a line of blood. For the briefest moment a monstrous shadow 
seemed to pass over his features, but it was over before Legolas could really 
see it. 

Sauron looked back into his eyes then. Still the same cold gaze, giving nothing 
away. Legolas gasped when Sauron began to tie his hands again, this time in 
front of him. But he didn't object, he just continued to stare, until something 
in him made him want to speak. 

"Thank you," he murmured, and at that Sauron's lips twitched, his eyes 
glittering a little more in the gloom. Other arms closed around him from behind, 
and Sauron released his hands, allowing Maglor to pull Legolas away. 

"No... let me go," he protested weakly, trying to move back towards Sauron, as 
the dark lord turned away from him. He tried to keep Sauron in his sight as 
Maglor drew him away and came to stand before him, lifting his hands and arms. 
He was barely aware of Maglor and what he was doing, but he soon found his arms 
secured high above his head, high enough that he almost had to stand on tip-toe 
to accommodate the new position. All that mattered was that he could see the 
dark lord, and he felt an unnatural gratitude when Sauron walked back towards 
him.



WARNING: This chapter contains torture, and while the physical acts themselves 
are not very graphically described, the psychological and emotional impact on 
Legolas is considered at length and in some detail. If such things offend you 
please skip most of this chapter, but you may want to pay attention to the last 
few paragraphs.


CHAPTER SEVEN

Sauron stopped to pull Maglor aside. There was a murmured conversation that 
Legolas couldn't hear, though he strained to understand what was being said, 
before Sauron came to stand before him. 

There was no strength in Legolas' new position, and when Sauron stood so close, 
pressing lightly against him, it was all he could do to keep on his feet. He 
felt lost, anchorless, and completely at the mercy of Sauron. The dark lord 
laughed softly at his predicament and then his hands held Legolas' waist, 
pulling him close, and steadying him. 

His thumbs began to move in slow circles over his ribs, as if testing the flesh, 
and he studied Legolas' body hungrily. 

"Tell me - do you know pain, Legolas?" 

The question was the most menacing thing that Legolas had ever heard, and he 
froze. There had been no time to consider what would happen to him, but now it 
was here it was much more terrifying than he could have imagined anyway. Pain in 
itself was not frightening to the young warrior, but the thought that there was 
no way to escape from it was, and he trembled. 

"Answer me." He didn't raise his voice to utter the command, just stated it 
matter-of-factly, and that more than anything else made Legolas want to beg for 
mercy before it had even begun. How should he respond? What did Sauron expect 
from him? 

"Y-Yes..." he said finally, hesitantly, and the dark lord sighed quietly and 
released him. He had done something wrong, given the wrong answer, he thought in 
a panic. But before Legolas could correct his mistake, Sauron was speaking 
again. He walked around to stand behind Legolas so that the voice was all he 
had. 

"You sound uncertain." And then Sauron was touching him again. This time 
covering his eyes with some kind of material. Legolas began to panic in earnest 
when he realised he could no longer see, and he moved too violently, losing his 
precarious balance and letting his entire weight rest on his arms. It was too 
much, his arms were already beginning to ache, and Legolas concentrated on 
regaining his feet while Sauron continued to speak to him. 

"There are many different kinds of pain, Legolas. I wonder if you've ever really 
taken the time to appreciate them all?" The dark lord spoke in an even, 
modulated tone, as if he were discussing nothing more important than the 
weather. He began to shake in fear for what must be about to happen to him. 
Legolas wanted to say sorry, but what for? He wanted to make Sauron stop 
somehow, but still the voice carried on, and although his words were quiet, 
Legolas heard them above his own pounding heartbeat and heavy breathing. 

"Let us start with something simple. An easy one." Legolas held his breath and 
waited, expecting something without knowing what. So when he felt slight heat 
ghosting up over his arm and lingering on his shoulder he cried out anyway, as 
if he was hurt. Sauron waited for quiet. 

"Warmth is a pleasurable sensation. Even to one who does not feel the cold." The 
words were true, and Legolas sighed as the small spot of warmth continued to 
dance over his body, passing behind him, covering every inch of him. It was 
almost like being touched. He tried to see through the blindfold but it was 
impossible. Sauron's voice was still coming from behind him, so that meant the 
warmth was something Maglor was doing, if only he could see what it was he would 
feel better. 

His heightened sense of hearing registered a slight hiss while Sauron was quiet. 
It was a familiar sound, and Legolas frowned. Where had he heard that before? 
The warmth seemed to come nearer, and suddenly he knew because now he could 
smell it too. The familiar scent of wax filled the air. Maglor was holding a lit 
candle to him, the hiss had been the sound of the burning wick. 

"Even heat is not too uncomfortable, is it?" Legolas' mind worked quickly - was 
he expected to answer? But then the warmth did turn to heat, and he found 
himself concentrating on keeping still. The flame must be so close to his skin 
now. His breath came in short gasps as he tried to stay motionless despite his 
position. 

"But to be burnt," Sauron said suggestively, and then Legolas finally spoke. His 
words came instinctively, trying to stop what was surely to happen. 

"Maglor, please!" he called out into the blind darkness, knowing that the other 
elf had to hear him, had to know. As if in answer, the flame that was now over 
his chest came slowly closer, until Legolas fancied he could feel his skin 
burning. When the fire burnt his flesh in truth, Legolas screamed, unable to 
stop himself. He tried to move away and only succeeded in losing his balance. He 
fell forward helplessly and onto the flame. It was not so much the burning as 
the shock of it that made him cry out, and thrash in his bonds. He tried to calm 
down, he was hurting his arms, but he couldn't tell from the sensation alone 
whether the flame was still there. He wanted so much to be able to see, just to 
know. 

"He will not answer you now. And *you* will listen to me." The same soft, 
sibilant tone, and Legolas began to despair. He was right, wasn't he? He may as 
well ask for the rain to stop falling or the seasons to move backwards as ask 
for Maglor to disobey his Master. Legolas let his head fall down in defeat. 

"Now that I have your attention." Sauron's voice was slightly mocking. This was 
only the beginning, he realised, and immediately wished he hadn't. Legolas 
shivered in anticipation when the dark lord began to describe fire, as if his 
very body denied the reality of what was happening. He shivered even when he 
felt the warmth return. 

It *was* only the beginning, and there was no way to keep his dignity; because 
Sauron didn't just describe pain, he also talked of pleasure, and Legolas was 
made to experience that too. He built up the anticipation in Legolas' mind 
perfectly, and so every time the pain came, he cried out helplessly. On it went, 
until Legolas was begging for it to stop, for him to stop. But he didn't, and in 
time Legolas fell silent apart from the cries and screams that were forced from 
him. He came to desire and despise the hands that carried out Sauron's 
suggestions. 

"You are quiet, my Legolas. What are you thinking?" The dark lord expected an 
answer he realised. He didn't even think about what to say, as those hands roved 
over his body gently, caressing him, making him sigh in pleasure even as the 
voice had made him scream before. 

"Please... I can't..." How to explain what couldn't be put into words? 
Everything hurt. He could feel everything that had been done to him since this 
started. The burns, the cuts and the bruises all vied for his attention. Worse 
was the position he was still forced to assume. His shoulders ached unbearably 
now, and the balls of his feet were no better. There was simply nowhere 
comfortable to put his weight, and he shifted restlessly from foot to foot, 
feeling the burning pain in his ankles and calves. Legolas began to hate his own 
body. "I'm so sorry," he cried out at last in misery. "I don't know pain," he 
admitted in a small voice. "I'll do anything you want." He broke down then, and 
the hands waited for him to calm before carrying on with their gentle teasing. 
"Anything at all," Legolas added finally. It was the truth. He would give the 
dark lord anything to make it stop. Anything and everything he had, gladly. 

Sauron sighed as if in disappointment. "Your surrender is *not* what I require, 
Legolas." The words were cold and emotionless, and Legolas immediately cried out 
when the hands moved away from him again, the bitter taste of fear filling his 
dry mouth, trying to move forwards to follow. All he managed was to lose his 
footing again, but he didn't pull himself up this time. 

"No! I'm sorry! Please, don't leave me!" Somehow he had given the wrong answer 
again, he knew that. Whatever followed would be his own fault, but what else 
could the dark lord desire? "Only tell me what you want," he begged the silence 
blindly. Nothing changed. "Please, tell me..." Legolas heard his own words trail 
off, and then he heard himself moan. It was a long, keen, plaintive sound that 
echoed in the chamber, and Legolas had never heard anything sound so lonely. 
When Sauron began to speak again, silencing him, he was glad. 

Another interval of time passed. The torture was seemingly endless, and as he 
had feared from the start there was no escape from it, no way out. But 
eventually, welcome delirium came to claim him. It was too much to stay there, 
where the pain was, too much to pay such close attention to the commentary, but 
that was when it stopped. 

