16. Chapter Sixteen
The next few weeks, or was it months, everything felt new and exciting to Maglor. Mithedhel was the most curious child he had ever known; his inquisitive personality was infectious, and he took up much of Maglor’s time when Legolas was busy with the other. He had a name too now – Ezelpathân – Sauron had appeared to inform Legolas of it in a coldly amused way that had made the young elf cry. Maglor, of course, knew what it meant. Although it was not Quenya, the beginning of the name at least was close enough for him to guess – ezel, meaning green – and the dark lord had ordered him not to tell. It seemed Sauron loved to come between them. Legolas had been angry with Maglor for a while, but then he seemed to give up, and the child’s name had been shortened to ‘Athân, which Maglor supposed must mean one thing. Leaf.
It was strange too, because although Legolas and the children were left alone, Maglor wasn’t. The dark lord still visited him at night, and now most of the time Sauron woke him up. It was like leading a double life, and Maglor was sure that if it hadn’t been for Mithedhel, he would be sleeping much of the day away.
And he was astonishing. With the stubbornness of the uruk-hai, he had soon learned to gain his feet for short periods, and sometimes could stumble around on his own for fully five minutes before falling down. But he was more intelligent than Sauron’s creations would ever be, and he loved to listen to Maglor and Legolas talk, gurgling sometimes as if he would make words of his own soon. His development was incredible to watch. Even the uruk-hai that brought them their meals were fascinated with him; they often picked him up just to get a closer look, and for Mithedhel’s part he was just as curious about them.
In comparison, ‘Athân didn’t seem to have changed much at all over the weeks. He still depended on Legolas for everything, and was never far from his sight. When he cried, which was often during the day, Legolas was the only one who could soothe him, and so Maglor left them together much of the time, only interfering when it was obvious to him that Legolas needed rest, after all his body still required time to recuperate. They argued about that too, and Maglor was disturbed slightly by the way Legolas let ‘Athân dominate his time, but he only mentioned it once. It wasn’t worth being hostile to each other about.
Because despite all this, the most wonderful thing now was their relationship. Being more or less left alone with only the children for company had been a blessing. Neither of them could forget where they were, but they could forgive each other easily, and they did. They lie together at night, and it was almost the same as it was at the beginning. But not quite, because what they had now was something that had matured, something stronger. There were no fights for dominance with them, and for Maglor at least that was a welcome change. Of course it was tinged slightly with bitterness. They both knew that Maglor would still do anything Sauron asked. But Legolas didn’t blame him for it now, and Maglor took comfort from that.
Sometimes he took Legolas, and sometimes it was the other way around. He had worried at first, because surely Sauron would know, but then nothing happened over it, and Maglor relaxed into this new existence, enjoying it. There were times he wanted to take Legolas, and it brought a kind of cathartic sense of relief, but there were also times he wanted to give something back to his lover, and he was happy that he could do so without either of them suffering for it.
He was Maia, and so he didn’t need most things, but that didn’t mean he had no cravings or appetites. His body was like a piece of clothing that he could discard at will, but he chose this form for the pleasure he could take from it. He didn’t need to eat, but he savoured food. He didn’t need to sleep, but he loved a luxurious bed. He didn’t feel the cold, but he delighted in keeping a fire. He didn’t need sex, but he revelled in Maglor’s desire for him. He was a hedonist. And in Maglor he had created the perfect vessel for all of his passions. Someone who not only wanted him, but also invited and willingly submitted to his cruel games and his tendency towards violence. Maglor was important to him. He didn’t need the elf, but it would be a terrible act of self-denial to do without him now. Maglor was almost perfect, almost his. There were very few things left to teach, and to show him. And here was the next.
Sauron stretched his long form out on the bed, and let himself fall back into the pillows. He was alone, at the moment, but now he called. He saw himself rising from the bed and leaving the room to haunt the corridors of his fortress. Like a breath of wind, he barely disturbed the dust as he passed. And when he reached the familiar door he drifted through it.
There he was. Maglor stood with his back to Sauron. He was singing some song or other to the child in his arms. It didn’t matter what it was. Legolas was asleep on the bed, with Ezelpathân.
In another part of the fortress, on a bed, Sauron reached out a hand to the empty air in front of him.
