3. Return to Rivendell
Completely A.U. Legolas slave fic. This story was inspired by Bluegolds story "Bound", which can be found here: http://daemel.freespaces.com/authors.html#blue
I use similar plot ideas here with her permission.
Betareader: Many thanks to Randy, who polished this chapter and made it so much better! All still remaining errors are my own.
Warnings: Slash. M/m, BDSM, d/s, torture, toys, non-con and debatable consent. Very graphic descriptions. Special warnings for this chapter: graphic sex, BDSM and non-con. I mean it! Please heed the warnings!
Disclaimer: Universe and characters are not mine, but Tolkien's. The idea of the spell, however, belongs to me.
For all other disclaimers and authors notes see Story Intro.
-- Part I : Return To Rivendell --
I Return to Rivendell
Aragorn strolled back from Lord Elrond's study into the Hall of Fire after safely delivering the Hobbits into the care of Elrond's servants. He was on the way to his own chambers, but he was troubled. He had arrived at Rivendell about two hours ago. By now, word of his return should have spread widely enough, but his own, personal Elf remained curiously absent. Perhaps he had gone out to the shooting ranges, but even there a servant with word of Aragorn's return should have found him by now.
Halfway through the hall, he met Erestor, and took the opportunity to ask.
"Where is Legolas?"
The Steward shrugged, obviously annoyed to be restrained from his current errands.
"I do not know. In your rooms, I think. I have not seen him for some days."
Aragorn frowned, growing concerned.
"Not even at the meals?"
Erestor gave him an annoyed look.
"Aragorn, it is not my concern to look after your slave. If you are so concerned about him I suggest you look after him yourself!" he chided.
Aragorn gave a silent curse, then he reined his temper in. It would not do to yell at Elrond's chief advisor, not if he wanted his help and cooperation later. He calmed himself and graced the Steward with a courtly nod.
"Erestor, please!" he said politely, "You say you haven't seen him for some time. Wasn't he at the meals? Or with Lord Elrond?"
Erestor shook his head. "As far as I know he has not left your rooms for about a week or so," he said offhandedly, "he may have eaten there if he was in the mood." He added icily: "Now if you will excuse me, I have duties to see to."
Aragorn's hand sneaked out and grabbed the Elf's arm, preventing him of leaving. Erestor frowned and shook him off. "Let go of me, Dunadan!" he hissed, "You overstep your place!"
Aragorn actually backed up a step, startled. It was easy to forget that the Noldor Elf once had been a warrior of Eregion before he took refuge in Elrond's house, but at this moment, it showed. But Aragorn had reached his goal at least for the advisor made no further effort to leave. Good. He had questions that needed an answer.
Equally frosty he replied: "As you wish. I'll let you go in a moment, but first tell me if my brothers or Glorfindel are in Rivendell?"
Erestor gave him an angry stare.
"You know that they are not! Lord Glorfindel has been out and about to search for you and possibly defend Imladris from an attack of the Ulairi(1). And the Lords Elrohir and Elladan are out hunting for Orcs and other servants of the enemy!"
Aragorn paled, his face grim. "How long have they been away?" he demanded.
Erestor gave a disinterested shrug.
"They have been away for a fortnight now, as you mortals count time," he said. "Maybe a few days more. May I go now? I have errands to attend to, and the day is waning while we speak." He gathered his dignity around him like a coat and in a rush he went away.
Aragorn forced himself to give him a bow, then he turned and hastened to his chambers. He cursed, heartily and thoroughly. Over two weeks! That meant Legolas had been in need at least for that long a time, maybe even longer. He would be positively ill by now.
"I should never have tightened the spell that strongly!" he berated himself.
He was nearly running when he finally reached his chambers. He found the Mirkwood Elf lying in his bed, rolled in to a ball, whimpering and shivering in fever. His eyes were dim and filmed over; at least they were still open. The normally shining golden hair was matted and entangled and completely filthy. The Elf couldn't have washed it for some days. The blanket had fallen away and apparently he had made no effort to retrieve it. The Elf wore a rank, sweaty nightgown, but Aragorn knew from past experience what he would find under the cloth: angry red welts spreading about the belly, a swollen anus, and a greyish, dry and icy skin. Legolas was on the brink. The poison that worked within his body had nearly killed him.