He was barely aware of the voice finally ceasing to describe his torment, 
knowing the truth - that it didn't describe what he endured in the least. The 
pain belonged to him alone. He was still blindfolded, and he didn't know how bad 
his injuries were. A time ago he had let his weight rest entirely on his arms, 
and he found a truth there - that his mind could only tell him about one agony 
at a time. In desperation he concentrated on the deep ache in his shoulders, 
until even that became too much and he took some of his weight on the balls of 
his feet again. 

Through the dreamless, almost sleep of his existence came the voice again, but 
now the words were different, and Legolas listened. 

"Come back to me, Legolas, my elf Prince." Arms were holding him close, and his 
mind didn't want to return, but he couldn't ignore the summons. He cried into 
Sauron's embrace, more relieved and grateful than he could ever explain for the 
comfort offered. The dark lord allowed him to take it, soothing him all the 
while, stroking his hair and whispering words that to Legolas' overstrained mind 
were as good as kindness. 

"Shh... yes, that's right, bainon nín. Hear me again," and Legolas obeyed, 
drinking in the reminder of what he was and his place in the world hungrily. 

"I won't leave you alone," the dark lord promised, "I can't." More tears now, 
because he was alone, wasn't he? Completely alone with his pain. But he couldn't 
begin to imagine an existence without it. Without Sauron's voice, without him 
playing his part in the world they shared. In a way they were together, and 
Legolas needed him. No, he didn't want to be alone, and so he was grateful for 
the reassurance. 

"Thank you." It was his own voice; dry, cracked and broken. Legolas barely 
recognised it. But there was no time to dwell on it, because Sauron's hands held 
his face and before he could think there were lips over his. How long since 
Sauron had kissed him? He couldn't remember, but he gave in to the demands of 
the dark lord gladly. 

His tongue entered Legolas' mouth, but it didn't stay. He encouraged Legolas' 
tongue to follow, and he obeyed. He forgot everything then, almost unaware even 
of Sauron holding him, of the scent and the heat surrounding him. There was 
pressure on his tongue, and then suddenly Sauron was biting him there, and 
Legolas cried out - it hurt - but it didn't end. He tasted his own blood for a 
moment before the dark lord was sucking on his tongue, drawing blood from him 
again, taking from him even now, and he felt his heart quicken. No, never leave 
me alone, Legolas thought. 

Gradually, Sauron drew back. He had changed again, Legolas was aware of the 
unnatural cold. But he tried to follow, standing on his toes and straining his 
arms. The hands that were so obviously claws raked viciously at his waist as 
they left him. He didn't care, he just wanted more, and he craved for it even to 
the last touch of Sauron's lips on the tip of his tongue. 

There was silence for a moment, and Legolas could almost see the dark lord 
licking his lips. "Now," he considered. "Should I continue, or start again at 
the beginning?" 

Never alone - not with that voice, so deep and warm. But there was a question 
again, wasn't there? Finally, Legolas realised that there was no right or wrong 
answer to give, only his answer. But how could he reply to this question? How 
could he ask for the torment to continue? 

"Answer me." The flat, expectant demand was almost a copy of earlier, but 
everything was different now. Legolas knew he couldn't reply the way Sauron 
wanted. 

"The beginning?" he asked nervously, the last vestige of self, afraid and hurt, 
claiming that nothing could last so long without ending in death. 

"Very well, my Prince," Sauron said, deliberately taking his question the wrong 
way. As soon as Legolas wanted to protest, self-doubt clouded his mind. Who was 
to say that Sauron was wrong? He had said the words, hadn't he? 

When Sauron began the lecture again, Legolas was once more aware of everything 
in unforgiving cold clarity. 

A timeless period passed for Legolas, with the only points of reference being 
Sauron's quiet voice and the sensations of his own body. The dark lord ignored 
his tears, his screams, and his desperate pleas for mercy and freedom, until 
Legolas began to doubt the reality of his own voice. After hot came cold, after 
cold came sharp, after that blunt, and on it went. Never sudden, the dark lord 
described the lightest tickling touch of a knife blade in the same loving way he 
described the cruel kiss of leather. He knew he was wounded, the coppery smell 
of his own blood surrounded him. So much pain. Always different, always 
changing, never allowing him to rest. He lived the dark lord's words, and for 
Legolas, Sauron's words quickly became all the truth and reality in the world. 
There was no longer a will for it to stop. The always-fragile idea of an 
existence outside this weakened still further, until Legolas would have 
forgotten his own name had Sauron not reminded him of it occasionally. 

He hungered for the words to change, for more meaning, and Legolas' mind 
snatched greedily at every word that was not included in the pain. His name, the 
way Sauron referred to him, the indulgent descriptions of the lightest 
sensations. All he needed to know was here, and everything else was forgotten. 

When it stopped again, Legolas cried. Sauron came to stand close behind him, his 
hands holding Legolas' hips. "Who do you belong to?" It was too easy. 

"You," Legolas answered immediately. Hands were reaching for his blindfold, and 
when it was removed Legolas closed his eyes against the unfamiliar light, weak 
as it was. 

"Only me?" Sauron asked, that dark humour back in his voice. 

Legolas opened his eyes and found himself looking at Maglor. The other elf 
reached out to hold his face. Legolas was entranced. Those hands! He shivered as 
Maglor touched his neck and shoulders, remembering everything all over again. 
The hands of his tormentor were stroking him, but his blue eyes were like ice, 
and Legolas couldn't look away. 

"Well?" Sauron asked. "Tell me again who you belong to." 

It was impossible... the voice behind him, the hands before him. He was torn 
between one and the other. "Please! I don't know!" he cried out miserably, 
knowing it was the wrong answer, certain that both would punish him for it. 

Instead, Sauron began to untie him, and Legolas sobbed in relief and gratitude. 
Between them they made up the whole, the hands and the voice. Between them they 
held him up when he would have fallen, both pressing into him. Sauron took his 
arms and pulled them back to rest on his shoulders while Legolas continued to 
stare at Maglor. The dark lord let his hands brush lightly down the underside of 
Legolas' arms and he sighed. Maglor looked at him hungrily, and Legolas closed 
his eyes. 

It was at last different. Something had at last changed, and Legolas didn't even 
realise he was crying. They both spoke to him, but he didn't understand the 
words that he could no longer feel. They seemed to be words only for their own 
sake, and how could that make sense? Two sets of hands touched him, and he 
submitted to their attentions gladly and gratefully. Their demands helped to 
fill the void, the aching emptiness that until now had been concerned with the 
pain. 

"Beautiful, Legolas, you truly are mine at this moment. I am pleased with you." 
The words came at the right time, and how could he not understand them? He felt 
something at the statement that was pleasurable, and he was at peace. He tried 
to remember what he was supposed to say in answer, but then Sauron kissed him, 
and his tongue was inside Legolas' mouth. He remembered then - he wanted to say 
'thank you' - but it didn't really matter. Legolas responded to the kiss exactly 
as his Master desired, and he had no secrets. 

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

Maglor watched as Sauron kissed Legolas deeply, right in front of his eyes, and 
he hoped for Legolas' sake he wouldn't be attempting to escape again, but he 
knew from his own experience no one gave up that easily...

He shook his head to shake off the memories that threatened. At least he knew 
now why Sauron had bid him to carry out the torture. It had been too easy, and 
Maglor felt a shadow of guilt when he remembered how hurting Legolas had made 
him feel. But then, it hadn't been anything life threatening; Maglor was well 
aware of the effect the dark lord's voice could have when you were blindfolded. 
Every cry for mercy from the young Prince had just made Maglor feel colder 
towards him, simply because he *was* innocent, and because he *didn't* deserve 
it. While he was carrying out Sauron's orders, listening to the young one's 
screams, Maglor had once more felt alone, and it made him angry. He *wanted* 
Legolas to suffer like he did for one moment, but he never would. Yes, it had 
been easy... it had been pleasurable. 

Now Sauron was looking at him knowingly, and Maglor had to fight the urge to 
smile. He didn't know where it came from. In some twisted way he relished the 
realisation that Sauron did indeed know how much he had enjoyed playing his 
part. He liked the cruelty of it.

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

They looked beautiful together, and Sauron smiled inwardly. Oh, it had been 
worth allowing Legolas to wake up! Perhaps that was what had been going wrong 
all this time. He hadn't allowed any of the others to become aware of what they 
were being used for, fearing that they would fade despite his magic. Now, it was 
all working so perfectly at last, and it pleased him, made him forget for a 
while the never-ending search for the ring, for the one thing that would end all 
Middle-Earth's resistance to his power. This time it was going to work. This 
time he was sure. There would be no havens in the west.

