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
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter Eleven
Often he awoke before Maglor. The older elf always seemed to be tired and sleepy in the mornings, as if he hadn’t really rested. That was, if it was really morning. There was no way to tell the time here, and there was no daylight. Legolas still trusted his internal clock though. And he believed they more or less still slept at night and awoke in the morning.
It was easy to slip away while Maglor slept. He stole some of the clothes that Sauron liked Maglor to dress in. They weren’t much, but better than nothing. He felt a little apprehensive when he had to tear the tunic to fit over him. He was much bigger now, and he wondered if he would survive out there, if they would. He remembered what it was like, or at least he thought so.
He gathered the few things he had prepared. The waterskin he had spent long, laborious hours making while Maglor was busy with the dark lord; it was made from the occasional stolen tarred leather cup that was brought in with their meal. The food he had secreted over the last few days when it had been easy to keep his distance from Maglor, feigning the desire to be alone. Although it hadn’t really been pretence.
Over the last few weeks he had come to pity Maglor, but he also despised him. He would have loved to tell Maglor what he planned, to escape with him, to free them both of the dark lord and his torments. But he doubted that Maglor really wanted to escape. In fact, he suspected that if he told Maglor what he was doing, the other elf would betray him somehow. He would not stay here that long. To do so was unthinkable. He had grown up a little after realising what his fate would be were he forced to stay here, and he couldn’t allow himself to turn into that. To become as dependent on Sauron as Maglor was.
Yes, it had to be now. For some reason, he had been Sauron’s exclusive company over the last week or so, and the dark lord’s strange influence was at work on him in that time. At first he was terrified of what Sauron would do to him, what he could do. And he trembled to be in his arms, submissive and scared, remembering the healing of his mind after the cruel torture. He couldn’t go through that again.
But the dark lord seemed to ignore him most of the time, busy as he was with giving orders to the orcs, looking into the magical stone he had for hours at a time as if he was addicted to it. Indeed, the strange black globe with its swirling depths was never far from the dark lord’s sight. He was always watching. Always waiting. And all he required most of the time was that Legolas stand silent and unmoving in a corner, awaiting him should he desire anything. There were punishments for the smallest things. Fidgeting restlessly in his place, not being quick enough when the dark lord wanted something from him. Legolas soon learned to anticipate what Sauron wanted, and he felt an awful gratification when he earned a smile or a kiss from him. When he was alone he was disgusted with himself. He knew that he was being trained, and he knew it was working.
Yet when he was with Sauron, his desires took over. And he found that in some sick way he enjoyed being on his knees before him, pleasuring him. Even fetching and carrying for him held a kind of pleasure in subservience. He did understand Maglor, only too well, and that was why he pitied him. When he was with Sauron, he didn’t want to escape himself, and it became more and more difficult to remember why he was preparing to leave. Sometimes, he even felt like he wanted to confess, and that terrified him – only his fear of the consequences kept him from it. No, he absolutely could not afford to wait. To wait would be to give up completely… like him. Legolas pitied him, but there was nothing he could do. How could he save Maglor from himself?
It felt bad to be leaving him here, but maybe Maglor was right and it was what he deserved. Legolas hadn’t really listened to the stories about him when he was younger, preferring instead to dream about the day he would be able to guard Greenwood’s borders with his older brothers, and so for all he knew Maglor’s crimes might be that bad. He was sure that he remembered something about an oath, and that he and his brother Maedhros were notorious for something. He stopped suddenly, and looked at Maglor sadly, realising that he was giving himself a rationale for leaving him behind. No-one deserves this. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat, and kissed the other elf gently on the forehead as he slept, whispering his apologies for leaving him alone once more. Maglor had simply been trapped here too long – it was over for him. And Legolas was sorry, but he couldn’t sacrifice himself to make Maglor feel better about his fate.