The song continued past that line, but Maglor faltered in his recital of it. He shivered suddenly, when he felt an all-too-familiar hand touching his hair. He turned, and there was emptiness behind him. He and Legolas had made the room cosy between them, and Mithedhel helped. But now the room grew cold. “Yes, Hîr nín,” Maglor said quietly. “I hear you.”
He walked quickly over to the bed and placed Mithedhel next to his brother gently. He was asleep now; Mithedhel loved it when Maglor sang him to sleep and he hesitated for just a moment, realising how much he had grown to love them over such a short period of time. Real love. He knew there was a difference, but he couldn’t say what it was. Then he almost cried out. The ghostly hands were back, and they pulled at him, settled around his waist and clutched at his heart. Something about the touch was so intrusive; it wasn’t just the cold. And Maglor couldn’t help but allow the touch to draw him back, and away. He was being called, and he answered…
Opening his eyes, Sauron pulled his arms back into his body and for a second it looked as though he might be holding someone close. But he was alone.
Walking through the darkness, Maglor looked almost possessed. He knew where he was going, and his steps were sure. He had made this journey a thousand times, maybe a million. Enough times to know every twist and turn on the way there. If there had been light enough to see, one would have noticed a vacant look to his eyes. But there was no one to see, and there wasn’t light enough. Perhaps there was an urgent whispering that followed his progress, but it was ignored.
When he reached the door in the pitch black, it was indistinguishable from the walls. But Maglor knew exactly where it was, knew where he needed to go. He didn’t knock; he was expected. He opened the door and light spilled out of the room. But then he closed it behind him and the corridor was in darkness again. The ghosts that walked this part of the fortress had the place to themselves once more. The whispering stopped.
From his place on the bed Sauron regarded his slave. The unseeing expression, the lifeless pallor of his skin. He opened his arms. “Come,” Sauron commanded, smirking slightly at his word choice, and Maglor obeyed. Only when the elf was in his arms did Sauron give back what he had temporarily stolen. Maglor gasped, as always he didn’t know exactly what had happened to him. That was good.
And true to his training he didn’t ask, didn’t make any remarks about suddenly finding himself in Sauron’s bed. He just began to do what was expected of him. The dark lord lay back and enjoyed Maglor’s attentions. The gentle kisses and caresses; the soft whispers and worshipful touches. There was no need to rush, never any need. They had a long time, and Sauron enjoyed every minute, letting Maglor’s ministrations wash over him like a calming wave.
When the touches and kisses became more sexual, then Sauron began to react to that too. Occasionally he arched upwards, or swore under his breath. And eventually he found himself with his hands in Maglor’s hair while his slave pleasured him with his mouth. Oh, he was flawless. There was no need for Sauron to be rough with Maglor, unless he wanted to be, of course. And he wasn’t now. Maglor took him deep into his throat each time. He always did exactly what Sauron wanted. And when it was over, Maglor placed reverential kisses all the way up his Master’s body and then settled down in his arms.
If he had been anyone else, Sauron might have felt the need to sleep. But he didn’t. Instead he turned his attention to Maglor, and his slave responded just as he should. Maglor was already hard and hungry for him, for his release, but he would have to be much more desperate that this to suit Sauron’s purposes. He knew that what he would shortly ask Maglor for was almost too much. A little encouragement would push him the rest of the way. A little, or a lot. Sauron smiled against Maglor’s skin. He was going to enjoy this game.
It was almost as if their roles had been reversed, because Sauron made love to Maglor in the same gentle, sweet way. But there was a difference. While Sauron had been quiet and relaxed, Maglor was needy and on edge. So few times had the dark lord treated him this way that several times he began to speak, uncertain of what was happening. Each time Sauron cut short his sentence or question with a kiss that stole his words and his breath.
Sauron too, took his time. He found himself relishing it all, the way Maglor moved and moaned at the things he did. And in the next hour or so he laid claim to every part of Maglor’s body… every part except one. And by the time he reached it, his plaything was already begging in wonderfully lost whispers. “No,” Sauron said, his voice all the warning Maglor could need. He almost kissed the sweet, yearning column of flesh. But he didn’t. He smiled and licked his lips, aware of his elf watching him. But then he only moved back up Maglor’s body, smiling against the smooth skin again when his prisoner moaned in disappointment. The last thing he wanted was to push Maglor over the edge. His aim was to get him as close to it as possible.