He examined Legolas, and found everything to be just as he expected and wanted - 
*his* child was still doing well, he didn't care much about the other but that 
was fine too. The Prince was looking at him, just waiting for him to demand 
something; a good state of existence, but it wouldn't last, Sauron reflected 
with regret, brushing the back of one hand down the side of Legolas' face. 

"Take care of him, and yourself," he said quietly, giving the same command as 
before, and he looked at Maglor to make certain he was understood. Maglor looked 
back at him and then bowed his head. 

"Yes, Hîr nín." Sauron narrowed his eyes. So, the guilt was back. He wasn't 
entirely surprised, only mildly disappointed. It had been close. Still, there 
was time. There was always time, and Sauron knew now that Legolas' being here 
was no bad thing. He smirked. Well, not bad for some. He waited until Maglor 
looked up again. 

"Thank you, Herdir." Sauron nodded, and gave Legolas over to Maglor, dismissing 
them both with a wave of his hand. 


CHAPTER EIGHT

Maglor carried Legolas back to their room in his arms. When they arrived, he set 
Legolas down on the bed without speaking and tied him down with thick ropes. 
Legolas simply stared at Maglor as he went about this task, waiting for 
something to be asked of him. He watched as Maglor went to the small bathroom 
and came back with water and a cloth, then began to clean his wounds. It didn't 
take long; he was already healing. 

"You do not need to worry, pen neth, you are not too badly injured." Maglor 
looked at him at last, and he finally seemed to register the blank look in 
Legolas' eyes. He sighed. When he was finished he came to sit on the floor by 
the side of the bed, and rested his head on one hand, while he draped his other 
arm absently across Legolas' stomach. He looked as though he was waiting for 
something. 

Legolas watched Maglor for a while as the other elf became lost in his thoughts, 
and then his gaze moved restlessly. He looked at the ceiling. There was nothing 
there to hold his attention either, and he tested the ropes as if in boredom. 
Over time his mind began to drift into sleep, and he closed his eyes, only to 
see a picture. It was another elf, but it wasn't Maglor. This elf looked like 
him, almost exactly the same. Was it him? No, the elf in his vision had 
sparkling green eyes. "Merenon," he murmured, his mind providing him with the 
word. This was a memory. Legolas gasped in shock. 

The arm over him moved away immediately, and Maglor's gaze was upon him. Legolas 
looked at Maglor blindly, trying to come to terms with the memories that were 
rushing in on him - things he had forgotten so heartbreakingly easily. Details 
of people, of family, of times he shared with others. Some good, some bad, all 
of them conspiring to make him who he was. Who was he? And as soon as he knew to 
form the question the answer was coming at him. 

"No!" he shouted, twisting violently in his bonds, trying to tear himself free 
with sheer physical force. But where could he go to escape his own mind? He felt 
the pain and anguish as his sense of self returned suddenly to its rightful 
place. "No!" He screamed this time. It was too much, it had to be too much. His 
eyes opened in full awareness and he looked around him wildly. He saw Maglor, 
and he saw a way out. 

"Hurt me!" he gasped at the other elf. He could, Legolas knew he could. Maglor 
looked back at him with such infuriating resignation that Legolas roared at him 
in anger. 

"I won't." Maglor said quietly, and Legolas wept. 

"Please," he begged, and it was not nearly enough to have to plead, not anywhere 
near enough. "Maglor, please, I *can't* do this," he vowed. "I don't want it!" 
he cried out, turning away again. But his shouts contained an awareness of 
himself as 'I' that only seemed to encourage what he was going through, and 
Legolas' moan of denial turned into a scream. He twisted again, and arched his 
back, but still the ropes held him down. 

"I am sorry." Maglor was backing away from the bed now, back on his feet. The 
expression on his face was indescribable. He looked horrified, but he didn't 
seem to be able to look away. 

"What's happening to me?" Legolas demanded of him breathlessly. He *craved* 
pain; needed it like he needed air and water. He needed a reminder of what he 
was, and it wasn't this. These were all lies, all these memories and thoughts! 
He wasn't that... he had a place *here*, and it was - what was his place? "No," 
he moaned bitterly. He had known... *he had been at peace*! Legolas screamed 
again until he had no breath, and then he continued to scream silently. He heard 
Maglor answer, and he didn't understand it then. 

"Your mind is healing. It-it happens to me too, when he -" 

He looked at Maglor with pure enmity, silencing him, trying everything to get 
the other elf to remind him of his true place here, knowing all along that the 
truth was being returned to him. Legolas cried and shouted until he had no voice 
left. It didn't help. Eventually the flood of memories and feelings slowed to a 
trickle, and he lay on the bed like a broken doll, exhausted and pale. He still 
cried, now soundlessly, for everything he had *willingly* given up, even for a 
space of a few hours. His eyes were dry though; he had no tears left. 

He was restored and he was truly Legolas again. When the last, excruciating 
feelings of guilt finally left him, he sighed wearily. He knew what had been 
done to him, and by whose will. His thoughts turned to the events of the last 
few hours. He thought of Sauron, and he wanted to hate him so much, but he 
couldn't, and he didn't know why. Instead, he remembered feeling grateful for 
Sauron's approval. He felt the shadow of the feeling he had earlier, that he 
didn't want the dark lord to leave him alone. He felt his pulse quicken at the 
thought of Sauron, and knew he still desired him. 

"No," he sobbed, knowing he would never be free after this, knowing that Sauron 
had stolen a piece of his soul. And although he had forgotten about Maglor the 
other elf hadn't forgotten about him. He returned to Legolas finally with water 
and moistened his lips, encouraging him to drink a little. Legolas obliged, then 
looked at Maglor in a completely new light, realising now that the same thing 
had to have happened to him. 

"I didn't know," he said, stunned, remembering with guilt the anger he had felt 
for Maglor when he had agreed to the entire scheme. Now he truly understood what 
it meant to have no choice, how it was that Maglor couldn't breathe a word of 
protest, how it was that he could carry out the dark lord's wishes. And it had 
been like this for centuries. He knew he couldn't imagine it. 

"How did you...?" Legolas shook his head. "How do...?" He couldn't finish 
phrasing the question, he didn't really know what it was. How could he still be 
here, after all this time? How did he survive... alone? 

Maglor looked at him, and something in his eyes made Legolas feel sick and 
scared, even in his exhaustion. He wished he hadn't begun to ask. "He stays with 
me," Maglor's eyes grew darker still at the memory. "To watch." 

Thoughts of what that might be like crowded into Legolas' mind, and he ignored 
them all, not wanting to look. It was too horrible to contemplate. The more he 
heard, the less he could resent Maglor, and he came to understand how he could 
be Sauron's accomplice, and yet not lie about his feelings. 

"I'm so sorry," Legolas said, knowing that nothing could erase it, but wishing 
he could do something to make Maglor smile at him as he had before. 

Then Maglor was smiling, but it was a sad smile. He shook his head. "You have 
nothing to be sorry for, pen neth." Maglor came over to the bed and began to 
untie him, now that the danger had passed. As he worked Legolas suddenly 
realised why the bonds were there. Had he not been bound he would surely have 
hurt himself in his desperation, perhaps even worse. The idea was alien to his 
kind, they didn't even have a word for it, and Legolas shuddered knowing that 
they could both be driven to such a thing in this place - with him. When Maglor 
freed his arms, Legolas reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"It's all right. I understand now." He wanted to take away Maglor's guilt. He 
knew he didn't really deserve to feel it. Maglor turned to face him, and Legolas 
didn't hesitate. 

Covering Maglor's lips with his own, he kissed him gently. It was just as it had 
been between them before, undemanding and comforting. They connected with each 
other as before, and what passed between them left serenity in its wake. The 
feeling was still there, and when they drew back from each other, there were 
tears in Maglor's eyes. 

"What will happen to us?" Legolas asked him, feeling the first shadowy stirrings 
of fear for his children, and wondering what Sauron's plans for them were, his 
plans for them all. 

"I don't know," Maglor admitted. Then he looked at Legolas earnestly. "But I 
need you." 

Legolas tried to give voice to his nameless fears. "I'm changing, aren't I? Like 
you?" 

"Yes, and soon your condition will be apparent." Legolas heard the words, and he 
saw Maglor's eyes were full of fear and sympathy for him, but he knew he was 
alone with this. And although he forgave Maglor, he also realised something 
else. 

"I can't trust you, can I?" There was no resentment in the question, only a kind 
of desire for the truth. Maglor looked at him for a long moment before 
answering. 

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

For a while they sat together in silence, each alone with their own thoughts, 
but Legolas was glad that Maglor was there with him. He thought of the future 
again, but this time what it might be for him. 

"I can't go through that again, Maglor. I can't." And it was true, he believed 
it even as he believed that Sauron would not allow him to die. His mind shied 
away from the contradiction. 