Breaking his line of thought he checked that he had everything he needed. Or rather, everything useful he had been able to lay his hands on. He was dismayed to be heading out without a weapon, but once he reached the safety of some trees – normal trees – he would surely be able to make himself something. Part of his training back home had involved learning to survive when he had nothing. So making crude weapons, finding water, hunting – none of that would be too difficult if he could just reach the end of the hot, dry, and acrid land that made up Sauron’s realm.
Maybe, and at this next thought his heart filled with hope, maybe he could even get back to Greenwood eventually and be reunited with his brothers? Thinking that, Legolas truly smiled for the first time in months. Home. It was such a potent dream after all this time.
Feeling relieved to at last be on his way, he sneaked out, hoping once more that he would not run into any of Sauron’s orcs or other servants while he was finding his way. In contrast to his wild attempts to flee before, this time he crept down the corridors and hallways, hiding behind corners, listening for enemies. He was concentrating so steadily on not being discovered he wondered how he could have let the emptiness of the place disturb him before. It was a relief to him now, and he thanked the Valar for his accurate memory when he came to the great doors that marked the exit from Sauron’s vast fortress.
Quietly, he let himself out, not allowing the massive doors to open any wider than they had to for him to slip through them. And then he faced the land before him. This time he knew what to expect, and it didn’t dishearten him as much as before. He wasn’t naked, and he had makeshift shoes on his feet. It would be difficult, but already he was sure he could make it. If he could only get a head start before he was discovered missing. He began to walk.
For the first couple of hours it was easy going. The landscape was as barren and deadly as he remembered it. The huge volcano made the air hot and heavy, and there was the smell of sulphur all around. But he didn’t lose heart. He breathed carefully and shallowly, taking his time, conserving his energy and strength. In no time at all he passed the woods he had encountered last time, and although the promise of shelter, cool shade and sweet air called to him, he knew better, and avoided it. After a while though, his own weight began to slow him down, and he rested his hands on his belly, feeling the heat all the more because of the life he was carrying inside him.
Then, as time passed, Legolas began to worry. Nothing seemed to be changing around him, although he had surely been walking for most of the day. Eventually he saw a large outcropping of rock coming up in front of him and he made his way towards it over the scorched and blackened earth. Tired and out of breath, he scrambled up it, hoping that at last he would see to the end of the wasteland. Hoping that he would be able to judge the amount of distance there was left. It would spur him on.
He finally reached the top, gasping and out of breath, and he sat down on the ground before embarking on the last few metres, to drink from his improvised flask of water. He rested for a little while, resting his hands on his belly as he had begun to do often when he was alone. He felt one of them moving and it made him smile. Perhaps they knew he was drinking water? Suddenly he didn’t feel quite as alone, and he was grateful for it. He needed to find somewhere safe and comfortable soon though – for their sake.
Regaining his feet, he climbed up the final steep incline to the top and stood staring out at the view. “No…” he whispered faintly.
Before him was Mordor in all its breathtaking entirety – the land that the dark lord had desired to build his home in – and it suited him. It was dark, forbidding and murderous. And for as far as the eye could see, it still didn’t end. Legolas fell back down, the hard ground jolting him so that he cried out, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the vista in front of him. The panoramic view was all around him. If he looked back he could see where he had come from, the tall spires and turrets of Barad-Dur in the distance, and the isolated woods that Sauron kept close by. He must be looking at miles and miles of hot, dusty, unforgiving terrain. It would take days, if not weeks to cross this! The hope that he had when he first set out completely deserted him, and he simply sat for a while in shock, not knowing what to do now. He couldn’t go back, and yet what hope was there of getting to the end of that vast expanse alive? None. It was like crossing a desert with a cup full of water. Impossible.