Swearing, Aragorn bolted the door and slipped out of his cloak and weapons, then knelt by the shivering bundle on his bed. Carefully he took the stricken Elf into his arms.
The Elf gasped.
"Estel?!" His voice shook with renewed hope and desperation. "Estel! Please... Need..."
Aragorn cursed again, then swallowed and kissed the shivering form in his arms gently on the forehead.
Damn Erestor and his disdain for Mirkwood Elves! Damn his brothers and Glorfindel! Damn Lord Elrond! And, most of all, damn himself for ever letting it get so far!!!
"Shhh, all is well," he soothed. "I am here now. I will see to you, melethron(2), I will take care of you. Just give me a moment..."
He placed another kiss on the Elf's sweaty brow and settled him carefully back down into the sheets. Legolas whimpered in protest and made a feeble attempt to clutch himself to him. Gently, Aragorn pried his hands away. "I will be right back!" he promised.
Somebody – perhaps Lindir, or another friendly soul – had left a pitcher with water and a cup on the nightstand. So, the suffering Elf had not been entirely without help. Unfortunately, there had been just one person present in Rivendell these last two weeks who could have given him what he really needed to be healed, and for whatever reason that person had been unwilling to do so.
Of course, given the state Legolas was in he might well have been suffering longer than that. It seemed that he had not been given relief since Aragorn himself had left over four weeks ago. Aragorn calculated that he must have been in need even when his brothers and Glorfindel left. And knowing Legolas, he would have been reluctant to trouble them with his problem when everybody was alarmed by the news of the Nazgûl freely roaming the country again and Imladris prepared itself for war.
Quickly Aragorn slipped out of his clothes and boots and pushed them away. Judging his chances to get the sick Elf out of the soiled nightgown, he simply decided to make short work of the clothing and grabbed his knife. Placing it for the moment on the nightstand, he took the pitcher, filled the cup with water and went back to the side of his stricken companion.
Carefully and tenderly he gathered him back into his arms, supporting his head.
"Drink, melethron," he soothed, "You need some fluids before I can take you. I will give you release in a moment, but you have to drink this water first."
Legolas gasped, then sobbed; then he opened his mouth obediently and drank the offered water with deep, needy gulps. It was like balm to his chapped lips and his parched mouth and throat. Slowly the hope settled in his muddled mind that this was not a dream, that this time his master was really there. Aragorn meanwhile caressed one of the delicate pointed ears with his fingers, tucking the entangled tresses out of his way. He could not resist; he placed a kiss on the lobe, then licked along the frame and finally gently bit into it.
Legolas gasped and nearly choked on the water. Luckily, the cup was nearly finished.
Aragorn set the cup aside and took the knife. It was time to give his slave what he so desperately needed.
"Let me get you out of that," he said, and grabbing the sweat soaked and filthy nightgown with one hand, he slowly began to cut the cloth away. Legolas' eyes had cleared a bit. He was still feverish, but the voice and the attention of his master had managed to calm him and the water had restored a bit of his strength. Now he was breathing hard in anticipation. He was still whimpering incoherently in Sindarin. "Need," and "Estel," and "Please," and "Master" were among the few words Aragorn could discern. Slowly the enormity of the situation made its way into his mind, and from there directly to his groin, where it started hot jolts of arousal. The stricken Elf in his arms was suffering and writhing in pain because of him, because he had withheld himself from him and not given him what his slave so desperately needed. And now his slave was desperate for him to take him, to give him release, although it would at first hurt him even more; entering the swollen, aggravated anus at this point would cause nearly unbearable torture for the Elf, but it was also the only way for Legolas to find release. The sheer amount of power he had over his slave made Aragorn's head swim and brought him to a sudden, hard, needy erection. And the raw need and writhing pain of his victim, who would welcome him in spite of the even greater pain he was about to cause, made his breath catch in desire.
Legolas was suffering like that all for him. All because he needed him, and was dependent of the attentions of his cruel lover. With a determined jerk Aragorn ripped the ragged remnant of the sliced cloth off the body of his Elf and threw it away. "Let me admire you!" he commanded and watched the naked, writhing body in his arms.
"You are beautiful like this, melethron," Aragorn whispered. "So beautiful! If there were not such a risk of losing you, I would bring you to this state more often, just to hear you cry your need for me! But I don't want to be bereft of you! I need you, melethron, like you need me!"