"It will not be so bad, next time." And in a way Maglor's words were everything 
he was. A comfort and a threat. Someone that made him feel safe, and scared. But 
it was enough for Legolas. They were friends, not enemies. 

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

The door opened silently, and a weak shaft of light fell over the figures 
sleeping on the bed. In his malcontent and fury, Sauron glared at them. He 
always came here when he was angry, when the search seemed hopeless, when all 
his plans seemed to be coming to nothing. His desires were fiery and all-
consuming; and everything became tangled up in his mind when he was frustrated. 
Maglor's screams and sobs were always desperate enough and sweet enough to make 
him forget. They looked perfect together, nestled in each other's arms, and 
Sauron smiled coldly. They would not remain so for long. 

Breathing the words of sleep over the two elves, he advanced on the bed. When he 
was certain that neither of them could be woken, he began his work. Gently, he 
moved Legolas away from Maglor, so that he was sleeping on the other side of the 
bed. He had already ascertained that the child was fine, and now he examined 
Legolas' injuries. He would require a couple of days to heal completely, but no 
lasting damage had been done to him. At least, nothing one could actually see... 

A shame he wouldn't be here forever, Sauron thought. Legolas' desperate 
submission earlier was tempting enough to make Sauron want to keep him. He 
dismissed the notion from his mind. No, Legolas was still beloved of the Valar - 
he would never belong to the darkness - over time he would only become mindless 
and obedient, and he knew he would grow bored of that. Maglor was different. 
Sauron sat down on the edge of the bed to study his favourite. 

How many centuries had it been? Still, he never grew tired of this one. He was a 
work of art, like a fine painting. He looked at Maglor, and saw a dependency for 
his particular brand of cruelty and violence that he had bestowed. He still 
looked like an elf; so deceptively fragile, so beautiful. Every day he awoke 
unmarked, unmarred... and every time Sauron ached to spoil that perfection. But 
it was only skin deep, his mind and his soul were a different territory. His 
fingers reached out to touch the soft skin of Maglor's cheek. There really were 
no limits to what he endured. He had changed Maglor over the years, reformed him 
with carefully planned brutality, with a million subtle mind games; refined his 
desires with a mixture of cruelty and kindness - and he enjoyed it all. Patience 
was something he had, and he realised that in a way he came here to remind 
himself of it. Calm and order began to return to his mind. 

Briefly, he wondered whether the Valar still considered him one of theirs at 
all. Probably not, he realised with a smile. But then, they hadn't wanted him 
anymore anyway. They were blind to his potential, saw it as an imperfection of 
his soul. Melkor wouldn't have thought so... Sauron knew that Maglor still 
grieved for the loss of his place in life and death on Arda; knew that he 
considered his being here a fitting punishment for his 'crimes'. But such 
loyalty to cold, unmoving Gods couldn't last forever. One day Maglor would 
change his mind, encouraged by the severity of his suffering at Sauron's hands; 
and then he would have not only a willing slave, but a companion too. 

Carefully, he arranged Maglor's pale limbs in the darkness, holding back the 
violence that wanted to tear open the flesh with his bare hands and his teeth. 
Just to feel the last, fading heat of his dying blood, to bury his face in 
Maglor's inner warmth and consume him, to finally taste the ultimate in 
submission. His willing death, the very thing he begged Sauron for, too many 
times now to count. But no, death was not what he wanted from Maglor. He brought 
his dangerous lust under control easily; he was used to doing it. He had other 
prisoners for that, and a part of him wondered absently if he had any left with 
red hair... 

The first seconds were always the best. Burying himself in his elf's heat and 
tight embrace. He was always ready to be used, even in his sleep. Something else 
that Sauron had accustomed him to. Were he ever to let Maglor go, which was of 
course impossible, the elf would probably still prepare himself every day. 
Sauron smirked at the thought. He drove into Maglor's passive body fiercely, 
enjoying the fact that there was no response when he was so deeply asleep. No 
quickened breathing, no cries, no answering spasms from the body beneath him. 
Only the heat and the sweet friction as Sauron took what he wanted. He looked 
into the open blue eyes that held no awareness of him, and couldn't suppress a 
lustful moan. It was like stealing from the dead, and how he wanted to steal 
from Maglor, exactly like this. So delicious! Already he was nearly there, but 
he didn't want to finish yet. He stopped moving and rested his entire weight on 
the sleeping elf until he had recovered himself a little. 

He could stop here, he knew. He didn't always wake Maglor for this. Usually, it 
was all the more delightful when he took what he wanted and then left without 
ever waking him. But tonight he needed something else, something more. 

"Wake up, mûl vain nín." Sauron released Maglor from the spell he had cast - 
enough so that awareness began to stir in his eyes - and then claimed him. 

He heard and felt Maglor cry out as he captured the first moment of sleepy 
protest with his lips, filling his elf's mouth and throat with his tongue even 
as he filled him up below, stealing his very breath. He felt the body beneath 
him awaken and clench around him. Sauron moaned, as always surprised and 
pleasured by Maglor's instinctive resistance to the violation. No, he would not 
get this from Legolas; for an elf he was barely more than a youngster, and his 
mind was too malleable for Sauron's purposes. 

He held Maglor still when he began to struggle, smothering him with his body 
weight, held down his prisoner's arms with his hands, and drew back from the 
kiss to look deeply into his eyes as he took him. There was still the resentment 
at being disturbed like this, even after all this time. Sauron stopped, feeling 
a kind of glee, and moved his head close again to whisper into Maglor's ear. 

"You always feel so good, mûl nín, so warm and welcoming... and you know you 
can't help but excite me when you resist." 

To prove his point, Sauron pushed powerfully deeper inside Maglor, until the elf 
had taken all of his length inside, easily overcoming his body's futile attempts 
to stop the invasion. Maglor cried out in pain or pleasure, perhaps a mixture. 
Sauron smiled again secretly; usually it was both. He sighed in contentment and 
held still for a moment, enjoying the feel of Maglor's flesh surrounding him, 
the involuntary contractions of his muscles. 

He felt Maglor relax in defeat as he came more fully awake, remembering his 
submission, and it was all he needed. He used his property more roughly now, 
pulling Maglor's legs to rest on his shoulders, and taking hold of his hips, 
pulling him down to meet every savage thrust. Maglor cried, and it just incited 
him more to see his helpless tears. Sauron realised just how much he was looking 
forward to eternity. He found his release quickly, letting go of every one of 
the problems that plagued him at the same time. 

Letting his weight rest on Maglor again, he kissed his slave's lips while Maglor 
sobbed a broken 'thank you' for using him, licked at a delicately sensitive ear 
so that Maglor sighed through the last of his tears. He found himself nuzzling 
Maglor's neck, sweeping his lips over the pulse, listening to the thundering 
sound of his blood as it raced through his veins. It was such a perfect place to 
be, and Maglor quietened down, becoming still beneath him in awed dread and 
desire. Sauron breathed in deliberately and deeply. Like the wolf, he could 
smell the scent of Maglor's fear and arousal. It was as if the elf was just 
waiting for him to bite into the fragrant skin and taste what moved under the 
surface. He wanted to, and he would... but just as he felt the change taking 
hold of him, he stopped. Something was digging insistently into his stomach. 

Raising his head he looked at Maglor, and grinned. Maglor just stared back at 
him, not comprehending for a moment, but then he did and he closed his eyes as 
if in pain. Sauron couldn't help but laugh at that, his elf knew very well what 
happened when he didn't find his own pleasure early enough. 

He rested his weight on his hands and slowly moved down, feeling his softened 
sex slip from his slave's body as he let his teeth scrape lightly over the skin 
of his neck, his shoulder, then his chest. He bit at one of Maglor's nipples, 
hard enough to hurt. Oh... so very close to finally taking him. He growled 
instinctively, low in his throat, and Maglor trembled as if he knew, but Sauron 
held back. It was a torment he couldn't resist inflicting on himself. 

Getting up to sit beside him, he took hold of Maglor's erection and moved his 
thumb over the top, smearing the clear fluid that was leaking from him over the 
head of it, brushing against the sensitive glans so that Maglor moaned. 
Unhurriedly, he began to squeeze the shaft in his hand rhythmically at the same 
time, until Maglor was trembling with want. After a few moments of this Sauron 
let go to put his hand to Maglor's mouth, and his plaything obeyed the silent 
instruction, well known by now, licking at his palm, making it wet and slick 
with his saliva. When he returned his hand to Maglor's hardness, he began to 
stroke him slowly in earnest, and with purpose. Maglor cried out and arched his 
back, pushing himself into Sauron's grip. He made Maglor look at him, and 
quickened his hand, hiding the smile when he saw how close his elf was already. 