Now Maglor was breathing his name. “No,” Sauron repeated, enjoying the act of denying him, and his plaything actually swore at him in frustration like a bad-tempered kitten. Sauron allowed him that; he would punish him for it later. But for now the dark lord laughed softly, and began to prepare his elf for what was to come next. It was nothing so vulgar as applying oil. It was up to Maglor to make sure he was ready in that way. No, his preparation was to pull at one of his slave’s legs so that it was draped over his forearm, and to guide Maglor’s hand down to touch him. He looked into Maglor’s eyes, and thrust lightly into his hand, nudging at his entrance. His elf moaned beautifully, and it was then that Sauron finally felt a little jealousy. There was no need for it. He knew that Maglor and Legolas were bound to take comfort from each other. He had left them alone together for that very reason. But still, it was time to remind Maglor where his true loyalties lie.
“Do you want me?” he asked first.
“More than anything, Hîr nín,” Maglor sighed on an outward breath. Sauron smiled.
“More than him?” Sauron demanded, thrusting into his hand again, letting Maglor feel his length and girth.
“Yes!” Maglor cried out, then he whispered again. “Please, Herdir! I need you.” Need? That was better. Sauron began to push into Maglor, but this time in contrast to others he was gentle. He let Maglor adjust to him before he made him take more, and he watched Maglor’s face at the same time. His eyes closed and he almost seemed to stop breathing. Usually this meant a ‘yes’, but this time it must be different. Sauron stopped and whispered to his prisoner.
“No, not yet,” Maglor began to cry then, and Sauron kissed his tears away with a smile. When he thought his slave could manage he began to move within him again. He angled his thrusts to pleasure him, so that Maglor trembled and begged again.
“Aulendil,” he pleaded, but using the name wouldn’t help him this time.
“No,” Sauron replied, as firm as Maglor was desperate. He moved slowly, almost lazily.
“I can’t, Hîr nín! Please, stop!” Maglor begged suddenly in a panic, more concerned with obeying Sauron’s will than giving in to his own pleasure, and Sauron did stop. But then he held Maglor’s face and looked deeply into his eyes.
“You won’t, mûl nín,” he warned. “You will wait, just as I say. I think you can take some more, yet.” And then he moved again, proving his words true when Maglor managed to get through it. And he came for the second time deep inside his slave a while later. He repeated the command of ‘no’ even then, and Maglor whimpered.
When he had calmed a few minutes later, and Sauron was still buried deep inside him, Maglor spoke again. “Did I not please you, Hîr nín?” he asked softly, still shaking, and there was such a note of regret and dismay in his voice that Sauron laughed. Again he kissed Maglor.
“Yes, you always please me,” he said, then smiled cruelly. He couldn’t help himself. “You please me so much that I’ll never let you go.” He felt his elf tighten up a little around him as though he remembered what freedom was, and then he relaxed. “Is that what you want to hear, mûl vain nín?”
“Yes,” Maglor replied instantly, and then he seemed to realise that it was the truth, because he began to cry again. “Yes, Herdir.”
The gentleness was a welcome change, and in some ways it seemed to accentuate his prisoner’s helplessness. But then, he had always known it could be like this. There would come a time when he could have Maglor precisely how he wanted him, all the time. Whether that was violently or gently. But now was not that time, and if he allowed his prisoner to become used to this treatment, he would be undoing all the work he had put in so far. He had patience. He could wait a little longer. Maglor would be his in the end, completely.
For now though, there were other things to do, and Sauron got up from the bed and led Maglor with him. There were two adjoining rooms to this one, and now they entered the first. Sauron dressed, then watched Maglor clean himself in the small bathroom, and when he was fresh and ready, the dark lord led his slave to the second of the rooms that were connected to his.
He pushed Maglor into the chamber before him. He already knew what was here, but he enjoyed hearing Maglor’s shocked intake of breath just the same. It wasn’t a large room, but it was larger than the bedroom. It was bereft of furniture and decoration. Indeed, this room was not in use most of the time. Once, when Barad-Dûr was being built, it had been the room Sauron kept Maglor in, when he had wanted the elf close to him. But he doubted that Maglor remembered that now.
Now all that remained of those times were the torches that burned on the walls, and the candelabra that hung from the centre of the ceiling. Sauron smirked; maybe his elf did remember that. But none of this was what had shocked Maglor. In the centre of the bare stone floor, asleep on a blanket of luxurious furs, was a human youth. He was naked and sprawled out as if he owned the place where he lay. One of his arms was flung out, and the other rested palm upwards beside his face, tangled in his red hair.
