Title: Slave to Darkness
Author: B’Danya (queen_bdanya@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Sauron/Legolas, some B/L, implied A/L
Rating: R (NC-17 in parts)
Summary:
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Suing me would result in you getting some 
pocket lint and ramen noodles. Anything that looks like Tolkien’s words 
and is marked with a [number] IS Tolkien’s words. 
Warning: Darkfic!!! Character deaths (Frodo, Sam, Thranduil), rape, and 
violence, no happy ending.

Author’s Notes: Slightly AU. Instead of being two days of travelling from 
Mount Doom when they dropped their gear, that Frodo and Sam were 
about a week away. I also took liberties with Legolas’ age. I’m making it 
so that he was 500 at the Last Alliance, so now he’s 3527.
{This is Elvish.} \This is the Black Speech. \  <This is telepathy. > 
‘Someone thinking’


      They came within cry of the Morannon, and unfurled the banner, 
and blew upon their trumpets; and the heralds stood out and sent their 
voices over the battlement of Mordor. [1]
	‘Come forth!’ they cried. ‘Let the Lord of the Black Land come 
forth! Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongfully he has made war 
upon Gondor and wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor 
demands that he should atone of his evils, and depart then forever. Come 
forth!’ [2]
	There was a long silence, and from the wall and gate no cry or 
sound was heard in answer. But Sauron had already laid his plans, and he 
had a mind first to play these mice cruelly before he struck to kill. [3]
	The silence was soon broken as the Black Gate was thrown open. 
A tall, evil Man, robed all in black, rode at the head of the entourage. He 
was the Lieutenant of Barad-Dûr, and he said to the army before the 
Gates, “I am the Mouth of Sauron.”
	Quietly, Legolas told Aragorn, “We have heard of him in 
Mirkwood. He is a sorcerer, and said to be crueller than any Orc. He 
knows much of Sauron’s mind; take him seriously.” Aragorn nodded his 
understanding to his friend. 
	‘Is there anyone in this rout with the authority to treat with me?’ he 
asked. ‘Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not thou at least!’ he 
mocked turning to Aragorn with scorn. ‘It needs more than an elvish piece 
of glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show 
as good a following!’ [4]
	Aragorn said naught in answer, but he took the other’s eye and 
held it, and for a moment they strove thus; but soon, though Aragorn did 
not stir nor move hand to weapon, the other quailed back as if menaced 
with a blow. ‘I am a herald and ambassador, and may not be assailed!’ he 
cried. [5]
	“You have nothing to fear from us, evil one, until your errand is 
done. What message do you send?” Gandalf asked.
	The Messenger smirked slightly before unwrapping a bundle. “I 
was bidden to show you these,” he stated simply, waving his arm over the 
items. There lay before him the short sword that Sam had carried, a grey 
cloak with an Elven brooch, and last the mithril-mail that Frodo had worn 
wrapped in his tattered garments. 
      Pippin gave a cry of grief as he sprang forward towards the items; 
Gimli held him back from coming any closer to the Mouth of Sauron. “I 
know, little one, I know,” he said soothingly into Pippin’s ear. “There will 
be time later to grieve.”
      The Messenger was quick to note this exchange, and responded 
with, “But he is not dead… yet. Your friend’s fate now depends on your 
choice. And if you choose the wrong option… well, then it would be your 
own fault for needing to grieve.”
	‘Name the terms,’ said Gandalf steadily, but those nearby saw the 
anguish on his face, and now he seemed an old and wizened man, crushed, 
defeated at last. They did not doubt that he would accept. [6]
	“These are the terms I was instructed to give you: either you allow 
your friend to die a horribly painful death…” he said, pausing and 
grinning when he saw a horrified expression cross Pippin’s face, “or you 
give up one person from your entire army. A willing hostage, to be kept in 
relative safety until this little war of yours is over,” he added. 
	Gandalf paused for a moment before answering. “Return in an 
hour and we shall give our answer,” he declared. The Mouth of Sauron 
nodded, then headed back through the Gates. The entire army watched as 
the Gates closed once more. 
	The Captains of the West looked at one another, uncertain of what 
to say to begin the discussion. Finally, annoyed by the silence and upset 
over the presumed fate of his friends, Pippin imploringly cried, “You can’t 
just leave them in Mordor!”
	Gimli squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “We don’t intend to, 
Pippin, but this must be discussed first,” he explained. ‘Poor hobbit,’ 
thought Gimli. ‘He’s seen too many horrors already. He doesn’t need to 
deal with guilt if we end up having to leave Frodo and Sam in Mordor.’
	“But he doesn’t have them!” Legolas interjected. “He never 
mentioned that there were two; he thinks there is only one hobbit in 
Mordor,” he explained. 
	The others thought about this for a moment, nodding slowly. “But 
we can’t let them know that we know they don’t have them,” Éomer 
pointed out. “It would then put your friends in danger.”
	“Then we will have to send someone,” Gimli noted. “The only 
question is who.”