He was not sure if his slave even understood his words. Legolas was so deep in need that he was still nearly incoherent. All he obviously understood was his master's tone and his gravelly, excited and passionate voice.
Deliberately Aragorn stroked over the swollen belly, knowing that his caress at the moment only brought more pain, and was delighted to hear his victim gasp and try to escape from the exploring hand. Since his Elf was still cradled within his arms, however, this movement settled him only firmer against Aragorn's body and brought his thighs into direct contact with his masters throbbing erection. Aragorn took a sharp breath. He placed another kiss on one of the delicate ears.
"Let me get the oil, melethron," he whispered. "Then I will sheathe myself in you!"
Without releasing the Elf out of his arms, he reached over to the nightstand, set the knife away and opened the small cupboard that held the oil he always kept there just for this purpose.
Taking the vial out and setting it within easy reach, he renewed his caresses of the swollen belly of his slave with his other hand, relishing Legolas' feeble, hopeless attempts to escape the exploring hand that roamed over him. Then he bit again into the ear under his lips, this time a bit harder.
"Of course," he added with perfect cruelty, "given your current state, it will hurt!"
With this, he pushed the Elven slave out of his arms, caught him and rolled him around onto his back. Catching his wrists, he pressed them down into the sheets and straddled his helpless victim. He took the mouth of his slave in a deep, demanding kiss. He could feel the Elf reacting, rising up his groin against him in need and hope. He released his mouth and licked down the neck, then further down the breast until he reached the erect, slightly swollen nipples. For a few moments, he concentrated on tormenting them with both tongue and teeth. Then he carefully and slowly licked over the aching, hypersensitive belly. This wasn't painful for the slave, but drove him mad with need. He doubled his incoherent begging and the tossing of his head, and his groin began to sport the first signs of an erection. Aragorn grinned and closed his mouth over the waxing member of the Elf, licking and suckling it to full attention.
Finally satisfied that the slave was as aroused as his master, he let go of Legolas' wrists, rolled off him and positioned himself before him. Then he reached for the vial and quickly coated his fingers, and himself. It was time!
___________ o __________
Legolas screamed as the sore, swollen flesh of his passage was pierced by an exploring finger. The pain was nigh unbearable, and he cried again, nearly choking on his own tears. The finger drove deeper, and he cried again, then stopped for sheer lack of air. Then the finger hit the sore, swollen gland that was the center of his problems, and he nearly lost consciousness as pain and pleasure exploded in his head. He rose and writhed against the intruding limb, trying to wriggle free, to get away, but was pressed brutally into the mattress by a strong and unforgiving hand. His legs were raised up against his tormentor's body, resting on its shoulders, and he could not escape him.
"Be still!" his master harshly commanded. "I have to prepare you, and you know you need this!"
He tried to obey, but the pain was just too great, and he continued writhing. Slowly and mercilessly his master began to massage the swollen, hurting gland, sending bolts of searing pain through his whole body. He cried, gasped and screamed again. Then his parched throat would not give more sound, and he stopped screaming, instead begging his tormentor tonelessly and incoherently to stop. The finger was withdrawn – only to return with another. He whimpered and begged his master to please, stop, clawing into the sheets and trying to wriggle his legs away; but his tormentor held him fast with one arm and would not desist. Again the fingers were withdrawn, then there were three of them that entered him, stretching him mercilessly. He screamed for release, begged his master to stop the pain, but his voice was gone and he made no sound. All he could hear was Estel's voice, hoarse with passion, and his own ragged breathing. The pain was overwhelming.
Finally the fingers were withdrawn. Frozen in terror, Legolas waited for what he knew would come next. Then it came when another thick column of hard flesh entered him in one thrust, hit directly on his gland and filled him up completely. He gave a deep, tearing sob and made a last attempt to escape the piercing flesh. It was no use. His tormentor's arms were tightly wound around his wriggling thighs and pressed them against his master's flat, hard breast, leaving him no room to get away. For a moment the invader merely remained sheathed within him, giving the passage some time to adjust; then the thrusting began and Legolas was taken to a whole new dimension of pain, losing all awareness of the outside world. Hurt was all he knew, mixed with pleasure, and even more hurt.