"Not yet," he warned. "Wait - and be silent," Sauron commanded his slave coldly, 
loving the way his eyes darkened and his breathing became shallow as he tried 
desperately to obey the order to hold back and be quiet, knowing he must. Sauron 
never stopped his movements, if anything he gripped just a little tighter, moved 
his hand up and down slightly faster, listening to the intriguing sound of skin 
on skin. 

"Do you love me?" He asked suddenly, playing a game Maglor was used to, knowing 
the answer, holding him right on the very edge with the warning in his eyes. 

"Yes!" Maglor gasped as he breathed out, daring to voice a needy moan after the 
word, because having to speak encouraged it. Sauron smiled openly at that, and 
waited another agonising moment before asking the next question. 

"Desire me?" He wondered if Maglor knew that he had ceased to use magic to 
control him years ago. He no longer needed to, and he wondered how rewarding it 
would be to tell him. 

"Yes!" Maglor must be in pain now; it had taken a long time to make his body 
this obedient, now it was entertaining to watch him as he struggled. He knew the 
price for losing control of himself. Sauron wanted to see him lose, and he tried 
harder to make him, adding a slight twist to the movement of his hand. 

"And will you do anything I want?" he asked finally, cruelly seductive. 

"Yes!" He felt Maglor grow harder still in his grip, and he narrowed his eyes at 
his prisoner in pretended annoyance. But the threat was very real, and Maglor 
whimpered. 

"Then you know what I want to hear, Maglor. Say it." 

"Aulendil... Please..." Yes. Now it was personal. It was the only time he 
allowed Maglor to address him this way, when he was begging to be allowed to 
find release at his touch. He considered denying him. Sometimes he did, Maglor 
belonged to him, as did his body and any pleasure it could give him. Oh, but his 
intensity was wondrous! His need was so exquisite, Sauron could almost feel it. 
To have such control over him... He leaned closer... 

"Now," Sauron said, and Maglor obeyed before he had even finished uttering the 
word. Sauron watched him intently, and encouraged him, squeezing the milky fluid 
from him expertly until it was over, while Maglor unknowingly called out his 
name again and again. 

Sauron trailed his fingers through the seed on Maglor's stomach and smeared it 
over his elf's face and neck while he tried to recover his breath. 

"Thank you, Herdir." He laughed softly when Maglor once more obeyed the silent 
command to lick at his hand like an animal. He whispered a word to his elf 
slave, something that made him shiver, and then kissed him gently, almost 
lovingly. He licked delicately at Maglor's lips with the tip of his tongue, 
tasting traces of his essence there. Maglor gasped in surprised pleasure at the 
tenderness, and Sauron smiled. It *was* an unusual gift he gave. 

"For your devotion," he whispered against Maglor's lips, and then he left as 
silently as he had entered. 

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

When Maglor had cleaned himself, he returned to the bed, and after a moment or 
two of thought he brought Legolas back into his arms. The Prince sighed and 
murmured a little in his sleep. Maglor kissed his forehead softly, not wishing 
to wake him, only to express his gratitude that Legolas didn't hate him for the 
part he played in Sauron's games, the *willing* part he played. Even asleep in 
his arms, he was a comfort to Maglor, and he held him close until he slept 
again. The night passed, and in the morning, they looked as if they had never 
been disturbed. 


CHAPTER NINE

Over the next few weeks, something changed for Maglor. He had been alone with 
Sauron for so long, but now it was different. At first the dark lord seemed to 
have had enough of Legolas, and he left the other elf alone. Maglor was glad of 
it. He knew he could grow jealous of Legolas easily. Oh, it was a sick, twisted 
existence here - but there was no escape from it - and Maglor had given up long 
ago. 

Despite this, Maglor was never able to be quite at peace with his situation. 
Sauron devised torments that kept him completely aware of what was being done to 
him. Sometimes he destroyed Maglor's mind, only to watch while he healed. Maglor 
begged for Sauron to hurt him then, because awareness was the cruellest torture 
of all, but the dark lord just looked down on him with a kind of delight in his 
eyes, enjoying watching him plead. He was not kept alive for his own benefit, 
and sometimes he hungered for death, and begged for that. Seemingly everything 
he did pleased Sauron. It was as though he couldn't help himself. It should be 
easy to hate him, but it wasn't. 

He was always there. However cruel and painful a Master he was, he never really 
left Maglor alone, not when it mattered. He thought back to the earliest days, 
when he first became Sauron's prisoner, and he remembered the feelings he had 
then. Never alone. Legolas had just barely tasted it, but Maglor knew the 
feeling so well by now. The way that Sauron seemed to know when a limit had been 
reached. Sometimes it was almost as if he could have mercy. Oh, he could be 
comforting in his own way, and it became an encouragement to endurance. The need 
for it all to stop became twisted, turned into a need to endure whatever he 
subjected Maglor to. Limits were reached... and passed. Insanity never did come 
easily, but when it did Sauron was there with him. And he was there whenever 
Maglor came back to reality, holding him down, keeping him from the only escape 
there was. He would have taken it as a way out at times, in desperation, had 
Sauron not kept him from it. He was unforgiven anyway - what difference could it 
make? 

The dark lord was capable of a sort of kindness at those times. Such tenderness, 
and how Maglor began to yearn for it. It was something Maglor desired more than 
death, but he could never beg for it, only earn it with his suffering. It was 
never much, and never quite enough, but Maglor would go through hell again and 
again just to experience his gentle kisses. To know that he had pleased Sauron 
so much was a reward beyond anything he could explain. It should be easy to love 
him, and it was. 

The difference now was that when he would have been alone, he was with Legolas. 
He didn't know if it was at the end of a day, or at the end of a week. Maglor 
had really stopped counting the days long ago, and now he measured his existence 
merely in periods of time. The young Prince held him while he cried, and 
listened to his maddened ramblings about being punished here for his sins, and 
how much he both deserved and enjoyed it... 

But then Sauron began to show an interest in Legolas. He took Legolas away time 
after time, leaving Maglor alone and by himself once more. He waited, with 
nothing to do but slip into reverie, for them to return. He wasn't hurting the 
young Prince, that was certain, and really Legolas was obviously with child by 
now. Maglor didn't think even Sauron would put his own child at risk. But still, 
there was something in his manner that suggested whatever happened to him wasn't 
pleasant. Sauron had used him, that much was obvious. Maglor tried to encourage 
the young one to talk about it, but he was distant and silent, and soon Maglor 
gave up on him, saying that he was probably right not to confide in him. He 
didn't trust Maglor, and really that was how it should be. 

Soon he came to resent Legolas though. There was no acknowledgement of his 
existence anymore from the dark lord, and Maglor began to crave it. Jealousy 
took hold, and he began to ignore Legolas, concentrating instead on his own 
dreams. When he awoke he knew that Sauron had been with him, and somehow it made 
him shiver deliciously to know that Sauron had stolen from him in his sleep, 
even as he resented being cheated of his closeness. 

Dreams. They were things that tried to speak to you, and Maglor's dreams spoke 
to him. Often he dreamed of Sauron. The dark lord was never far from his 
thoughts in waking, and so it was in sleep. It was true that he had changed over 
the years... over the centuries. And his dreams contained a dark lord as cold 
and as terrible as reality. Truly, he had learned to enjoy his suffering. But 
when he awoke this time, it was to find the dark lord staring down at him with a 
question in his eyes. 

"Well?" Sauron demanded immediately. Maglor wondered what the question was for, 
but not for long. Legolas was gone. He looked around him at the empty bed, and 
then quickly back at Sauron. 

"I don't know!" He replied hastily, in shock, not wanting to arouse the dark 
lord's impatient anger. Sauron's eyes glittered coldly. Maglor really didn't 
know where the Prince had gone. Oh, it was obvious that Legolas had attempted an 
escape. Maglor sighed inwardly, he wouldn't make it, surely he wouldn't. A part 
of him was sorry, he did care about the young Prince after all, but Maglor also 
knew that had he encouraged Legolas to tell him his plans, then he would never 
even have got so far as to leave. Maglor looked back at his Master helplessly. 
He had told Legolas not to trust him, and deep inside he already knew Sauron 
would make him sorry for it. 

"*You*, don't know?" Sauron sneered, so that Maglor trembled before him. He 
sounded almost as if he had been waiting for this moment, as though he had been 
expecting it. Realisation hit him. He knew! Of course he knew, what secrets had 
he ever been able to keep from Sauron? 

"He didn't tell me," Maglor began, hoping it would be enough. "B-but you can 
find him again, can't you? And bring him back..." He spoke quickly, too quickly, 
and Sauron seemed to look at him without really listening. Sauron could find 
him, there was no doubt at all in Maglor's mind. But this was not about Legolas' 
escape, not really. 