	The group discussed this for a few minutes before Gandalf quieted 
them all. “It has to be someone with a strong mind. Sauron is quite 
powerful; there is little doubt that he will try to break the mind of the 
hostage,” he warned the others.
	Everyone went quiet for a few minutes, before Pippin said, “I want 
to go… but after the incident with the palantír, I don’t think I’m ready to 
face him.” Unshed tears for his friends made his eyes glisten.
	Pippin’s comment made Aragorn think deeply. “Then perhaps I 
should go. I faced Sauron in the palantír, so it stands to reason that I 
should be able to withstand him here,” he offered. 
	“No!” Prince Imrahil cried. “I speak as the acting Steward of 
Gondor when I say this, and not out of malice for the hobbits in Mordor,” 
he explained, looking apologetically at Pippin, “but Lord Aragorn cannot 
go. The King of Gondor has finally returned after many generations of 
exile, and it would be too soon to lose him again. Besides, a King is too 
valuable of a hostage,” he added.
	Legolas slowly met Imrahil’s eyes. “If not a King, then perhaps a 
Prince would suffice?” he asked, his tone unreadable. 
	Imrahil blinked slowly as his jaw dropped. “Surely you would not 
volunteer me without my consent,” he stated, flabbergasted.
	Legolas shook his head. “I did not mean you, Prince Imrahil,” he 
replied, glancing over at Aragorn. Aragorn was shaking his head slightly, 
as if to try to forbid Legolas from suggesting it. He looked back at Imrahil 
and said, “My father is King Thranduil of Mirkwood; I am a Prince in my 
own right,” he explained. 
	Everyone except for Aragorn seemed to accept Legolas’ 
suggestion. He pulled Legolas aside, out of earshot of the others. “Are you 
insane?” he hissed. “Going into Mordor alone, as a hostage? Can you even 
survive being in Mordor, without anything alive around you, other than 
minions of the Enemy?” he asked.
	Legolas’ eyes held quiet fury in them as he answered. “I survived 
the last time I was in Mordor, and I will survive this time. Nothing you 
can say to me will alter my decision, Aragorn,” he told him in a soft tone. 
	He began to walk back to the group, but was prevented by Aragorn 
grabbing his arm. “I don’t want you to leave me. I fear that you will be 
harmed,” he murmured into Legolas’ ear. 
	Legolas glared at him. “It is either I go, or thousands of people will 
be killed. I would gladly give my life to save Middle Earth. My actions are 
not your decision to make. If I were under your command, I would be 
among the Dúnedain and would lack a point on my ears,” he stated coldly. 
Lowering his voice, he added, “I don’t wish to go, but it is perhaps the 
only way to save Middle Earth.” He caressed Aragorn’s cheek before 
rejoining the group, leaving three small words unsaid. Each knew how the 
other felt, but neither would voice it aloud, fearful of the consequences to 
their friendship. 
	After a few moments, the Black Gate opened once more, and again 
the Mouth of Sauron came out. “Have you made your decision?” he asked 
coolly, looking around the group.
      Legolas stepped forward. “We have. I shall accompany you into 
Mordor,” he stated. He turned to face his friends and said, “Farewell. I 
will return to you eventually.” The Lieutenant of Barad-Dûr grabbed his 
arm and pulled him away, through the Black Gate. Each of the Captains of 
the West watched sombrely as the Gate closed once more. Aragorn walked 
off to be alone for a few minutes.
      
      Inside Mordor, the Messenger was leading Legolas by the arm 
towards a cloaked figure. “This is the prisoner. As soon as I disarm him, 
he will be ready to travel to Barad-Dûr,” he stated, a tone of gloating 
apparent in his voice. 
      Legolas tried to get a clear view of the person in the cloak, but 
could not see past the large hood covering its face. Suddenly a harsh voice 
sounded within Legolas’ head, saying, <Leave him harmed. The young 
Prince of Mirkwood will not take the chance of having Middle Earth 
destroyed by using them. > The voice was grating, painful, and sounded 
like many screams had been patched together. 
      The Messenger obviously heard the voice as well, for he nodded 
and said, “I understand. Shall I bind his hands?” he asked. A nod from the 
cloak was the only response. Legolas’ arms were roughly grabbed and tied 
cruelly tight behind his back.
      A rush of air from above made Legolas look up, only to see a 
Ringwraith on its flying mount descending towards them. The Messenger 
walked off, leaving the area swiftly and quietly. He had been given 
another set of orders from his master, and was in a hurry to fulfill them.
      The Nazgûl soon landed, and it seemed to bow slightly to the 
cloaked man. The cloaked one grabbed Legolas’ arm and began taking 
him towards the Ringwraith. Legolas’ arm felt unbearably cold, as though 
millions of shards of ice had impaled it, and he sensed the evil emanating 
from the mysterious person. As much as he hated to, he allowed himself to 
be pulled along to the side of the wraith’s mount. He felt himself being 
lifted and began to struggle; he ceased struggling when the Nazgûl 
grabbed his shoulders and plunked him down on the saddle behind it. The 
cloaked one jumped up and perched himself behind Legolas.