“Herdir?” Maglor began uncertainly. “I don’t understand –”
“Yes, you do,” Sauron spoke smoothly over his first protest. Oh, Maglor knew very well what this meant, what it was about. Sauron could feel it in the way he trembled. But he didn’t know everything Sauron wanted of him yet. It was time to tell him.
“Take him,” Sauron suggested, speaking into his ear like a devil. “Don’t you want him? I brought him for us.”
“No…” Maglor shook his head at what Sauron was asking for, but then he suddenly cried out. Sauron smiled as he caressed Maglor’s erection, knowing that he still desperately needed the word. The word that would end it. He began to speak.
“I know what you need, what you want.” Maglor sighed and fell back against him. “You can’t hide it from me, mûl vain nín.” Now Maglor mouthed his name over and over, asking for permission. Sauron smiled again, and then continued. “And if you do this, then it’s a ‘yes.’” He felt the flesh in his hand harden even more. “You do want the ‘yes,’ don’t you?”
“Yes!” Maglor exclaimed, needing, longing. So beautiful!
“Then do it,” Sauron ordered, and let him go. And as Maglor walked forward, Sauron walked around the edges of the room. He would watch first.
Maglor lie down next to the youth and reached out to touch the hair that was so much like his. He wanted! Was it such a sin, anyway? The youth awoke even at that gentle touch, and immediately tried to get up. Maglor held him gently down to the furs, hushing him. The youth grabbed hold of Maglor’s shoulders and pulled him down, while he looked wildly around him.
“We were attacked! Orcs!” He looked panicked and irrational for a moment, as if he could only see what had happened before he lost consciousness. But then at last his eyes cleared, and he looked to Maglor. He wasn’t drunk, or drugged – but he may as well be. Maglor was well aware of the effect he had – elves would always be mysterious and bewitching to humans. But there was more at play than that. In the youth’s eyes Maglor saw himself reflected, saw Sauron’s magic at work. Nothing about his appearance had actually changed, but there was a glamour on him that made his skin appear all the softer, his hair shining and perfect, his eyes clear and bright.
“It’s all right,” Maglor began, and the youth looked at him as though he were staring at an angel or apparition. He thought he had been rescued! Maglor closed his eyes for a moment, sure he couldn’t go through with it – but then he remembered that Sauron was watching. And when he did this… Maglor almost moaned. He needed it so much! He didn’t dare look in the direction of the dark lord. That would give the game away. He would do whatever Sauron wanted, as always, and perhaps he could even make the youth’s last hour or so pleasurable.
“You’re safe now,” he lied, surprised at how simple it actually was. But then it wasn’t easy, because the youth looked up at him with such gratitude that Maglor felt it as a tight, constrictive pain in his chest. He swallowed.
“Please,” the youth began hesitantly, reaching up to place a gentle hand on Maglor’s shoulder, as if he was afraid to touch him. “My sister,” he said uncertainly, but then fear made him persevere. “She was with me. Is she…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The youth’s eyes were full of unshed tears, desperate to know but not wishing to hear the worst.
Aware that he had to be convincing, Maglor took the youth’s hand from his shoulder and laid it over his own heart, looking deeply into his eyes. “Rest easy. She is safe and well, and being cared for as we speak.” Maglor was certain that whoever she was, she was already dead. And such a death as girls and women met at the hands of Sauron’s orcs was something that could give even him nightmares. The youth looked up at him now with a glad smile and a kind of touching hope that made Maglor hate himself.
A single tear fell onto the youth’s upturned face. Maglor brought himself under control immediately. He couldn’t allow the youth to see he was lying – it would be a selfish thing to do. And then he did the only thing he could, something he wanted, something that would take the youth’s mind away from Maglor’s tears.
He leaned down and brushed his lips over the youth’s, hearing the startled hitch of breath, and feeling the hand in his begin to tremble and pull away slightly. Maglor held on tighter, and the youth didn’t protest, didn’t take the chance to ask a question or voice a complaint. Maglor knew what it was like when your desires were controlled by another, and he took advantage of it. Maglor kissed the youth again, more deeply this time, trying to weave a spell of his own to make the youth relax and give in to him.