Still, he realised he had better do something other than sit here, waiting to die. What choice did he have but to carry on? If he knew one thing, it was that he would rather die than go back, and if that was the way it had to be then so be it. They were brave thoughts, surely fitting for the Prince of an elven realm. But then he cradled his swollen belly once more, and he began to cry, the harsh ground beneath his feet becoming soft and inviting through the blur of his tears. He made his way back down the slope blindly, grateful for his sure feet and easy balance, even in his condition, that stopped him from falling when he could no longer see properly.
As he neared the bottom though, his ears picked up a distant sound. It was a strange sound, and he strained to hear properly. It was rhythmic – marching! Legolas blinked his tears away impatiently and stared back along the path he had travelled. He was still at enough height to see them. Around six large orcs were tracking him, following his trail across the all too revealing dust-covered rock steadily. He panicked. He couldn’t be taken back alive!
He almost fell the rest of the way, so great was his haste to put some distance between him and his pursuers. He slid down the remaining slope using his hands and his feet, throwing up clouds of dust and unsettling tiny rocks and stones that fell with him. He grazed his hands but he didn’t even realise it, and as soon as he was back on the ground, he ran.
He ran as though his life depended on it – and perhaps it did. Taking deeper breaths than he had before in his wild, desperate panic, so that he coughed and spluttered, his body rebelling against the cruel, burning air as he ran on. He held his belly while he ran, trying to take some of the weight from his aching back. And all the while he knew there was no hope. He had already seen it. There was nowhere to run to.
He stumbled over an unseen rock, and went sprawling, ripping the flimsy fabric of the clothes he wore, the rocks tearing viciously at the skin of his shins and knees. He was back up in moments and running again, not noticing the blood that made his trail even clearer.
It went on and on, and Legolas knew he was slowing down, but he couldn’t ask his body for any more. The sound of the booted feet behind him grew louder; it wasn’t a march, but a steady run. That was how they had caught up with him, he thought vaguely. He looked behind him, and he thought he could just see them in the distance. And if he could see them, it wouldn’t be long before they could see him, he realised. Frightened, he looked around him for shelter, but there was nothing. Only the land that he knew wouldn’t stop. He should give up, and conserve his strength for what they might do to him. For what he might do, but something in him wouldn’t let him rest.
Before long he had slowed to what amounted to a fast walk. Oh, he still ran, but his strides were not long enough, and it was a little more than a jog. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs and every breath he took burned inside his chest. He had a deep pain in his side that was his body’s way of telling him to stop, but how could he? The light began to fade quickly, making it difficult to see where he was putting his feet, and finally, he fell again. This time he didn’t get up. He looked back, and they were so close he could see their faces. He crawled on mindlessly in sheer terror. They would take him back – back there… to him.
Crawling over the sharp stones, he finally felt the damage he had done to his hands and knees earlier, and every inch of ground he gained caused him pain. But he carried on until he found himself staring at a pair of booted feet. He closed his eyes, admitting to himself that it really was over, and turned to face his captors.
He half sat up on the ground, his weight on his hands, and looked around him fearfully, still gasping for breath. There were six of them. The leader was before him, and they muttered to each other as they looked down on him in their strange, guttural language. He caught his name in their conversation – and he looked sharply at the orc that had uttered it. They all laughed at him for that – their laughter sounded like a collection of grunts and snorts – and the leader looked at him interestedly, asking a question of the one Legolas had his eyes on. When he answered, the leader reached out a hand to touch Legolas’ belly, and Legolas sat up properly, so that he could slap the hand away. The leader sniggered then, and looked around at the others as if showing off in some way.
It came closer, and Legolas found himself leaning as far back as he could without actually lying on the ground. Its warm, stale breath wafted over him, so that he turned his face away in disgust, but he looked back when it spoke – because it spoke to him. Two simple words, but they were enough to make him shake in fear, suddenly realising that this could be more severe than simply being dragged back to face Sauron.
“Elf,” it said, pausing for a moment in confusion as if trying to remember the other word it wanted to say. Then it brightened. “Mine.” It watched Legolas to make sure that it had got the word right, and it seemed pleased. Legolas looked back, feeling the word in his entire body. His eyes were wide, not wanting to believe what he had just heard as the other orcs chuckled darkly around him, reminding him there was no escape.