      As the Nazgûl had its mount take off, Legolas had no choice but to 
lean against the evil cloaked figure behind him. Pinned between an 
unknown evil and a Ringwraith, Legolas was incapable of remembering 
anything more frightening. ‘Seeing Sauron on the battlefield during my 
time with the Last Alliance was terrifying,’ he noted. ‘But this somehow 
reminds me of that…’ he mused. The flying time was short, and soon the 
Nazgûl was landing outside of the Barad-Dûr. The figure behind him slid 
off, pulling him down as well. 
      Without words, the cloaked one led him into the Tower and up 
many flights of stairs until they reached a floor with only a small landing 
and one door. On either side of the door there was an Orc; whether the 
Orcs were guards or servants, Legolas could not tell. The door 
mysteriously opened and Legolas was thrust into the room. Legolas took a 
few steps forward and looked around the room. It was a large parlour, with 
many shelves of books and a large oak desk. There was only one chair, 
which was placed at the desk and had some sort of black cushion on it. 
The walls were all made of the same obsidian as the rest of the tower was, 
and the lush carpet was black. There were two doors, black with gold 
filigree, on opposite side of the room. The cloaked one went into the door 
on the left, and Legolas followed. Upon entering the room he discovered it 
to be a luxurious bedroom decorated in the same red and black style as the 
other room. 
      Finally regaining his courage he asked, “Who are you?” It seemed 
a rather innocuous question, and in his mind a fair one. 
      <Have you not realized it yet? > asked the horrible voice in his 
head. The figure threw the hood back, only to uncover a face devoid of 
features. In place of a nose it had a hole, much like one would find on a 
skull. There was a distinct lack of lips, leaving only a slit for a mouth. The 
unpigmented head was bald and was missing its ears. 
      More disturbing than any of that were the eyes. It did, indeed, have 
eyes, but they were unlike any that Legolas had seen before. They were 
red and wreathed in flame; it gave away the person’s identity in an instant. 
“Sauron…” Legolas breathed, beginning to walk backwards. Suddenly, 
his back hit a wall and the Dark Lord was advancing towards him. 
Sauron’s non-descript hand placed itself on his forehead, and the last thing 
he heard before blackness overtook him was that hideous voice saying, 
<You are mine, young Greenleaf. >
      
~*~

	The next thing Legolas knew, he felt warm. Not the uncomfortable 
sort of warm like one would get with a fever, but the gentle warmth that 
one gets when tucked into a cozy chair next to a fireplace during a 
snowstorm. He shifted slightly in an attempt to move closer to the source 
of the warmth and realized that he was in a soft bed. The sheets felt like 
satin, and upon stretching his arm he noticed that the blanket was one 
made of soft fur. He shifted again, pressing himself up against the source 
of heat and opened his eyes with a start when he realized that it was a 
person that he was pressing against. 
	Legolas sat up and looked at the person next to him. He had a face 
like Aragorn’s, with a few small changes, pointed ears half-hidden by 
Elrond-like hair, and, judging by the draping of the blanket, a body that 
crossed the typical Elven height and build with the width of Boromir’s 
shoulders. He had smooth skin, as an Elf would, but with the deeper 
bronzed colour that Men got after long months in the sun. “Do you like 
what you see?” a smooth voice asked as beautiful grey eyes opened. The 
voice was almost eerie: it sounded although someone had mixed his 
father’s voice with Celeborn’s. “I borrowed things that were familiar to 
you. We’ll be spending a lot of time together, and I want you to be 
comfortable,” he added.
	For the first time since awakening, Legolas looked around the 
room. He recognized it as the bedroom in Barad-Dûr. Immediately he 
moved to get up. As he stepped out of the bed, however, he realized that 
he was naked. He grabbed a pillow to cover himself and asked through 
gritted teeth, “Where did you put my clothes?” 
	“Oh, I had them burned. You won’t be needing archer’s clothing 
here,” he stated simply. “By the way, there’s no point in being shy in front 
of me. Whom did you think took your clothes off?” he asked rhetorically. 
	Legolas’ eyes widened and he blushed as Sauron said that. 
“Exactly what am I supposed to wear?” he asked, embarrassed by his 
nudity. 
	“I never said anything about you needing any clothing at all, little 
one. I want for you to be naked in my chambers,” he smirked, enjoying 
watching Legolas squirm. “Come lay with me little one,” he ordered, 
patting the bed next to him. 
	Legolas was incensed. “No!” he shouted. “I am the Prince of 
Mirkwood, not some sort of whore!” he exclaimed. He looked around for 
something that he could fight his way out with and spotted his long knives 
sitting on a stand a few feet away from him. 
	Legolas grabbed them as a furious Sauron got out of the bed and 
came towards him. “You will learn to obey me,” Sauron growled. Legolas 
responded only by whipping his knives into an aggressive position. This 
didn’t stop the Dark Lord at all; he used a mental power to disarm the 
young prince. Legolas found that the blades grew unbearably hot, and was 
forced to drop them. He noted that there were painful burns on the palms 
of his hands just before Sauron grabbed him by the hair and threw him 
onto the bed. 