"You have disappointed me." Maglor felt his heart lurch at Sauron's accusation, 
and he raised himself up in the bed until he was on his knees. His hands reached 
out to the dark lord, wanting to reassure him, to show that he hadn't, that he 
wouldn't, couldn't ever do such a thing. But he stopped. He hadn't been given 
permission to touch. He shook his head. 

"No..." The denial was instinctive, and he felt it with all his heart and soul. 
Why then, he wondered, did it sound so faint and weak? 

"I think it is time for a lesson, mûl nín." Yes, Sauron knew, and there was 
going to be no escape from it. Maglor had no doubt that whatever his Master did, 
it would teach him never to hide the truth again, and his first reaction was 
panic. 

"No! Please, I'm sorry!" And he was sorry. He felt as though he had betrayed the 
dark lord, and somehow it hurt to think and to feel it. It hurt even more to 
have *him* think it, and for a moment he hated Legolas, for coming between them 
in such a way. 

"No. You are not sorry yet, but you will be, I can promise you that." It was 
threatening, and seductive, and the inevitability stole Maglor's need to escape. 
He sighed heavily, already feeling a strange kind of desire that he couldn't 
really explain, even to himself. Sauron's punishments were always cruel, but 
Maglor knew he deserved it, and he had missed the dark lord's attention. Was 
that why he had done it? His warnings to the Prince had not been for Legolas at 
all, but for himself. After all, he had known really that it would come to this. 

"Hîr nín," he breathed reverentially, already grateful. He moved from the bed 
and knelt at Sauron's feet. Why did it feel so right to kneel before him? It was 
as though he belonged here. He looked up and he knew the answer to his own 
question. Sauron looked down on him coldly, his dark perfection was almost 
regal. Maiar. He could be a King or a God, and to Maglor he was those things and 
more. How could he *not* worship such a flawless being? 

"Hîr nín... Herdir... Please, forgive me..." He spoke the words over and over 
again like a litany, knowing they were of no use, as he rested his hands on the 
cold, stone floor, and dared to kiss his Master's feet. Fear and arousal had 
been one and the same for him for so long, and he only moaned hungrily when he 
felt Sauron cruelly taking hold of his hair to pull him to his feet. 

"Up!" he commanded. They looked at each other. Sauron knew. He would have no 
mercy. And Maglor was thankful for it even as he wanted to scream. 

Sauron dragged him along corridors and through chambers by his hair. He strode 
too fast for Maglor, so that when he finally stopped, Maglor was crying 
helplessly at having his hair pulled so viciously. His face was wet with tears 
when Sauron came to stand behind him, and he realised he was looking into a 
full-length mirror. 

"Now look," he commanded, holding Maglor's head in his hands, stopping him from 
turning away. Maglor caught the eye of Sauron's reflection and he couldn't look 
away. It was so strange to see himself like this. He wasn't as tall as Sauron, 
and the mirror seemed to emphasise that fact. He still had to look up to keep 
eye contact with Sauron, and he saw his Master's hands moving over him as well 
as feeling it. 

"You claim you haven't disappointed me," Sauron said, brushing his fingers over 
Maglor nipples and ribs, making him shiver in fear. His hands could be cruel, 
and he could sense a kind of suppressed violence. Sauron could break him so 
easily - he knew that. Maglor drew in a breath to answer, but then Sauron 
continued. 

"Then what are you sorry for?" he asked with a kind of frightening patience, 
anticipating Maglor's denial. Maglor caught his breath when the dark lord lazily 
brushed the tip of one finger over his erection, and he began to tremble. He 
knew Sauron somewhat after all this time - and he knew that the dark lord was 
angry. Only the fear of feeling his anger stopped Maglor from falling. He felt 
dizzy and weak, and still he couldn't look away from his dark eyes. The eyes 
that always seemed to see directly into his soul. 

"I... I don't - " he stammered fearfully, not really knowing what to say. 
Sauron's powerfully deep voice spoke over his. 

"You have allowed Legolas to keep secrets, even from you, when you know that I 
expected him to confide in you. You have more than disappointed me." Maglor 
began to tremble even more now. This was more than an accusation. He sounded 
like a judge announcing his crimes, and Maglor wondered fitfully what the 
sentence would be. But then Sauron suddenly changed tack. 

"But you are mine, are you not?" he asked pleasantly, as he brushed Maglor's 
long hair away from his neck, uncovering an ear which he kissed lightly. 

"Yes, Herdir," Maglor gasped, grateful for the opportunity to say that he 
belonged to Sauron. He almost didn't know what was coming. He deliberately 
ignored it while there was still time, as the dark lord's lips left his ear and 
moved over his neck, touching him so lightly it nearly tickled. 

"So obviously, this is a mistake of my own," he murmured thoughtfully. "Perhaps 
you simply do not fear me enough." He looked up suddenly then, into the mirror 
and into Maglor's eyes. His hands grabbed Maglor's wrists and trapped them at 
his sides. And it really was going to happen! Maglor cried out inarticulately 
before the change even began. Watching desperately, looking at Sauron in the 
mirror. The black hair and dark eyes that always seemed to capture the light. 
His skin was not so pale at the moment, and Maglor continued to look, knowing 
already that it was too late, but willing him not to change now - not in front 
of him like this... 

"Please," he managed finally, and Sauron smiled at him coldly. He really 
couldn't help but please the dark lord, with everything he said and did, but 
there was no compassion. Sauron leaned into his neck as if to torment him and 
inhaled deeply. His eyes seemed to gleam with an inner, yellow light for a 
second before the impression was gone. And Maglor knew that was something else. 
Something just as frightening. 

"Watch," Sauron commanded, and Maglor whimpered as it began. 

His Master had told him to watch, and although there was nothing more Maglor 
wanted to do than close his eyes, he found himself unable to disobey. First to 
change was the skin, it seemed to lose the small amount of colour it had until 
it was white. And this was not the deathly white of a corpse, but the almost 
transparency of some sea creatures. It was skin that never saw the light of day. 
Next were the eyes. Sauron continued to look at him, and Maglor screamed out, as 
those eyes grew bigger, becoming inky black pools of darkness in his face. They 
were expressionless and dead, insectile eyes. His long, black hair seemed to 
lose its luxurious texture until it hung around his face limply like tattered 
rags. His hands grew into claws that encircled Maglor around the waist. He could 
only look on as all this happened, frozen in horror at the sight of the monster 
that Sauron had become. 

He screamed again when it moved; he couldn't seem to think of it as 'him' 
anymore. It was darting and furtive as it leaned in to him. He tried to move 
away instinctively when its lipless mouth lowered to his neck, and he cried out 
breathlessly in disgust and revulsion. Sauron's teeth were still there and it 
gave the lower part of his face the appearance of a skull. The claws tightened 
around him as if to remind him where he was, and who he was with. Sauron's voice 
was in his mind then, and he listened gratefully. 

//Don't forget who I am, Maglor. Watch me, and fear me. Remember this is a 
lesson you asked for.//

His words calmed Maglor, despite their sinister meaning. And he relaxed a little 
in Sauron's vice-like grip. But soon he was panting and petrified again when he 
saw the teeth. They seemed to grow from his upper jaw, and then suddenly Maglor 
was certain that they were not really teeth. 

Out of all the punishments Sauron had visited on him, this was by far the worst. 
He had simply never been so terrified. He could hear a high-pitched wailing 
sound, and he was startled to find that it was coming from him. His mind 
screamed at him urgently - monster! But he couldn't flee from it. Instead the 
words and orders of his Master whom he had obeyed for so long ensured that he 
couldn't even try, that he couldn't fight, and he couldn't close his eyes. All 
he could do was watch helplessly, mortified, held in its cold grip, as it sank 
those terrible twin proboscises deeply into the skin of his neck. 

He gasped; more from the shock of seeing it happen than the actual pain. And he 
was right about those things. They weren't really teeth at all. He looked on in 
horrified fascination as his blood bubbled up inside them. They were transparent 
enough to show it, and then the swoon began. Was it possible to see and to know 
exactly what had hold of him, and yet still enjoy the feeling as it sucked and 
drank of his blood? Apparently so, because he sighed in pleasure. 

//You can close your eyes now// came the voice into his mind, slightly amused as 
always, and as if commanded, Maglor's eyes fluttered closed. Only Sauron's magic 
kept him conscious, and he moaned at every deep, rhythmic pull at his neck. He 
fancied he could almost feel the demand on his heart before it was over, and the 
cold and the claws retreated. 

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

Standing still, holding Maglor in his arms, Sauron licked his lips, tasting the 
last remains of his prisoner's blood. He looked into the mirror, and again for a 
fleeting moment his eyes gleamed with a golden fire. Then it was gone. He 
smirked when he saw that Maglor still had his eyes closed. He looked as though 
he could have fainted, and that Sauron was holding him up. But that wasn't the 
truth. He was very much aware of everything around him. Sauron could feel it in 
the way he shook and trembled. 