Half thankful, and half sorry, Maglor took more when it worked. He led the inexperienced youth, teaching him how to touch and savour the feeling of skin stretched over muscle, guiding his hands. And he caressed and encouraged for himself. Centuries of experience at pleasing a demanding Master had made Maglor into an irresistible lover, and soon the chamber was filled with the youth’s whispers and moans. He was sweet in surrender, and in the midst of their lovemaking Maglor almost forgot what would happen afterwards.
Sauron was a constant dark presence on the edge of his vision. His shadow almost reached them where they lay, but Maglor didn’t look up once. When the youth was lost and desperate, Maglor began to prepare him as best he could. He didn’t have any oil, and so he made his fingers wet with his saliva and began to play around the youth’s opening.
“Please! Stop! I have not…” Maglor hushed him, brushing the hair away from his sweat dampened forehead gently. “But I don’t know how…” he pleaded in discomfort, wide-eyed and frightened. Maglor smiled.
“Shh… it’s all right. I’ll teach you. Trust me, pen neth.” Maglor made sure the youth was accepting and quiet again before he pushed one of his fingers just inside. “Relax for me,” he coaxed. “I’m not going to harm you, pen neth, I promise.” The youth hissed and whimpered, but he tried his best to be calm and allow Maglor entry. He was so tight! This wasn’t going to work. Maglor made a decision, and took his hand away from the youth, only to move down and place his head between the youth’s thighs.
Now he moaned and sighed again for Maglor when he felt the elf’s lips move over his hardness. But that wasn’t what Maglor needed to do, and he flicked his tongue lightly over the length of the youth, and paused to roll the fleshy balls underneath around the inside of his mouth, before moving further back. He teased the tiny opening with quick swipes of his tongue. Now he was in barely remembered territory.
Playing a little, he began to push into the youth gently with his tongue, just enough for encouragement. The youth moaned and pushed against him. That was good. He went for more, and soon he was tonguing the youth’s opening fully. He paid attention to what he was doing, and rubbed his tongue over the sensitive flesh just inside the youth, nearly stopping to smile when he heard the young one cry out. Now he tried with his finger, and this time it was easier. The young one was still very difficult, but he could stretch and prepare him now. He began to do so, and it was then he heard the dark lord’s voice.
Don’t make me wait, mûl nín.
The order made Maglor stop what he was doing, and he moved back up the youth’s body, removing his fingers so that he could position himself properly. With his free hand he turned the young one’s head to look at him.
“I don’t want to hurt you, pen neth.” He saw the youth’s fear and Maglor leaned in to kiss him. “You have to relax for me so much,” he said in a deep voice, when he drew back. “Don’t think about what I’m doing, just accept it. It will be all right, I promise.” Maglor looked into his eyes, and he saw something then that made him gasp. He knew! Well, perhaps not the extent of Maglor’s lies, but he knew Maglor had lied, and he knew that he was in some kind of danger. The youth shook his head, and Maglor stopped just before he would have breached him.
“Wait!” He reached up and ran the back of one finger over the line of Maglor’s cheekbone and jaw. “My name –” Maglor caught the hand and shook his head once, firmly.
“No names. Just let me feel you, know you.” With that he finally pushed inside, not stopping at first because then it would only be more painful. Only when he was completely there did he stop and allow the youth to get used to the invasion.
“Are you all right?” he asked in concern. The youth’s eyes were closed, and his pain was obvious. Maglor hadn’t wanted to hurt him. But then he opened his eyes and smiled a little.
“Yes. I’m all right.” Tears stood out clearly in his eyes, but he still smiled, giving Maglor what he needed to go on. And he did carry on. He gave the youth a couple of light thrusts before he angled the third in such a way as he knew would give pleasure. The youth moaned sweetly beneath him, and Maglor nearly laughed to see his eyelids flutter closed like that – he knew how that felt. He did it again, and again, and again – until the young one almost seemed to melt beneath him. He was still tight, but now he had relaxed fully, and he even wrapped his legs around Maglor’s waist.
It was all the urging he needed to lose himself, and he did. The body beneath him was so warm and inviting, and Maglor found himself forgetting everything else. It was as though a spell had been cast on him, and he couldn’t stop – wouldn’t. When the youth came, Maglor only paused and then carried on, and a few minutes later he found his own release too at a single word from Sauron. Maglor cried out and lost himself completely, almost fainting at the violence of the feeling that swept through him. He had been denied so long that it almost wasn’t pleasant. But then it must have been, because when he came back some moments later he heard himself murmuring a ‘thank you’. He wondered who he was more grateful to.