      Before Legolas could move away, Sauron had pushed him 
facedown into the mattress and fitted mithril shackles onto his wrists. He 
squirmed, writhed, and tried to kick the Dark Lord as similar shackles 
were fitted around his ankles. He hadn’t noticed the shackles before; they 
seemed to be a permanent fixture on the bed. He tested them, thrashing 
about until he determined that they would not come loose. He felt the 
mattress sink behind him and looked over his shoulder. It was only then 
that he realized that Sauron had been naked as well. At that point he 
understood exactly what Sauron planned to do and panicked. “No, no! 
Please, don’t do this! Don’t touch me!” he yelled as Sauron’s hands 
grabbed his hips and drew them closer to one another. 
      Sauron used one of his knees to spread Legolas’ thighs, and then 
rubbed his erection against the puckered hole in Legolas’ ass. “You have 
angered me, little one. Perhaps if you had listened to me, I would take pity 
on you. But because you were a bad Elf,” he explained, digging his nails 
into Legolas’ hips, “I am going to take you as you are. There will be no 
mercy for you this night.” At that moment he drove himself fully into 
Legolas, without the littlest bit of preparation. 
      Legolas howled with pain and began sobbing as he felt his insides 
being torn. Sauron stayed still for a moment, enjoying Legolas’ reaction. 
“You are so tight, little one… you were a virgin weren’t you?” he asked. 
Legolas only sobbed louder in answer. “This makes it even sweeter,” he 
commented as he began pumping in and out of Legolas’ tight hole. 
      This was the most pain that Legolas had ever been in. In addition 
to the pain radiating from his bottom, he felt his soul crying out against the 
violation. He knew that Elves died when they were raped, and knew that it 
was his fate. 
      Unexpectedly, one of Sauron’s hands removed itself from his hip 
and began stroking his crotch. It removed itself from there momentarily, 
and he could hear the sound of someone spitting. The hand, now wet with 
saliva, grasped his limp member and began pumping it. Legolas’ mind 
was set that he would feel no pleasure from this, but his body had other 
ideas. He was soon hard, and instead of sobbing with pain, he was sobbing 
with confusion about how he could feel pleasure at the hands of such a 
monster. 
      The conflicting feelings continued to torment him, until his body 
won over his mind and he spilled his seed into Sauron’s hand. He heard 
laughter above and behind him, and then a voice in his ear commented 
lightly, “It’s not rape if you feel pleasure from it.” A few more hard 
thrusts, and Sauron came, spilling his burning seed into Legolas. The bed 
moved as Sauron’s weight was removed from it and he heard a wish of 
fabric as the sheet fell partway onto the floor. “I’ll send someone in to 
clean you,” Sauron called. The bedroom door opened and closed, leaving 
Legolas alone with his thoughts. 
      Legolas blinked away his remaining tears, trying to understand 
what had just happened. The hardest part for him to comprehend was how 
he could have taken pleasure in being raped. He had always been told that 
it was a sign of weakness to allow oneself to be raped, so it must mean 
that he was weak. Exhausted, he let himself collapse on the bed and fall 
into a light sleep.
      
      Sauron had summoned one of his minions to clean Legolas, and 
then went into his private bathing chambers to bathe. He got into the tub 
full of hot water and allowed it to removed the sweat from his body and 
the mixture of semen and blood from his thighs. He felt pity for the elf 
now, and decided that the next time he took Legolas that he would be 
much gentler. He would, of course, wait a day and allow the elf to heal 
from this time. 
      He had been watching Legolas for some time, and from what he 
had seen he had been surprised at Legolas’ virginity. He had observed 
through the palantír that Legolas was very affectionate towards the Heir of 
Isildur, and had been certain the two had acted on their feelings. But it 
hadn’t been recently that his interest in Legolas had started. It had been 
during the Last Alliance that he had first seen the blond Sindar and began 
lusting after him. Legolas had been part of the reason that he had taken up 
residence at Dol Guldur. He had been certain that the elf would selflessly 
give himself up to help a friend, and would thus delivered into Mordor. 
      His ears pricked up at a faint noise from the bedroom. As he 
focussed on it he realized that Legolas was yelling something in a 
panicked tone. He quickly got out of the bath and, without putting a towel 
around himself, marched into the bedroom. “What is going on in here?” he 
bellowed. 
      
      Legolas woke up when he heard the door open. He peered over he 
shoulder and saw that there was an Orc in the doorway with a bucket of 
steaming water in one hand, and a cloth, a towel, and a bar of soap in the 
other. Wordlessly, the Orc came over and wet the cloth, put some soap on 
it, and began cleaning the backs of Legolas’ thighs. The cloth had begun 
as a pale grey, but was now a furious red from the blood that had run 
down the backs of his legs. The orc put the bucket and the towel on the 
floor, and dropped the cloth and the soap into the bucket. Assuming that 
he was done, Legolas softly said, “Thank you.” 