"Now you fear me, don't you?" he asked, not really needing to hear the answer, 
but knowing that Maglor had to say it to him nevertheless. Maglor's fear was all 
around them, he could sense it all over him - so delicious! It was like a drug 
to him. His orcs and uruk-hai would never fear him like this; they simply didn't 
have enough imagination. 

"Yes!" Maglor replied instantly, his eyes flying open. He seemed to relax a 
little when the evidence of his senses was confirmed, and he realised that 
Sauron was back to himself again. Sauron waited, enjoying his elf's trembling as 
it continued. It was irresistible not to play with him a little. 

"Say you are sorry, then," he suggested, feeling Maglor tense suddenly because 
he hadn't thought of it first. Oh, he was so beautiful like this! 

"I'm sorry, Hîr nín," he breathed immediately, looking at Sauron for acceptance 
and forgiveness, his eyes wide. Inwardly Sauron smiled; this particular lesson 
would last for a while. 

"Good." He waited until he felt Maglor relaxing against him, leaning back into 
him as if he thought it was all over. Sauron almost laughed. "Now all that 
remains is your punishment," he continued. No one else would have been able to 
tell what that sentence did to Maglor, but Sauron knew. He felt it in the way he 
jumped a little, heard it in the slight intake of breath, saw it by the way 
Maglor almost closed his eyes. 

"Choose it for yourself, mûl nín," he ordered then, watching Maglor in the 
mirror as he tried to think of a suitable punishment for what he had done. 

"I could sing for you, Herdir," he suggested eventually in a timid voice, as 
though singing were the last thing he wanted to do. It probably was. He was good 
at choosing his own punishment, which was probably why Sauron had him do it so 
often. 

"Yes, I believe that is fitting," Sauron said in agreement. "It will remind you 
of what you are, and what I expect." 


CHAPTER TEN

How long had it been? How many hours, or maybe it had already been a day or two? 
Maglor didn't know the answer. Time had no meaning here; there was only the need 
to get through it somehow, to endure it. He would have laughed at the idea of 
humiliation. He was beyond that by now, although it seemed to amuse his Master 
to see him like this. 

He sang. He had already been through all the songs he knew, and now he made them 
up for himself. But all he seemed to be able to come up with was mournful and 
sad. He invented songs full of melancholy words, and melodies that expressed his 
true longing for freedom and forgiveness. It *was* fitting. But whoever he sang 
to didn't answer him, and his own voice was the only company he had. 

Alone, he sang into the dark silence ceaselessly. Sauron would know if he 
stopped - he didn't know how, and the price he would pay for falling silent was 
too terrible. He shivered at an almost forgotten memory. The first and only time 
he had stopped singing while in here. When he was left alone for hours, and his 
voice was cracked and broken - a mockery of what it should have been. And Sauron 
had returned, to drag him away and throw him into a cell. But he hadn't been 
alone... 

He was left there with the other prisoners for weeks - ignored and waiting in 
vain for Sauron to return and claim him. A prison cell full of frightened human 
males was no place for an elf. He discovered that quickly. Sauron didn't save 
him; it had been the price he paid for not co-operating. The other prisoners 
knew he was not really one of them, and they took pleasure not just in raping 
and defiling him, but also in *spoiling* him. Whereas the dark lord was usually 
subtle, they were brutal and animalistic. They hacked off his hair with knives 
and used it to bind his hands while they took their pleasure from him, carved 
their initials into his skin, only laughing when he screamed and cried. 

He knew with many of them their fear drove them to it, and he begged for mercy 
from them sometimes with hope - some of them were not so uncivilised as they 
tried to make him believe. Every now and again it worked, but whoever was kind 
to him was the next prisoner to be replaced. Through all of it that was the 
worst thing; knowing that he envied them their place. They would soon be dead - 
but even then, Maglor knew *he* wouldn't be allowed to leave. And he was right. 
As the prisoners were taken away to whatever merciful fate they didn't deserve, 
others came to take their place, while he was left there, seemingly forgotten. 
Eventually, the orcs had taken him away at Sauron's orders. He had been starved, 
bleeding, violated, more dead than alive, and he had known that he would do 
anything not to go through that again. 

So now he sang. He lay on the floor of his prison, exhausted and used up. But he 
carried on even though his voice was almost gone, and his throat was burning and 
sore. He carried on even though he longed for sleep and was desperate for water. 
Sauron had left him water, but he couldn't stop to drink it - he knew that. From 
his place he stared at the golden bowl hungrily. So close to him, all he had to 
do was reach out and take it. It was as if Sauron wanted to test him. He always 
left Maglor with a temptation to stop. But since that time he never took it, 
however much he wanted to. One day he knew that the dark lord would leave him 
here long enough that he would be willing to pay the price to drink, and the 
knowledge made him shudder. Would it be this time? 

He dipped his fingers into the water while he sang and swirled them around 
longingly. Suddenly, he remembered a much earlier, carefree time, before the 
Oath, swimming with his brothers in a river. Valinor. It had been a gloriously 
hot day, and the cool water had felt so good - like sin, before he knew what it 
was. He lifted his hand away, enjoying watching the water drip from his fingers 
and back into the bowl. It was a beautiful sound! He brought his wetted fingers 
up, trying to return some moisture to his lips. Somehow a little of the water 
got into his mouth; he tasted it on the tip of his tongue. It was so sweet and 
cool, *life giving*, and whatever his consciousness might think about death, the 
instinct to survive was still strong in him. Maglor almost stopped to lick his 
lips before he realised what that would mean. He pulled his hand away from his 
mouth and looked at it for a moment in horror. Violently he pushed himself back 
with his legs and his feet, putting as much space between him and the bowl of 
water as he could. What was he thinking? It wasn't worth it! Yet... 

Now the door opened, letting in a little light that glinted on the bars of his 
prison, and Maglor pulled himself unsteadily to his feet as Sauron entered the 
room. He took the few small stumbling steps to the edge of his cage, the water 
forgotten now, and rested his hands and his forehead on the cool metal bars. 
Even the floor was made up of bars, and they hurt his feet after so long, but he 
hardly noticed it now. His voice grew stronger as he watched the dark lord, but 
Sauron didn't even look up at him. He sang for his Master, following his 
progress across the room, moving around his golden prison so that he could 
continue to face him. 

Sauron sat down before a desk and leaned back, closing his eyes. Maglor sang to 
him, trying to ignore the dry and parched feeling, trying to make his voice 
sound as sweet as it did at first, even though it was impossible. Was it a 
minute or an hour before Sauron finally looked up at him? He didn't know, but he 
felt his heart jump when the dark lord acknowledged him at last. Sauron walked 
over to the cage as unseen servants lowered it once more to the floor. 

Sauron opened the door of the cage. It wasn't locked; there was no need for it 
to be locked. Maglor cried while he sang, but still he was not given permission 
to stop. The dark lord reached out and gently brushed his tears away, the tears 
he really couldn't spare, and then he spoke. 

"Enough." 

Maglor fell silent at last, and to his knees, still crying. The dark lord held 
fingers to his lips that he had dipped in the water, and Maglor suckled on them 
mindlessly, in desperate need of moisture for his cracked lips and dry throat. 
After all this time, even such a small amount of water tasted like heaven, and 
he couldn't help himself, couldn't stop himself doing exactly what Sauron 
wanted. It was a pleasure to please him. 

When the water was gone and Sauron withdrew his fingers Maglor finally looked 
up. "Thank you, Herdir," he whispered. It hurt even to do that now, and he 
winced at the raw pain in his throat. 

The dark lord looked down at him for a moment thoughtfuly, then he grabbed hold 
of Maglor's wrist. "Come with me," he ordered brusquely and then turned away as 
Maglor got quickly to his feet to follow. 

They walked in silence for a while, but when they began to descend stone stairs 
to the cells, Maglor pulled back a little. The air was musty and damp down here, 
and the infrequent torches that burned in sconces on the walls only accentuated 
the gloom. Sauron said nothing, but dragged Maglor along by his wrist until they 
reached a heavy wooden door set into the stone wall. It was familiar, he 
recognised this place, and it was then that Maglor cried out. 

"No!" he began in pure dread. "Don't leave me in there, Hîr nín, please!" Sauron 
turned to face him. Dimly, Maglor realised that despite all the time he had been 
singing, he would still be able to scream. 

"Silence! You brought this on yourself." Maglor wanted to say that he hadn't 
stopped singing, that he had tried so hard to please him, but for a moment he 
couldn't speak. More than anything he wanted to feel the gentleness Sauron was 
capable of when Maglor did exactly as he was told. Why was the dark lord doing 
this to him? He had done what Sauron wanted, hadn't he? He had also told Maglor 
to be quiet but in his desperate fear he realised there was very little left for 
him to lose. 

