Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Fallen	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12299 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Fandom: Lord of the Rings/Middle-Earth
Pairings: Sauron/Legolas, Sauron/Maglor, Maglor/Legolas, Others
Warnings: AU, M/M Slash, graphic sex, M-Preg, BDSM, D/s, Rape/Non-con, character death, horror, gore, violence, physical handicap – basically, if you can think of it, it’s likely here somewhere. Generally dark, disturbing, and possibly bad for your mental health. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Middle-Earth is not mine, neither are Sauron, Maglor or Legolas. They belong to Tolkien. I make no money from this.
Summary: Legolas is captured by Sauron long before the War of the Ring, and he encounters someone there whose fate was never known.
Author’s Note: Please leave a comment or rating if you enjoy this story.
If you want to attack me for my imagination, please reread the warnings.
This was written in 2005, originally as part of an interactive story which already had mpreg in it. The entire story exists thanks to the invaluable help of the girls at the ILSS. Namely, Esteliel (for beta reading, encouragement, and for thinking up most of the names of my OC’s), Milly, Gabby, Talics, who between them beta read large parts of this story, and Nessa, who brought up the subject of Maglor in the chat one evening. A big thank you to all of those people.

Fallen

Chapter One
He stalked his prey single-mindedly, creeping up on her silent and steadily. He followed where she led, his bow ready. She stopped, dead still, a sound that was out-of-place had reached her. Legolas watched in rapt attention, his arm pulling back the string of his bow silently, the arrow ready to fly –
He stopped, dead still, having heard a sound that was out of place. He listened intently, lowering the bow as the thinly disguised footsteps came close behind him – then he turned and battled his follower to the ground as the deer took flight, her life saved for now.
From his place atop his brother, Legolas followed the deer’s path through the trees with his keen eyes. “You idiot, Merenon!” he said in disgust, turning back to his laughing sibling and half-heartedly hitting him. “She was mine!” Merenon was several years older, and he seemed to take great joy in distracting him from his hunting.
“She was mine!” Merenon mimicked, giggling. “Careful, brother. Deer don’t make good lovers. They’re way too flighty.” Despite himself, Legolas began to grin.
“Oh, and you’d know,” he said suggestively. Merenon had recently pursued a maid, only to find she was besotted with their much older brother, Daeron. Legolas knew he felt slightly foolish about it now, and he couldn’t resist the dig. Besides which, Merenon was also not a good hunter, and sometimes he suspected Merenon distracted him so as not to be left behind.
His brother only laughed up at him, his eyes twinkling merrily. “There are other deer,” he said, just as suggestively, and Legolas giggled, letting Merenon free.
“Haven’t you two managed to get anything?” a voice asked in disgust, and both of them groaned. Legolas looked up, seeing Daeron standing before them, tall and proud, with a young deer small enough to carry over his shoulders.
“I nearly had one,” Legolas said accusingly, glaring at Merenon as they stood up and dusted themselves off. Daeron was perfect, and didn’t waste any opportunity to show it. He was walking off already, back towards home. Legolas sighed.
“If I have to endure yet another archery lesson because of this, I’m going to kill you,” he said, picking up his forgotten bow and shouldering it. The extra practice he managed to pick up because of Merenon’s interference in his hunting was rapidly making him one of the finest archers outside of his father’s army. He shook his head when he felt Merenon drape an arm around his back.
“Come on, brother. Don’t be like that.” Merenon threw a glance of sheer resentment down the path. “Don’t be like him.” Legolas didn’t answer.
“Look on the bright side,” he suggested, and Legolas eyed him dubiously. “You get to keep me company,” he said with a sunny grin, and in the face of that, Legolas couldn’t keep up his anger for long. He smiled, and they walked back together, arguing in whispers about how best to excuse their lack of success.
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He crept stealthily closer, silent as the breeze through the leaves. A pheasant was wandering carelessly in the clearing ahead. Legolas already had his arrow trained on it. He would get it, as long as Merenon didn’t interrupt. And as long as Merenon didn’t interrupt – he would make a sport out of it.
Getting as close as possible to the bird before it noticed a game was afoot and took to the sky was his current preoccupation. He stifled a sigh when he heard a sound somewhere behind him. Not now, he thought, annoyed, and his attention was so focused on the large bird in front of him he didn’t really notice that the noise stopped, almost as though his thoughts had been heard.