      The Orc disappeared behind him again, and the mattress shifted 
with a new weight. “I’se always wanted to get me self a sweet bit o’ Elven 
arse,” it declared, running it’s hand along the cleft in Legolas’ bottom. 
      “Stop that! Get your hands away from me!” he shouted. When the 
Orc continued, Legolas began cursing at it in every language he knew. 
      Just as the Orc was aligning himself to impale Legolas, a door 
slammed open and Sauron barged in, bellowing, “What is going on in 
here?” Both the Orc and Legolas looked at the Dark Lord in surprise, but 
Legolas also felt a bit relieved. 
      The Orc, of course, was terrified and quickly removed himself 
from the bed. It began to run from the room, but Sauron prevented it from 
escaping. As Legolas watched, he saw Sauron grab it by the throat and 
hold it in the air. The Orc then seemed to spontaneously combust, 
perishing in a burst of flames and crumbling into dust. Sauron brushed his 
hands off, and then went over to Legolas. “Are you alright? Did it hurt 
you?” he asked, smoothing the elf’s hair. 
      After a moment of thinking, Legolas replied, “It didn’t, but you 
did. Where did all of that blood come from?” he asked. He stayed 
perfectly still as Sauron moved down and checked the damage. While 
Sauron was down there, he undid the shackles on Legolas’ ankles. He 
moved up to the head of the bed, undid the chains from Legolas’ wrists, 
and said, “I must have torn you. The bleeding has stopped, but it needs to 
be cleaned. Can you stand?” he asked. 
      Legolas tried, but he couldn’t even roll onto his back. “No,” he 
murmured. He felt weak and ashamed when Sauron picked him up from 
the bed and carried him into the bathroom. 
      Sauron stepped into the large tub and sat with Legolas still on his 
lap. Legolas tensed, both from the heat of the water and from how close he 
was to the Dark Lord. “Relax, little one, I have had enough of you for one 
night,” he murmured gently in Legolas’ ear. He put some soap on a cloth 
and told Legolas, “I am going to clean the damaged area. I need you to 
relax for me.” Legolas nodded, and forced his body to slacken. Sauron 
gently probed the area with the cloth, washing away the remaining blood 
and semen. Legolas hissed in pain as the soapy cloth touched the tear, but 
kept himself calm. The cloth was soon removed and he was pulled to lean 
against Sauron’s chest. “Very good, little one. You deserve a reward,” 
Sauron murmured in his ear. “Name one thing that you want.”
      Legolas had suddenly become sleepy and mumbled, “Freedom…” 
without realizing it. What he really wanted was to be out of Mordor and to 
be sure that all of his friends, especially Frodo and Sam, were safe and 
sound.
      “No, you can’t have that, little one. Try again,” Sauron told him. 
After such planning to get his hands on Legolas, Sauron wasn’t about to 
let him go.
      Exhaustion had quickly taken over Legolas, and he rubbed his eyes 
like a child awake far past its bedtime would do. He yawned and 
mumbled, “Wanna sleep…”
      Sauron chuckled and picked up the half-asleep Elf. “That I will 
most certainly let you do, little one,” he affirmed, heading back into the 
bedroom. The bed had been freshly made, probably by an Orc looking for 
the first one that had been sent in. He used the towel next to the bed to dry 
Legolas off before putting him in the bed. He retrieved a jar of salve from 
the bathroom, turned Legolas onto his side, and applied it to the painful 
tear, stroking the Legolas’ back after the sleeping Elf whimpered in pain. 
He then dried himself and lay down next to the sleeping Sindar. ‘Now all 
that I must do is tame you,’ he thought before drifting into a dreamless 
sleep.
      
      “What do you mean, you don’t have our friend?” Aragorn asked, 
as though he was surprised. “We gave you a willing hostage, and you lied 
to us?” 
      The Mouth of Sauron grinned. “Yes, I suppose I did. But my 
master is in a much better mood now that he has a companion to talk to, 
and has another proposition for you. He wants to negotiate instead of 
having a war,” the Messenger said to Aragorn, watching his reaction 
carefully.
      Gandalf responded instead of Aragorn. “Why should we trust you 
this time, when you have been nothing but deceitful before?” he asked. 
      “In three days Sauron will meet with you out here, with only one 
person with him. Since you will be waiting here anyways, it really 
shouldn’t make a difference to you. I thought such chivalrous beings 
would try to prevent the deaths of your people,” the Mouth taunted. 
      Gandalf nodded sagely, although a feeling of dread had filled his 
stomach. “Three days,” he replied. 
      ~*~
      Legolas awoke to a feeling of pleasure flooding his body. There 
was something wet and warm on him, but only one part. He looked down 
and saw Sauron clad in a black silk robe between his legs, sucking at his 
hardened member. “What… what are you doing?” he gasped, arching his 
back with pleasure. Sauron didn’t answer because his mouth was busy 
elsewhere. “Ai!” he cried, clenching his fists in Sauron’s hair as the 
sucking intensified. Legolas couldn’t handle the sensation for long and 
soon exploded in Sauron’s mouth. 