"Please," he begged, reaching out, daring to curl his hands in the dark lord's 
robes. There was no reaction, and Maglor was only encouraged by it. He moved 
closer, pressing and rubbing his body against Sauron wantonly and resting his 
head on the dark lord's shoulder while he stood rigid and unmoved. He felt his 
own desire beginning to burn in him, and he wanted Sauron to take him, however 
cruelly. All he wanted was to feel him now. "I need- " Sauron interrupted him 
then, taking hold of his shoulders to push him back and away. 

"Oh, I know what you need. I always know. But you have made me angry, haven't 
you?" And then Maglor remembered what the punishment had been for, and he knew 
that Sauron considered he still hadn't paid for it yet. He had nothing to tell 
but the truth. 

"Yes," he whispered lifelessly. 

"So how can I reward you then?" the dark lord asked simply, and although the 
familiar amusement was there, he also sounded as though he could be sorry. 
Maglor felt worse for hearing that than for anything Sauron might do to him. 

"Forgive me, Herdir," he breathed in apology, forgetting completely what awaited 
him. Sauron reached out to hold his face in one hand and looked deeply into his 
eyes. 

"One day, Maglor, you will manage to arouse my pity, instead of my regret." 
Maglor caught his breath. Sauron smiled at him, and for a moment he thought he 
was saved. He should have known better, but hope was something Sauron cruelly 
encouraged in him. "But it isn't today," Sauron said, letting his hand drop 
away, and as his hope died, Maglor remembered his jealousy, because he knew that 
Sauron *would* leave him here. Surely he had found Legolas in the meantime and 
brought him back? They would be alone... 

"Why him?" Maglor asked bitterly, unable to stop the words coming out, raising 
his voice so that it hurt again. Finally making real the jealousy that he barely 
even acknowledged to himself. "Why does it have to be him?" He was surprised to 
hear the dark lord laugh then, astonished to see real humour gleaming in his 
eyes. Sauron touched his face again gently, caressing, seeming to consider 
something. 

"Oh, you don't want *that*, mûl nín, trust me." His hand was gentle, but his 
intense scrutiny made it difficult for Maglor to breathe. He wanted to step 
back, but he didn't dare move. "That is not for you," he said at last, as if he 
had made up his mind, and something in the tone of his voice made Maglor shiver 
suddenly, as if someone had stepped on his grave. He felt real fear then for 
Legolas - what did Sauron have planned for the young one that was so awful he 
wouldn't make Maglor endure it? 

"What will happen to him?" he asked in a faint whisper, not really wanting to 
know but having to ask anyway. 

"To *him*?" Sauron regarded him darkly. He came a step closer and closed the 
distance he had put between them. "*You* will never escape from me. Never." 
Maglor closed his eyes at the feeling of Sauron so close to him, the desire he 
felt earlier coming back instantly at Sauron's words as he continued speaking. 
"You understand very well what that means. When you suffer at my hands - that is 
your fate forever. When your mind wants to give up, but can't - that is your 
eternity. When you awake to the pain of my pleasure, with my seed inside you - 
that is how you will begin every day of your immortality." Maglor trembled at 
the pronouncement, but he couldn't help moaning at the picture Sauron painted 
for him. The dark lord's arms closed around him and he surrendered to the 
embrace gladly, forgetting everything but the need to feel Sauron inside him 
again - to please him. 

"No one and nothing will save you from me, Maglor." He was barely aware of 
Sauron reaching around him to unlock the door of the cell, but when he heard the 
click of the lock his eyes flew open and he found himself looking into Sauron's 
eyes. "I suggest you devote some thought as to why you are here," he continued, 
more coldly. "You have time. And ask yourself if you truly deserve it," he 
finished cryptically. With that said, he opened the door and pushed Maglor 
inside before closing and locking it behind him. 

Maglor banged on the door immediately, begging Sauron to let him out, but there 
was no reaction. He let his palms come to a rest on the door, laid his cheek 
against the wood, and closed his eyes for a moment, seeing the dark lord in his 
mind's eye. He was probably already walking away. He took a deep shaky breath 
and turned to face the rest of the cell, and the prisoners. He looked around him 
and the breath caught in his throat... 

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

Closing his eyes, he rested his palms against the door and laid his forehead on 
the warm wood, unaware that at the same moment, his prisoner was doing almost 
the very same thing on the other side. When he raised his head and lifted his 
hands, he was slightly surprised to find they were shaking. The dark lord 
breathed deliberately, remembering the way Maglor had pressed against him - 
inviting, warm, tempting - the very ideal of submission. How he wanted to take 
advantage of it! He raised an eyebrow at the effect it had on him, and then 
looked at the door accusingly. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, and then 
strode away back down the corridor, once more composed, leaving Maglor to his 
fate. 

Orcs, and even uruk-hai kept away from him. Like rats, they seemed to sense his 
fierce temper as he walked back into the more habitable areas of his fortress. 
He looked as if he knew where he was going. He strode purposefully, and with 
authority - it was not in him to appear any other way. But in truth he wandered 
aimlessly, still wondering why putting Maglor in that place had affected him. In 
all these years it was only the second time Sauron had left him there, but the 
elf deserved it. He had no place for a slave who could act against his wishes, 
however slightly. After all this time, his disobedience had actually surprised 
Sauron. He might even go so far as to say it *hurt* him. He would learn his 
lesson. Perhaps he would even follow Sauron's suggestion and use the time to 
think about his situation. 

He found himself at the door to Maglor's room, and he walked straight in before 
he realised that of course, Maglor wouldn't be there this time. He cursed Maglor 
for what he had done, and hoped he was being entertained. By the time Sauron let 
him out he would be miserably grateful to be his Master's plaything. Oh yes, the 
elf would be absolutely desperate to do anything he desired. Sauron looked 
forward to testing him. He turned to leave, but then the young Prince caught his 
eye. He looked Legolas over quickly. Yes, he was asleep, no doubt exhausted 
after his earlier exploits. Sauron smiled, he knew very well what had happened 
earlier; he *had* ordered it after all, with the strictest warning that he 
should in no way be damaged of course. Let that be a lesson to *him*. He was 
curled up with a pillow as if he missed something, and there *was* an empty 
space beside him. The dark lord glided closer in the darkness, watching the easy 
rise and fall of the blond elf's chest, listening to the even sound of his 
breathing in the silence. He studied the swell of his belly. Soon it would be 
time. 

Despite his anger, he realised that the need to punish Maglor had worked out 
quite well. Sauron needed him to be out of the way. And along with everything 
else, what he had told this one earlier was punishment enough. The look in his 
eyes had been well worth doing without his favourite for a while. He reached out 
to touch Legolas, only one thought in his mind - *soon* - and he unconsciously 
licked his lips. Legolas called out something in his sleep and then Sauron 
retreated silently, deciding not to wake him after all, a sadistic smile on his 
lips. Yes. Soon. 

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

Keeping so still and quiet was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He 
thought that the sound of alarm had given him away, but he hadn't been able to 
keep it in when the dark lord came towards him. He felt a terrible foreboding 
for a moment that the dark lord intended to kill him. He had come closer, tall 
and overwhelming, blotting out the light that fell in through the open door, and 
there had been the strangest thing about his eyes. They burned, seeming to give 
off their own light, an intense look of blood lust and hunger. He looked 
different, almost like an animal. And Legolas had nearly screamed, but Sauron 
seemed to believe he was dreaming. 

Legolas remained frozen and silent for several minutes after Sauron had left him 
alone, not daring to believe he was really gone, only his slight trembling 
betraying the fact that he was, in fact, awake. He clutched the pillow to him 
closely. He didn't know where Maglor was, and it was strange and frightening to 
be here without him, even if they hadn't seemed so close lately. Sauron had said 
that he wouldn't see Maglor for some time, and Legolas felt terrible for it. He 
remembered what Sauron told him, and he shivered. 

Of course, first had been his big plan, 'the escape'. Legolas smiled bitterly - 
some escape it had been. He relaxed and let his mind drift back, trying to come 
to terms with the day and make some sense out of it. Trying to deal with his 
guilt. He hadn't known what would happen, he told himself. He couldn't have 
known... 



TRANSLATIONS:

Herdir - Master
Hîr nín - my Lord
mul nín - my slave
pen neth - young one
bainon nín - my beautiful

NOTE ON SAURON'S NAME: Aulendil is listed as one of Sauron's names, and means 
'devotee of Aulë.' Since Sauron is a Maiar who was once uncorrupted, and 
belonged to the people of Aulë, I like to imagine that this might well be his 
original name. As for him making Maglor use it, I don't think he would want to 
hear Maglor beg him using the name Sauron, which means 'abhorred one.' ;)