He did not know that he had fallen into constant whimpering, that he was still begging to please, stop, no more, mercy, please, master, Estel!!! – nor that his voice was so hoarse he hardly made a sound. He hardly was aware of anything except the continued thrusting within him, that hit him again and again and again, until he finally was filled with both the punishing member and warm fluid, and the pressure waned. The thrusting stopped. He sank back against the sheets, aching and exhausted, and began slowly to drift back to coherence again.
____________ o __________
Aragorn did not stop as his slave tossed and struggled against him, screaming and begging pitifully to be spared. Instead he continued to massage Legolas sweet spot methodically. As much as it was torture at this point, he knew the gland would welcome the attention. And the sooner the swollen gland stopped producing the deadly poison that threatened his slave, the sooner Legolas would heal. Of course to counteract the poison, his slave needed the only existing antidote: the living seed of his master. He had some trouble holding the tossing body of his slave; for a moment he regretted that he had not taken the time to tie him up. But in his current state the slave was already too weak to really get away.
Legolas' helpless begging and hopeless wriggling against his body and against his roaming hand drove his arousal to new heights. The slave's erection had completely waned; even his sixty years of continued training by the enforced linking of pain and pleasure could not hold through so much pain. But Aragorn himself was so hard he already leaked. He knew if he did not enter Legolas soon, he would come then and there, wasting his precious seed instead of spending it within his slave. With an act of hard –bought discipline he forced himself to wait while he methodically stretched his slaves swollen passage until it could take him in. Finally the tight channel was widened enough and he withdrew his hand and positioned himself. Then he buried himself with one powerful thrust completely within Legolas.
Blazing pleasure exploded in his brain and sent currents of pure bliss all through him. He stayed in his position a few moments, giving the living sheath around him some time to adjust, then he began to thrust. He adjusted his angle carefully to make sure he hit the gland, but all the same he was soon lost in mindless rutting. The nearly soundless whimpering and begging of his victim drove him to new heights. It did not take long, and with one last powerful thrust he finally released himself within the writhing body. Completely spent he let go of his slave's legs and collapsed over Legolas' prone, pliant body. He held him fast, safely embraced, hoarsely whispering endearments while he tried to regain his breath.
He did not withdraw his limp member, though, but remained sheathed, both to prolong the bliss and to prevent his seed from draining out of his slave's body before it could do its work.
Breathless he mumbled a steady stream of soothing endearments for his lover, caressing his face, his chest, his ears.
"You are beautiful, melethron; you do not know what you do to me! You are beautiful like this. So open to my every touch, so needy, so responsive... I would have you this way always if I only could... you have been very brave, I am proud to own you... I need you, melethron, I do not want to lose you... I always wish to have you..." he whispered. "Don't worry, melethron, it will get better now, very soon. I'll have you again in a few moments. Just give me a moment! I'll just stay within you until I'm hard again..."
Legolas didn't respond. He slowly drifted back into his semiconscious state, open and pliant to whatever his master would do to him, while the ejaculate within his body started to do its work. As Aragorn started to gently tease his nipples, then proceeded to thoroughly tweak and torture them, he hardly flinched and only whimpered again. He didn't need to do much more, though. All Aragorn needed at this point to get hard again was the still swollen belly under his touch, the small gasps when he bit into the delicate ears, and the helpless whimpering and wriggling of the slave whenever he moved within his still hurting passage; small sounds of pain mixed with need and incoherent begging both to stop hurting him and to take him once more.
Aragorn took him three more times that night, giving him as much of himself as he could. It was near morning when he finally collapsed beside his Elf, holding him tightly, his head buried in the golden hair. Legolas slept peacefully within his arms; his eyes were closed now, but his body was finally healing. The repeatedly given seed of his master had done its work, acting as antidote and neutralizing the poison of the gland that had ravaged and nearly killed him. The gland itself was slowly receding to its normal size and his still aching anus was healing. Even the swelling of his entrails receded.
His breathing was deep and normal now, and his skin slowly went back to its normal hue. The hair, though still tangled and filthy, started to shine again. The pain that had been constantly haunting him for the last two weeks was finally gone.
-- TBC --
1) Ulairi – Quenya: Ringwraiths. Plural.
2) melethron – Sindarin: beloved, lover.