      Sauron swallowed Legolas’ seed and grinned. “I told you that I 
would reward you for behaving in the bath last night. Did you like that 
reward?” he asked, sitting up. Legolas, breathing hard, shook his head in a 
blatant lie. He was not about to admit that the Dark Lord had given him 
pleasure. “We’ll have to work on your honesty, little one. Put this on and 
meet me in the sitting room for breakfast,” Sauron told him, handing him a 
green robe before leaving the room. 
      Legolas stood up for the first time since trying to escape the night 
before and put the robe on, tightly tying the sash. He found it rather 
painful to walk as he headed into the sitting room. He adopted an awkward 
waddle as he moved into the room. Seeing only the one chair (which was 
occupied by Sauron), he stood in the middle of the room, confused on 
what he was supposed to do. 
      “Come, child, sit on my lap,” Sauron told him, patting his thigh 
invitingly. “There is a wonderful breakfast prepared for us today,” he 
added.
      Legolas’ stomach growled as he went to sit on the Dark Lord’s lap. 
“I am not a child,” he insisted.
      Sauron waved a hand dismissively at him. “When you have been 
around since the beginning of time, even the oldest of Elves seem like 
small children,” he commented. “Now, what would you like? There are 
berries, slices of fruit, and these little puff pastries,” he told Legolas, 
pointing to each item in turn. Legolas reached for one of the berries, but 
Sauron swatted his hand away. “I will feed you, little one,” he informed 
Legolas. 
      For the next ten minutes, Legolas was filled with shame as he 
allowed himself to eat out of the Dark Lord’s hand. “Is there anything to 
drink?” he asked, parched. 
      Sauron reached for a goblet filled with an amber liquid. “I warn 
you now, it is quite potent. You may only have a taste at a time,” he told 
Legolas as he dipped his finger in the liquid and brought it to the Elf’s full 
lips. Legolas moved his head away, refusing at first to take the liquid off 
of the fingers. “I thought you wanted it?” Sauron asked with a hurt tone. 
      It was the tone of voice more than anything that made Legolas take 
the finger into his mouth, sucking the sweet fluid from it. Sauron pulled 
the finger out, dipped two fingers into the goblet, and brought both to 
Legolas’ lips; Legolas repeated the sucking motion, trying to draw every 
droplet into his mouth. Legolas was starting to feel a tad light-headed, and 
let the fingers slip from his mouth. “Is this alcoholic?” he asked, 
wondering what Sauron had meant by potent.
      Appearing to think for a minute, Sauron replied, “No, it’s not. Why 
do you ask?” he questioned.
      “I wondered if there was anything to drink because I’m thirsty. If 
it’s not alcoholic, I don’t see the harm in having a sip of it. With the 
amount of liquid on your fingers, I’d probably be quenched faster with a 
wet kiss,” he commented. 
      “Is that so?” Sauron asked, in a mocking tone. He took a sip of the 
beverage and pressed his lips to Legolas’. <Open your mouth, > he 
ordered telepathically. Stunned by the voice in his head, Legolas 
complied. As Legolas opened his mouth, so did Sauron, allowing the 
mouthful of liquid flow past Legolas’ lips. 
      Legolas pulled away as he swallowed, slightly stunned. The drink 
was having some sort of effect on him, he just couldn’t explain what, until 
a wave of lust filled him and a familiar heat shot to his groin. “This is an 
aphrodisiac, isn’t it?” he asked, beginning to breathe heavily.
      Sauron smiled as he scooped Legolas into his arms and carried him 
back to the bed. “You are quite intelligent. I like that in a lover,” he 
commented as he removed first Legolas’ robe and then his own. 
	Legolas lay back on the bed, his head swimming. “It’s pathetic… 
you need an aphrodisiac to get me to have sex with you,” he mocked, 
gasping and writhing on the bed with need.
	Sauron smiled as he ran his hand up and down Legolas’ chest and 
replied, “That’s not what you were saying this morning, little one. It’s just 
that this particular aphrodisiac makes you feel pain as pleasure. If I hurt 
you, you’ll think it feels good.” He reached onto the shelf next to the bed 
and grabbed the salve from last night. He opened the jar and coated his 
fingers in it before positioning himself between Legolas’ legs. “Spread 
your legs and bend your knees, little one,” he ordered. Through a lust-
filled haze, Legolas complied. Sauron spread the firm mounds of Legolas’ 
bottom with one hand and swirled a slicked finger around the puckered 
opening between the mounds. 
	Legolas gasped and tried to pull away as he remembered the pain 
from the night before, but Sauron wouldn’t allow him to. Instead, one 
large finger slid slowly into Legolas’ resisting passage; he created a slow 
rhythm, adding a second one only after Legolas had become accustomed 
to the first. He did something different when the second finger was in, 
however. The two fingers twisted inside of Legolas, searching for the 
sensitive gland that would bring extreme pleasure. Legolas gasped and 
cried out when Sauron found it, pushing down against the fingers in an 
attempt to draw them deeper inside of him. 