He trembled in revulsion rather than fear as the orc placed a single large hand around the back of his neck to lift him into a sitting position. Legolas immediately grabbed hold of its hand and tried to prise its fingers away, attempting to free himself of its grip. When it began to uncover itself he realised what was happening, and he snapped viciously with a frightened snarl, the clicking sound of his teeth loud in the space between them. It wouldn’t get that from him, at least. Not now, not ever.
The orc reacted by moving back slightly, and Legolas was gratified with that. Its other hand came close to his mouth, and Legolas bit down hard on one of its fingers, keeping eye contact, letting it know exactly what he would do. The orc simply laughed, and then it spoke again.
“Little wolf.” A couple of the others laughed appreciatively, those that understood the words. Not satisfied with that, the orc helpfully translated his simple joke for the rest, and soon they were all laughing and jostling each other as Legolas let go of its finger, noting with some pleasure that he had actually drawn blood, even if the leader didn’t seem to feel it.
It reached out to touch his belly again, and again Legolas swiped its hand away, but this time he didn’t get away with it. The orc behind him came closer to hold him down, and although he fought, he was no match for their strength. Finally the leader moved his hands over Legolas, touching him, and them. The children moved inside him restlessly as if they were trying to get away too. “Little wolf,” it said again, and Legolas had the disturbing impression it wasn’t talking to him this time.
He almost didn’t care though. They were forcing him to lie on his back, something he rarely did anymore simply because it was too uncomfortable. The weight pressed down upon him, pinning him to the ground more thoroughly than an army of Sauron’s servants could. He tugged at the hands that held him desperately, only wanting to be allowed to sit up, or lie on his side, and ease the pain in his back, but they wouldn’t let him go.
Legolas closed his eyes and twisted his head, as the orcs began to mutter amongst themselves again. Again he heard his own name, but this time he didn’t acknowledge it. After a while they fell silent, and the hands left his belly. He screamed when it began to tear his clothes away with its clawed hands, but to no avail. He struggled, biting and snapping at those in reach, attempting to scratch the ones who held him, but it was no use. He became still, realising he was a sport to them, and when he was exposed to their eyes, the leader began to touch him, intimately. There was no pleasure in it for Legolas, and his body simply refused to react to the touch of the leader. It turned his head, and Legolas opened his eyes to look at it.
“Elf. Beg,” it said, obviously giving him some kind of order, and Legolas replied immediately.
“I will not.” It stared at him blankly, not comprehending, until Legolas shook his head vehemently. “No.” Then it smiled nastily. It understood that word.
“Yes,” it gave him in answer.
He gasped when another two of the orcs held his legs, pushing them up so that he was completely exposed to the leader in front of him. It came closer still, and began to rub itself against him, over his entrance, spreading the lubricating fluid it secreted all over him. What was happening suddenly became more real then.
“No,” he called out in fear, trying desperately to get away, but it was impossible. The orc simply looked at him as it carried on with its preparation.
“Yes.” It said again, and Legolas cried then.
“Please…” he cried out desperately, unable to keep it in. He knew the orcs, after all, and he knew what this meant. It looked confused for a moment, as if thinking, and then it smiled.
“Good,” and Legolas sobbed, unable to keep up his defiance in the face of what was about to happen to him.
He remembered how it had felt before in his delirium, how almost unbearable it had been, and he knew that to be raped here by one of these would be to be murdered. He almost didn’t care, but then he had to; he had more than just himself to think about. Suddenly he was more fearful for his children than himself. He looked around him, feeling the hopelessness of his situation. He wanted a way out, and in his distress he wished that the dark lord were here to put a stop to what was happening. He was sickened and disgusted at his own thoughts, but what else would save him? The brutality would kill his children, even if it didn’t kill him.