He concentrated, aiming all the while. Another step closer… so silent. Another movement on the other side of the clearing disturbed the bird and it beat its wings furiously making a noise that Legolas couldn’t hear past as it escaped him. The arrow flew wild as he let it go, his focus not on the bird now, but on the trees opposite him. If someone was over there, and someone was behind him, what was going on?
Slowly, Legolas turned in a complete circle, scanning the woodland with his perceptive eyes, but he saw nothing other than trees. In the sky above, the sun went behind a cloud, and the forest immediately gained a gloomier atmosphere. Where was he anyway? He had tracked a deer for hours, only to find the trail gone cold, and then he had spotted the bird. Had he ever been this far out? Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Merenon for a while. Was it possible his brother wasn’t following him for once? It was unlike him to stay hidden for this long.
“Merenon?” He called out his brother’s name softly, wishing he had thought to take notice of how far he went. As usual, his mind had been on the prize, and on the thought of besting Daeron. Now, he was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. He was aware that the wood was changing. No one he knew had said it, but some people were beginning to fear the Greenwood, especially those who did not live within its borders. Those who lived in Imladris, and those of the Golden Wood. They had a new name for this place, especially the south – Mirkwood.
Indeed, it began to seem quite mirky now, with the sun already low in the sky, covered over by grey clouds. He thought he saw movement to the side of him and he whipped his head around, but nothing was there. He had heard rumours of strange monsters in the south too. Huge spiders that were big enough to kill and eat elves or men, possessed of cunning intelligence. Now he began to wonder if they were real, and if he had ventured somewhere he shouldn’t.
Automatically he reached for another arrow, but instead, somehow, he found himself standing with his bow in one hand, and his quiver in the other, holding them out as if in surrender. Slowly, amazed to see himself doing it, he laid them down on the ground, taking the small dagger he carried too and laying that out.
He began to stand up straight, still completely bemused at what his body was doing without his say so, when he fell to his knees in a sudden kind of faint. He clutched the sides of his head, wondering what was happening to him. He felt sick and giddy, as if the world was moving without him while he stayed still, and he moaned once, sure that he would begin to retch if it carried on. But with it the drowsiness increased, and he lay down in the long grass beside his weapons, closing his eyes as he rarely did. The last thing he was aware of was being picked up and carried in someone’s arms, and he smiled in his semi-awake state.
“Merenon,” he murmured. “I knew it was you.” He knew no more then, but drifted away, escaping the sick feeling at last.
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Gradually, Legolas became aware he was struggling. He pulled and twisted his hands in the ropes that held them. When his struggles had no result he groaned. He stilled, trying to determine where he was. He was laid on his back on something hard and cold like marble. He was naked. He was sure his eyes were open but he still couldn’t see. Was it dark? He turned his head, and felt the material of the blindfold he wore against the side of his cheek. How had he got here? As he fought further, realising that his ankles were secured too, he tried to remember what had happened.
He remembered the hunt, and his very sudden, very real nervousness, and then nothing. Almost desperately, he replayed those final moments over and over again in his mind, and yet try as he might, he couldn’t recall anything else. Just as he began to panic, his ears picked up a slight but deliberate scuffling off to the left side of him. From the aching in his shoulders, and the way his wrists and ankles were beginning to feel sore, Legolas grasped that he had been here for some time. But when he spoke, his voice was so hoarse and dry that it didn’t sound like his own.
“Where am I?” he asked out loud. There was no answer, and he began to believe he had imagined the sounds he had heard – but then it happened again. This time he knew for certain that he wasn’t alone, because he heard the sound of liquid being poured into a cup or goblet.
“What do you want with me?” he demanded aggressively of the still anonymous presence. His apparent helplessness and the silence of the other (his captor?) was infuriating him. Again, there was no response, and even the sense that he wasn’t alone diminished in the empty silence.
“Answer me!” Nothing. Legolas pulled violently and frantically at the ropes. How could this be happening? He was Legolas Thranduilion! Someone was going to regret this pretty poor joke – he would make certain of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After some time, he stirred again. He didn’t even struggle. To awaken stretched, his wrists and ankles bound, was disturbing, but so blessedly different to awakening free and insignificant that he almost celebrated it. He was laid on smooth solid stone, probably marble. He felt a coolness on his skin and realised he was naked. He turned his head a little and felt the soft material of the blindfold he wore against the side of his cheek. A memory was on the edge of his mind – something terrible had happened. He lay still then, hiding his wakefulness, and tried to remember.