	Instead of allowing Legolas to draw the fingers further in, Sauron 
pulled them out. Legolas whimpered and writhed on the bed, saddened by 
the loss of pleasure. By this point, of course, Legolas’ mind was so 
muddled by the aphrodisiac and his body so demanding that Legolas cared 
only for the pleasure, not the giver. Sauron dipped his hand into the salve 
again and spread it on his thick erection. Soon, he was positioned at 
Legolas’ entrance with the blond elf’s smooth beautiful legs wrapped 
around his waist, ready to slide inside. Without warning, however, Legolas 
got impatient and quickly impaled himself upon Sauron. 
	Both of them gasped with pleasure and stilled for a moment, 
surrendering themselves to the sensations. Legolas surrounded Sauron’s 
neck with his arms and rocked his hips slightly, drawing Sauron a little 
deeper in. With that motion, Sauron started his own tempo: hard and fast, 
forcing pleasure through both bodies. 
      As they moved together, neither noticed the door open and five 
people enter. It was only when a shocked voiced gasped and cried, “Mr. 
Legolas?” did either notice that they had an audience. There in the 
doorway stood two Hobbits with hands bound, and three Orcs standing as 
guards. Legolas, in his aphrodisiac-induced lust, didn’t understand what 
was going on and cried, “Sauron!” in a pleasure-filled voice.
      Sauron, never pausing in his motions, looked over and said, “What 
have we here? Two hobbits, wandering around in my lands. Tell me, small 
creatures, why are you here?” he concluded. 
      Neither Frodo nor Sam answered his question, but Sam told him, 
“You better let our friend go, or you’ll get it!” sounding quite a bit braver 
than he felt.
      Sauron smirked and looked down at Legolas. “Did you hear that? 
They want me to stop… Tell me, what do you want?” he asked, grasping 
Legolas’ hard member with an already slick hand and stroking it. 
      Legolas’ eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a keening cry 
of pleasure. “More! Please, I need more!” he cried, pumping his hips in an 
attempt to gain release. Frodo looked away, blushing, and Sam’s jaw 
dropped as they found out how far Legolas had debased himself. At last, 
Legolas found his release with a loud cry, his milky-white seed spurting 
all over his stomach and Sauron’s hand. His body fell limp with pleasant 
exhaustion onto the bed. 
      Sauron followed with a shudder, collapsing on top of Legolas for a 
moment, before getting out of the bed and standing in front of the two 
scared and embarrassed Hobbits. Frodo continued to look away, a dark 
blackness covering his heart when he knew that the Ring would soon be 
taken away from him, while Sam looked anywhere but directly in front of 
him. It’s needless to say that the last thing that Sam wanted was a close-up 
of the Dark Lord’s crotch, knowing exactly where parts of it had just been; 
oftentimes there were downsides to being only waist-high. /Where did you 
find them? / Sauron asked the Orc captain. 
      /Right near the Isenmouthe, my Lord. You said if we found any to 
bring ‘em right to you, / he added. 
      “Very good. Did you take anything from them?” Sauron asked. All 
of the orcs shook their heads. “You may leave now,” he told the Orcs. He 
knelt in front of the two Hobbits. “I know one of you has something that 
belongs to me. Which of you is it?” he asked. Sam glared at him, but 
Frodo wouldn’t look anywhere near him. In an attempt to gain Frodo’s 
attention, Sauron gave Legolas a mental suggestion to touch himself. The 
resulting moan made Frodo begin to look towards the bed, but was halted 
when his eyes met Sauron’s. “Ah, so it’s you that carries my precious 
Ring,” he said, grinning.
      Sam watched with horror as Frodo seemed to fall under a trance. 
“My Preciousss…” Frodo hissed, sounding very Gollum-like, as his hand 
grasped the Ring through his shirt. 
      Sauron extended his hand and Frodo removed the chain from his 
neck. He was about to hand the Ring to the Dark Lord when Sam cried, 
“No, Master Frodo!” and tried to grab it away. Angered by someone trying 
to interfere, Frodo lashed out at Sam. The two scuffled on the floor, each 
trying to grab the Ring away from the other. After a while, Frodo 
unexpectedly grabbed Sting from Sam. A look of horror was frozen on 
Sam’s face as Frodo removed his head with the keen blade. 
      When Sam’s lifeless corpse dropped to the ground, the trance that 
Frodo had been under was broken. “Sam!” he cried, dropping to his knees 
beside the headless body when he realized what he had done. He felt 
around his neck for the Ring, but didn’t find it. Looking around the floor 
revealed nothing. Finally, he looked around Sauron’s neck. 
      There was the Ring, the letters glowing a fiery red on the chain 
around Sauron’s neck. The Dark Lord grinned evilly at Frodo. “Thank you 
for returning my most prized possession; I’ve missed it for quite some 
time,” he remarked calmly. 