But then the orc didn’t seem intent on violently taking him at all. It began to prepare him, taking time and care to ensure that the fluid it secreted was all over him. It pushed a finger into him, spreading the fluid around. And for at least a minute everything stopped. Legolas looked at it, a shocked gasp escaping him, and in its eyes he saw a restraint he wouldn’t have believed the beast was capable of. Instead of forcing him, it waited. Only when Legolas’ body relaxed did it move again.
He would have found it easier to deal with the beast’s violence than this, this unnatural gentleness. Its breath was raspy as it fought to control itself and its lust, so that Legolas remained on edge, waiting for the moment when the beast would finally snap and hurt him. The preparation for what was to come became a torture in and of itself. Its fingers moved inside him, rubbing against him so that every now and again Legolas moaned. It didn’t mean to pleasure him, he could see that in its eyes, and every time its finger brushed against him just there it was an accident. He closed his eyes, and he seemed to feel its movements even more keenly.
It took its time, until Legolas was begging incoherently for it to stop, but it ignored him. When its fingers finally left him, it positioned itself and waited for a moment, so that Legolas could feel the girth of it. Legolas opened his eyes then, and he looked at it, still capable of denying the horror.
“No…” he said. It was almost fully evening now, and its eyes gleamed with a feral light in the dusk.
“Yes,” came the reply, as before, and then it was pushing into him.
At first it seemed easy to take. It happened so slowly, but then it couldn’t be slowly enough. Just as he thought he had adjusted to the intrusion, it pushed a little deeper, seeming to enjoy the way he gasped and cried out. Their eyes locked together, and it didn’t stop then until he felt the skin of its thighs against his. He didn’t dare to move, didn’t dare to feel any more than he had to. He gasped at the foul air, taking tiny little panting breaths at the feeling of the beast fully inside him, almost as if he didn’t dare to breathe.
The other large orcs closed around them now, so that Legolas couldn’t see past them. It was really getting dark now, and they were like great hulking shapes blocking out the dim light that was still in the sky. The light that was still left shone on yellowed beast-like eyes, sharpened claws and misshapen teeth.
He forced himself to relax. The beast was deep inside him, and he would only hurt himself now – and the children. So he didn’t fight when they began to touch him, almost as if they were curious. He didn’t cry out or move away when they sniffed at his hair and licked at his ears. He could sense the beast though, still holding back, and he wondered why it hadn’t started yet. What was it waiting for?
Closing his eyes, he tried to will his mind away, but then the voices intruded. Coarse mutterings that he couldn’t understand, but then there was a single sharp word and all was quiet. Legolas opened his eyes and saw the orcs all staring at him, at something in particular. He looked down and then even the short, shallow breaths he was taking stopped. A single, glistening drop of white fluid stood out on the left side of his chest. It had leaked from his nipple, where it still remained, and the orcs were fascinated with it.
So was Legolas. He hadn’t known this would occur, and seeing it made the reality of what was happening to his body all the more frightening. For the first time he realised that there would be a birth. He tried to remember all the things he had ever heard about it. Not that it would necessarily apply to him, but it wasn’t a comfort anyway. Pain. That was the only thing he remembered, the only important thing. Giving birth hurt enough to make you scream, sometimes enough to kill you.
One of the orcs leaned over him, lowering its face to his chest while he looked on in stunned horror. He saw its tongue as it snaked out towards him. Black, thick, and disgusting. Strings of saliva hung from it, and he wanted to retch, but he was held still and made to relax by the violation of his body. It licked at his nipple, and then it looked up at the others, a ghastly rendition of a smile on its twisted features.
Then he felt pressure. The orc that had tasted him had taken hold of his nipple with its thumb and forefinger. Suddenly it squeezed him mercilessly and Legolas yelped, wishing that the harsh treatment hadn’t been successful. Instead, he saw another drop of milk emerge, and then rest on theorc's finger. It spoke to the leader – that same word again – and received a reply that sounded like an affirmative. It must have been, because now the orc held its finger to Legolas mouth. He closed his lips tightly, but a hand closed around his face, pushing in his cheeks so that he couldn’t help opening his mouth for it.