Before anything else he remembered the ever-present sound of the sea. It had seemed unnaturally loud. After that… if he had been still and quiet already, now he even stopped breathing in his terror, having remembered just what came next. It dawned on him at last that the sound of the sea was gone. It was silent around him, or nearly so. There was the sound of movement on the left side of him.
“Where am I?” he asked out loud. There was no answer, and he began to believe he had imagined the sounds he had heard – but then it happened again. This time he knew for certain that he wasn’t alone, because he heard the sound of liquid being poured into a cup or goblet.
“Are you my punishment?” he asked quietly, desperately afraid, almost to himself. But at his question the noises stopped, the clinking of glass making him think of someone replacing the top of a decanter. Footsteps walked slowly over to him, and he trembled in dread, fearing that this question might actually have an answer.
“Are you so deserving of it?” The voice was mildly surprised and a little curious, still deep and pleasing to listen to, as he remembered from the shore, but he knew who it belonged to and so he tried to get away, only then becoming properly aware that he was tied down and couldn’t move.
“Please,” he whispered. For a moment there was a silence so profound he could almost feel it. The blindfold was yanked suddenly from his eyes and he blinked in confusion, although the light wasn’t terribly bright where he was – the few candles that illuminated the room were far away from the stone table on which he rested.
“Are you asking me…” The voice trailed off as if to consider the next words. He closed his eyes immediately, unwilling to see the owner of that voice as it came closer. He could feel warm breath on his face, and he whimpered submissively. “Would you ask me, to punish you?”
The next minute or so seemed to last a century, as he wondered if the voice required him to answer. He could still feel the soft tickling of breath against his nose, and he kept his eyes closed in terrible fear. “Well?” it demanded, breaking into his thoughts.
He delayed it as long as he could, but he was helpless and frightened, and more than anything, he wanted Sauron to back away from him so that he could dare to open his eyes, and so, at last, he gave the owner of the voice what it wanted.
“Punish me,” he said softly, shivering. “Please,” he added as an afterthought, and at last he felt Sauron moving away from him a little.
“Very well,” he said, amused, and Maglor swallowed the cry that rose in his throat. “Let us begin, mûl nín.”
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The liquid sound stopped, only to be followed by a quiet sloshing, as of someone swirling ingredients together. In fact, this entire situation began to take on the feeling of a ritual, as though his silent aggressor had been through the same motions many times before. Legolas began to feel ignored.
“Who are you?” No answer. “Stop it now, Merenon. This is not funny anymore.” Silence, but he knew really, this was far beyond any joke Merenon would play on him. “Let me go!” After that there was a shuffling, and Legolas quieted, fully expecting to be released. But it wasn’t to be so. He felt the rim of a cup placed against his lips and he tried to turn his head, but then there was a strong hand keeping his head straight, lifting him slightly to drink.
Legolas thrashed around and yet somehow the hand holding him was strong enough to keep his head still. The bitter tasting liquid spilled on his lips, and Legolas hummed loudly, trying to shake his head. Despite his lack of communication, the message must have got through, because the cup was removed. Legolas slumped back with a shaky sigh, spitting the strange substance from his lips.
“Never!” he announced. “Not if you make me thirst for a week!” Still, there was no response to his words, and he felt the first tears of frustration in his eyes as he continued to struggle to get free. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. When I get free from here you’re going to regret this,” he vowed. As if in answer, a long piece of metal was pushed against his lips, and Legolas gritted his teeth against it.
Fingers cruelly pinched one of his bared nipples, and it was so unexpected that Legolas cried out in shock, his captor taking the chance to force the mouthpiece past his lips. Immediately the bitter liquid was filling his mouth, and he screamed the air out of his lungs to rid himself of it, but there was too much. He held his breath as his captor pinched his nose, trying again to shake his head, but after only a couple of minutes it was swallow or drown. Legolas chose to swallow.
However bitter the brew was on his tongue, it felt fiery going down his throat, and he began to feel a strange warmth inside him, spreading outwards into his limbs and affecting his thoughts.
“What is it?” he murmured vaguely, wondering why the answer was so important. Oh! Yes… the potion – or whatever it was. It hadn’t eased his thirst at all, and he moaned in protest as he began to get drowsy and weak, barely registering the hands that moved over his naked midriff and belly, seeming almost to stroke him.