But almost as soon as it was over, he wished it wasn’t. Because now the shadow that had been on the edge of his vision moved. Sauron walked towards them and still Maglor didn’t look up, trying to pretend to himself that they were somewhere else, wishing that they really were safe, that he had been telling the truth from the beginning. Not for his sake, but for the sake of the youth who had given him such pleasure unselfishly and generously. He would give anything to make his lies into truths.
“Good, mûl nín. Now leave him to me.” The youth looked around at the sound of that dreadful voice, and Maglor lowered his head for a moment before gently pulling out of the youth and rising to his feet. He didn’t watch the young one’s reaction, he simply walked to stand before Sauron and then sank to his knees praying that he had something, that he could stop this somehow.
“Please, Herdir, don’t do this. Spare him – he is innocent.” Maglor buried his face in Sauron’s robes, rubbing his cheek against his thighs. In his desperation he kissed Sauron through the robes, feeling the heat of his breath passing through the material. It was a promise he was making – but did he have promises to give? Sauron took whatever he liked from him. But let him have some influence, just enough if not to save the youth, then at least to spare him this horror.
“Get up!” Sauron hissed. Maglor looked up into those dark eyes and blanched at what he saw there. He rose to his feet without another word and then dropped his gaze.
“Forgive me, Herdir, I am sorry.” Sauron lifted his chin and looked at him.
“You will wait there.” Sauron pointed to a corner of the room. “You will watch, and you will be silent. You will not move, whatever you see.” Now a faint look of astonishment flitted over his features. “You will not beg for his life or appeal to my mercy,” he added. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Hîr nín,” Maglor said quietly, feeling his heart fall at Sauron’s displeasure. When the dark lord released him he turned around and he faced the youth. He had stood and Maglor saw that he knew exactly whom he faced. From behind him Sauron moved Maglor’s hair aside and kissed his neck. The youth watched – watched Sauron playing with his hair – then he looked into Maglor’s eyes with such burning anger and hatred; his thoughts so potent that Maglor could almost hear them.
What are you? Why are you on his side? You know what you’ve done! I don’t want to die! This is not your place, this is not your death, this is not yours. I hate you for this!
“Go,” Sauron whispered to him, and Maglor left them both to stand where Sauron directed him. And even though the last thing he wanted to do was watch, he couldn’t disobey, and he saw the unfolding scene as if in nightmare.
Sauron simply stood still as the youth backed slowly away from him, and then the youth began to speak, loud and clearly into the silence. “My name is Hallas. I am from Gondor. I am human. I am twenty years old…” He began to repeat himself, his eyes fixed on Sauron, but Maglor knew the words were meant for him. What had he done?
Nothing happened for another moment and then it began. Maglor had seen Sauron change before, and at first he thought he was watching the same thing happen. But it wasn’t quite the same.
Those burning eyes Maglor had seen before. Yellow. Feral. And this time it didn’t stop with the eyes. Sauron seemed to grow in size, but then he suddenly dropped forward onto his hands as if he was hurt. Maglor almost stepped forward then instinctively, to help if he could, but just in time he remembered Sauron’s order not to move.
His clothing split open and fell from him; the sound of the tearing fabric was somehow terrifying, too loud in the empty room. The skin of his back was only visible for an instant before it turned black and a sudden growth of coarse hair covered him. The youth still shouted, but now he was hysterical, and he repeated the words as if they were a mantra that could save him. But nothing would save him. Maglor fought to stay quiet as he watched. But it was nearly impossible. He knew what this was.
Wolf. He knew; it seemed he had known for centuries, but he had never seen it. He had heard the word on more than one occasion. Where from he didn’t know – it was a rumour without origin, without blame. But it had impressed itself on his mind over the years. He knew he hadn’t heard it from Sauron, and yet he couldn’t recall a time that he didn’t know about this secretly. Most of the time the knowledge was hidden even from him.