He told himself that he couldn’t taste it – but he did. He told himself that there was nothing to be scared of – but there was. And when he began to tense up, he felt the beast still inside him, and he reminded himself to relax, telling himself that it would soon be over – but it wasn’t.
Now the leader spoke to him again. And he recognised the word. The other orcs had spoken it. It must be the beast’s name. He almost laughed at the utter absurdity of being told to call it by name, but then he was in no position to laugh, he felt that with every breath.
“Speak. Shakhuruk.”
“No.”
“Yes.” The orc ground its hips against him cruelly, chuckling when Legolas made a sound somewhere between a deep breath and a cry. He held his breath at the sensation of being filled so completely, owned so thoroughly, and then it spoke again.
“Shakhuruk. Speak.” He wanted to refuse again, but from the time it had taken to get this far, he knew it would wait. If he gave in, co-operated, then perhaps it would be over more quickly. He looked back into its eyes, and he thought secretly that although they were fearsome, the orcs were quite stupid.
“Sha-khu-ruk,” Legolas said hesitantly, trying to emulate the way the orc had spoken the unfamiliar word, and the orc’s gaze clouded with lust and victory. It growled, its equivalent of a moan, and now it started.
It stopped after one thrust, waiting, until Legolas said the word again. And it became a pattern. Every time he said the word it hurt him, but he knew he couldn’t stop.
He called out the word desperately, wanting it to be over, and he could feel the orc getting closer every time. When it happened it was painful, and too much. Legolas screamed as the massive girth of the orc seemed to grow bigger and harder inside him, until he was sure he would be ripped apart by it. It called out in its own tongue, covering Legolas body completely, so that his hands rested on its shoulders and he found his face pushed into its chest as it thrusted once, finally, deep inside him, spilling its hot seed.
When it was all over, it moved to look down at him, its face almost touching his, and for a maddened moment Legolas thought it was going to kiss him. But it only laughed into his face, making him gag with its fetid breath. And then it said two words. A rough translation that made his blood run cold. Had he thought these were unintelligent beings? He was wrong.
“Shakhuruk… Captain.” Its eyes gleamed in triumph over him, and Legolas couldn’t look away, realising what he had been calling out to his attacker.
“No,” he breathed, not wanting to believe it. The orc looked down on him for one more moment, and in its eyes he finally saw intelligence. He would never underestimate these again.
“Yes.” It replied, and then pulled out of him in a sudden movement that made Legolas cry out. It didn’t look at him again.
Images and sounds replayed in his mind over and over. The feeling of being taken by ‘it’ disgusted him, and he lay there gasping with his eyes closed, fighting to keep his sanity, knowing there was no escape there. There was help for his body though. Water began to fall on his face, and he looked up to find one of them emptying the flask he had made onto his lips. He lapped at the water instinctively, his body remembering the run and the burning air he had breathed.
When it was all gone he was pulled roughly to his feet, and Legolas almost cried in relief. At last! To have the weight change position. He cradled himself with his hands for a moment or two before they were grabbed and bound together behind him. Then he was pushed forward. He nearly stumbled. And then he knew what had to happen now. This was far from over. He was naked again, and his feet were bare. The orc’s semen began to trickle down the inside of his legs, and he realised he had never in his life wanted so much to be clean. But he was a long way from that. He was shoved roughly forward into the darkness, with the orcs behind him. It was a long walk back to Sauron, and his fury.

Author's Note: My sincere thanks go to Esteliel for helping me out with the word. I needed something for ‘captain,’ and Esteliel suggested this, an amalgamation of two words that means literally ‘lord-orc.’
- 10
- 11
- 12
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Fallen