“Leave… off… me…” he ordered, his voice blurry, and then succumbed to the intoxication, slipping into a form of reverie.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His bouts of awareness were short and nightmarish after that. He awoke several times to the sensation of his body being used and filled in the most humiliating way, and he moaned in his distress, losing consciousness again rather than endure it.
At other times he knew his captor was near him, and he struggled to form words, to ask what was happening to him. It soon became clear that he was being kept helpless and immobile. He was no longer tied, and he rested on a soft bed, but he was still unable to move. Despite his infrequent lucidity, the passage of time had still imprinted itself upon his mind, as it did when he slept, and he knew that he must now be considered missing.
“Help me,” he pleaded in one of his more wakeful moments. There was soft laugh near him and he turned his head towards the source of it, the blindfold still hindering his vision. “Don’t,” he moaned, his sprit truly broken at the amusement of his captor.
“Don’t what?” the voice asked pleasantly.
“Don’t laugh at me.” He began to cry silently, shaking with his sobs on the bed he was too weak to escape. Enough of the drug that was regularly forced on him remained in his system to make his muscles useless and he grasped that this was why he was no longer restrained.
“Legolas,” the voice began, and his heart jolted to realise that his kidnapper knew his name. “You are doing very well. Everything is progressing as it should. You still live.” A warm hand rested on his belly as the voice spoke, and this too had become familiar to him. Just to be touched there, and he wondered what it could mean. He searched for the meaning, and then he felt the answer. He didn’t think of it, he became aware of it inside his body. He tried to scream, but he was too weak and all that emerged was a petrified wail of horror.
“No!” he called out uselessly. “No, no…”
“Shh,” the voice commanded, and again he heard the pouring of liquid beside him. Legolas whimpered.
“Not that… not again… please…” He coughed and spluttered when the mouthpiece was pressed into his mouth, resisting it as much as he could, but eventually he drank.
“Good. It will keep up your strength. Yours – and his.” The hand rested on his belly again as he drifted into unconsciousness again, and he knew why now.
More fevered glimpses of the horror followed, this time his eyes were free, but he closed them when he saw the monster that possessed his body. Despite his constantly weak state, the next time he came around he managed to retch in his disgust as his captor walked towards him again. He kept his eyes tight shut, fearing to see the monster again.
“Look at me,” it commanded, and Legolas tried to shake his head. He didn’t know if he managed it. Again, he felt that warm hand on his belly, and then he heard such a roar of anger and fury that his eyes flew open to determine the danger. What he saw he would never have imagined. Before the bed he was kept on stood a tall, black-haired man. He wasn’t human though and he wasn’t elvish. He wasn’t a monster either… or was he? He wore black robes, and his eyes… Legolas made a sound of astonished terror, glad that the dark lord was no longer touching him.
It couldn’t be anyone else. But then Sauron looked at him. “Which one was it?” he demanded suddenly, and Legolas was at a loss for what the dark lord wanted from him. He swept one long arm gracefully back, leading Legolas’ gaze to two uruk-hai who stood guarding the room. Legolas saw the monster, and again when he tried to scream, what came from his mouth was a mix between a wail and a moan.
The dark lord noted his reaction, and turned to the two large orcs again. Legolas closed his eyes and fell asleep again to escape. The next time he awoke, he saw that the dark lord was seated in a chair at some distance from the bed, watching him.
“Where am I?” he asked nervously. Sauron only smiled.
“Where I want you to be.” Legolas digested that piece of information slowly. He tried to shrink back when Sauron stood and walked over to the bed.
“You will become more aware from now on,” Sauron advised him. “If one of these,” he said, indicating the guards again, “does anything besides watch you, you will tell me.” Legolas nodded his head furiously, sneaking a quick glance at the orcs who stood by the door. He felt that warm hand against his belly again, and then he knew why Sauron had become angry.
“Oh, please! No!” he choked out, feeling so sick at the thought of it he wished he would faint again. Sauron looked at him.
“I cannot remove it yet, and I will not,” he stated matter-of-factly. Legolas squeezed his eyes closed in utter disgust as he felt the hand move away from him. “The other child is doing well.”
“Please…” he sobbed in shame and mortification for what was happening to him. Sauron just ignored his plea.
“I will be back to check on you again tomorrow.” Then he was gone, and Legolas was alone with the guards, only this time, there was to be no escape in reverie. Whether he wanted it or not, he was waking up.

Translations:
mûl nín – my slave
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Fallen