The werewolf was fully formed now, and it advanced on the youth in front of Maglor’s eyes. He couldn’t shake the impression that it looked more like a giant, black spider than a wolf, but then it wasn’t facing him. He looked into the eyes of the youth, who had suddenly decided to look at him. The wolf had reached him now, and was sniffing around him horribly. Maglor nearly cried out when the wolf growled, low and menacing. Because he knew now why Sauron had insisted on the seduction. The wolf could smell it. It could smell him on the youth. On his skin, in his hair, inside him. He must smell so strongly of Maglor that the wolf would not even look to him. And it didn’t… then.
The attack was so sudden and ferocious that Maglor cried out, but it was lost anyway in the screams that burst from the youth. He was brought to the ground and Maglor was thankful then that he couldn’t see. All he could see were the wolf’s savage, suggestive movements as it tore into the flesh of its victim – the youth that it mistook to be him. It took far too long for the screaming to stop, far too long. And Maglor was crying helplessly when it was finally done, and death had come and gone. He was so lost in his guilt and pity that he didn’t immediately register it when the wolf turned and faced him.
When he did see the darkness in his vision coming towards him he blinked away the tears and watched helplessly, his eyes wide open as the wolf approached him. He was terrified, yet at the same time he felt incredibly calm. Maglor did not fear death. In fact, at the thought that he might soon face the same fate of the youth he actually felt relief. Freedom would finally be his.
Yet the wolf didn’t attack him. It sniffed around him, smearing the red blood of the youth onto his pale skin, and pushed him back, until he felt the wall behind him, and even then it didn’t give up. He realised what it was after and he slid down the wall so that he was sat with his back to the stone, his arms up by the side of his head in surrender. And then the strangest thing happened. The wolf lay down by the side of him! It rested its head on his lap and closed its eyes. Maglor hardly dared to breathe. But then the bizarre desire to touch it came into his mind. Slowly he put one of his hands down until he touched its black fur. It was so much softer that he thought! The wolf growled then and Maglor almost lifted his hand away, but he couldn’t. The compulsion was still there, and he obeyed it.
The wolf quietened and Maglor was trapped beneath it. He stroked the fur of its neck for a while, and then his hand fell still. He felt dirty, Hallas’ blood all over him where the wolf had sniffed at him. He looked over at the body and quickly looked away again. There was nothing he needed to see there. He waited, he didn’t know how long, but it was long enough for him to rest his head against the wall and close his eyes. So he didn’t see the change, he only felt it. And when he opened his eyes again he found himself with his hand in Sauron’s hair. The dark lord was naked, and his head rested in Maglor’s lap. His body was stretched out on the floor beside them. Was he asleep? He looked strangely vulnerable like this; in all the time Maglor had been his, he had never seen this side of Sauron and it shocked him.
He lifted his hand away from Sauron’s black hair, and quick as a snake strike, the dark lord reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist. Now he turned his head and looked up at Maglor. The same cold smile Maglor knew so well, and straight away he knew what Sauron intended.
“No,” he breathed. It wasn’t a refusal, just hopeless denial, and Sauron didn’t bother to correct it. He kissed Maglor’s hand though, and when his lips moved to the inside of his wrist, Maglor turned away and closed his eyes desperately. He felt a change again, and despite knowing how it looked he couldn’t help but moan when the dark lord drank of his blood. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough for Maglor to surrender. So that when the bite was over he sighed regretfully, only wanting the feeling to stay.
“Beautiful,” Sauron said, and Maglor finally let the tears fall. He couldn’t help weeping for what he’d done, the part he’d played. What he had seen. And it was time to ask again. Sauron sat up beside him to brush his tears away and kiss him as if he would steal away his conscience.
“Please,” Maglor began when the kiss was over. Sauron only looked at him. “Kill me,” he whispered, asking for what he knew was possible now. He did want to die, but he knew that more than anything he wanted Sauron to do it. He realised that he was envious of the youth. Sickened by his own thoughts, he shut down that part of his mind before he could analyse the feeling. But Sauron wanted it, why wouldn’t he give it to him?
“You are mine, mûl vain nín.” Sauron shook his head, and held Maglor’s face in his hands possessively. “Some things last forever.”
Maglor moaned, and then Sauron laughed and stood up, pulling Maglor to his feet. “Come with me. You may choose your own punishment. I know what it means to you.”
Author’s Note: Sauron’s name for his child is made up of two words in Valarin; Ezel (green), and Pathân (leaf)
Herdir – Master
Hîr nín – my Lord
mul (vain) nín – my (beautiful) slave
Ezelpathân – Greenleaf (Valarin)
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.