      Frodo glowered at him. “You monster! Causing wars and making 
friends kill friends! You don’t deserve to exist,” he growled. 
      Sauron chuckled. “I didn’t make you kill your servant. You did 
that yourself. I don’t need make anyone kill one another, they do it for 
themselves; it’s just that they like to blame it on me,” he stated simply. 
      Frodo shook his head disbelievingly. “I’ll not live in a world where 
people are controlled by the likes of you…” he declared. “Sam, my dear, 
I’ll be with you soon!” he cried into the air. With that he stabbed Sting 
through his chest and fell to the floor, dead. 
      With a sigh, Sauron summoned his Orc servants in to take away 
the bodies and the head. He then moved over to the bed, where Legolas 
was touching himself agonizingly slowly. He realized that Legolas had 
probably been so busy with himself that he hadn’t noticed what had been 
going on. It was a good thing, for it would have undone a lot of the 
progress he had made with the young Sindar. Sauron wrapped his hand 
around Legolas’ and sped up the strokes; Legolas writhed underneath the 
touch, and soon came undone in a splatter of seed. Sauron used Legolas’ 
discarded robe to clean his hand and his lover’s stomach, and they curled 
together in the bed. Legolas was soon asleep, but Sauron remained awake. 
      
      After an hour, Legolas awoke again and noticed Sauron sitting on 
the edge of the bed watching him. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.
      “No,” Sauron replied, “I was just wondering when you would be 
waking up. We will be leaving here in an hour, make yourself 
presentable,” Sauron told him. 
      Confused, Legolas quickly bathed and braided his hair. “What am I 
to wear?” he asked shyly. He assumed it would be something horribly 
embarrassing, or worse: nothing. Sauron nodded towards a box sitting on 
the end of the bed. Legolas opened the box and saw a beautiful emerald 
green tunic with silver leaves embroidered on it. There was a dark green 
pair of pants and a cream-coloured shirt to go with it. A pair of rich brown 
boots and matching belt completed the outfit; he remembered wearing 
something much like it at home. He was surprised by the gift, not having 
expected to be allowed to cover so much of himself. He quickly got 
dressed and looked over at Sauron, but couldn’t repress a laugh when he 
saw the state of the Dark Lord’s hair. 
      “Do you find this amusing?” Sauron rumbled, his hands tangled in 
his hair from trying to make the intricate braids that an elf would normally 
wear. 
      Legolas said nothing; he simply stepped up to Sauron’s side, 
detangled both the hands and the hair, and set about braiding the dark silky 
hair. When he was done he stepped back and said, “That looks much 
better.” He looked over the Dark Lord’s appearance and noted that 
somehow, Sauron had developed a fashion sense over the years. He wore 
black boot, black pants, and a dark red shirt. In place of a tunic he wore an 
incredibly well fashioned black leather jerkin.
      Sauron drew Legolas into an embrace and murmured “Thank you,” 
in his ear. “It’s time to go,” he declared, heading towards the door. 
      Legolas followed without hesitation, and asked, “Where are we 
going?” as they descended the many flights of stairs. 
      “To Mirkwood, little one. I want to speak to your father about 
something,” he informed Legolas. Soon the pair was outside the tower, 
standing close to a mounted Ringwraith. 
      “Do I have to come?” Legolas asked, squirming uncomfortably. 
“I… I don’t like flying…” he whispered, trying not to let the Nazgûl hear 
him.
      Sauron sighed. “Little one, you don’t have to be afraid of flying, 
I’ll be there with you. And if it is the Nazgûl you are afraid of, you should 
not be; they are the most trustworthy of my minions,” he insisted gently. 
He paused for a moment, noting how neither assurance seemed to allay 
Legolas’ fears. “You don’t want to see your father, do you?” he asked, 
now almost certain of the answer. 
      Legolas shook his head. “I’m afraid of what he will think of me…” 
he said honestly, his voice trailing off as he noticed the chain around his 
neck. “Where did you get that?” he asked, his eyes widening.
      Sauron groaned. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it’s back 
where it belongs. Now, I’ll help you up to the saddle, but you must sit 
quietly while I get up,” he told Legolas. 
      Legolas nodded numbly, a vague memory tugging at his mind as 
he was lifted up onto the seat. Frodo and Sam had been there while Sauron 
had been bedding him… there had been shouting and the sound of a blade 
leaving a scabbard, then someone was crying… and there had been a large 
wet spot on the black carpet when he had waken up. After Sauron had 
settled himself behind Legolas, he asked, “They died, didn’t they? I was 
touching myself and they died.”
      “That’s right,” Sauron murmured in Legolas’ ear, wrapping his 
arms around him as the Nazgûl took off and headed for Mirkwood. “But I 
did not kill them,” he assured. “I will tell you the story some other day.” 
      Legolas closed his eyes as his stomach lurched. He had the feeling 
that if the first half of the day had been that bad, the second half would be 
worse.