Half the Distance

Title: Half the Distance
Series: Innocence Stripped Away
Chapter: Seventeen : Shackles
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: soultornasunder@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: OEAM
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: BDSM, twincest, rape
Beta: Alex Cat
Cast: Erestor/Glorfindel, Glorfindel/Thranduil, Thranduil/OMC, Erestor/OMC, Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir
Summary: Following the events of "Something Special, Something Sacred", Erestor finds himself in a dark pit of despair and fear as his bond with Glorfindel is threatened, stretched, and remade. Legolas returns to the valley where his heart was once broken to find a second chance and a new way of seeing those around him. Thranduil has lusted after Glorfindel's submission for years, and now that Erestor has opened the door for him, he intends to capture the elusive warrior as his own submissive.

Special warning: What is in this chapter is intense. It's torture and abuse and, though there is 'consent', it is coerced consent, thus rendering the tryst rape.

---

Imladris, Spring, Third Age 2086

Elrond and Glorfindel sat in uncomfortable chairs dragged in from one of the storage rooms. Though Elrond had suggested they take shifts watching over Erestor, Glorfindel had refused. The last three days, whenever Erestor stirred, Elrond had sedated him. He believed one of the best things for Erestor at the moment was dreamless, deep sleep, and that was the course of treatment they undertook.

Neither he nor Glorfindel had slept much, though, and the exhaustion was beginning to show in their faces. As morning stretched into late afternoon, they waited for Erestor to finally wake from the drug-induced sleep.

As the supper bell rang, Erestor's eyes fluttered open. He groaned, rolled over weakly, and his eyes focused on the pair sitting vigil. Erestor remained still, eyes centred on Elrond, and the Half-Elf nodded.

"Glorfindel," Elrond said softly. "Perhaps you should retire to your rooms. Wash, eat, sleep."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I will not leave him," he insisted.

Elrond gave Glorfindel a stern look. "You will leave us, Glorfindel, and return in the morning after you have slept. You will not argue with me, else I will call for a guard to remove you."

Glorfindel opened his mouth to protest again, but then thought better of it. Reluctantly, he stood. He moved stiffly to Erestor's bedside and crouched there so he could gaze into Erestor's troubled eyes. "I love you," he whispered, brushing back matted black hair. "Whatever else you may think of me, Erestor, know that I have always loved you, and that will never change." He kissed Erestor's brow and quickly left the room, therefore missing the two fat tears that rolled down Erestor's cheeks.

Elrond didn't.

"He does love you," Elrond said quietly as he watched Erestor.

Erestor nodded against the pillow. "I know," he said, his voice rough and unused.

"Then why do you push him away?"

"There are things you do not know," Erestor murmured.

"About Glorfindel?"

"About me."

"What is there about you I do not know, Erestor?" Elrond asked. "I thought I knew all there was to know about you... until recently." He left the chair in favour of sitting on the foot of Erestor's bed.

Erestor continued to stare at the space Elrond had previously occupied. "Everyone has their secrets."

"Who is it you asked for Glorfindel to make go away?"

Erestor closed his eyes. "*Him*."

"Erestor, that is not helpful," Elrond gently chided.

"Authon," he said, the name a bitter, broken word.

Elrond frowned. "Authon? Erestor, he is dead. Has been dead for over two thousand years."

"I know that!" Erestor shouted. "But he is here, Elrond. He mocks me. He taunts me. Tempts me. I do things--" He shakes his head, curling in on himself under the light blanket. "Dead or alive, he is here. Always whispering."

"If you would allow me to help you," Elrond began.

"Help me?" Erestor laughed, the sound hollow. "You did not help me then, Elrond, why should I believe you would help me now?"

"Erestor, what *happened*?" Was Thranduil right? Had he been blind for so long...

Erestor shook his head. "Do you know how much I hate you? I hate you as much as I love you and it rends me in two every day."

The words cut Elrond deeply. "Why?" he asked.

"Because you left me to him," Erestor bit out. "You did not come to my rescue as I had prayed you would, and I hate you for that."

Elrond swallowed hard. "Tell me what happened."

Erestor turned onto his back, stared up at the ceiling. "It was a debt. I had to fulfil an obligation."

*****

Elrond once told him that time seemed to speed by when one was happy while it merely crept at a snail's pace when one suffered unhappiness. If unhappiness warranted a snail's crawl, then the last ten years had passed with the speed of running sap during the dead of winter. Erestor could not define this decade as 'unhappiness', because that word implied a sense of discomfort. He had not felt discomfort. He had not felt disquiet. He had not felt embarrassment.

He had *suffered*.

Once, long ago it seemed, Celebrimbor had struck Erestor with a thin, sturdy switch. He had struck his thighs, his backside, even his back. His Master had drawn tears and blood from him, wrung from him with utter humility and pain. Erestor had always believed that to have been suffering, for what he had endured under Elrond was nothing but painful pleasure given with humbleness and reverence.

Now he understood that what Celebrimbor had done to him had been nothing but discomfort, *unhappiness*. Under his current Master's lash, he had suffered. Erestor had believed he had possessed a quiet dignity that Elrond instilled in him at being submissive, but that had been ripped from him. When he walked into that chamber of tortures, all he felt was fear and a seething sense of hatred. Rage consumed him as he was bound, whipped, and violated with careless fingers and thoughtless words.

For over a thousand years, Erestor had been devoted to one Master. Elrond had been a wonderful Ingor, and it had been natural when that submissive relationship had turned into something more. For them to have become lovers. Erestor had been content. Happy. A lovely mixture of submission, dominance, and love had become his private life behind the locked bedroom door.

Until Elrond had seen the Lady Celebrían.

He hadn't begrudged the match. It was an ideal match! Erestor had seen the love between Elrond and Celebrían, and so when Elrond had released him from his bed, from his playroom, Erestor hadn't been devastated.

No.

He'd been lost.

Which might have been how he wound up in this hell.

On the bloody, burning fields of Mordor, he'd almost been cut down. An Elf by the name of Authon had crossed blades with a beast of Sauron's, saving Erestor from a death blow.

It was a life debt.

When the blood had been washed from the survivors, and the tents collapsed, the horses mounted, Erestor had gone to Authon. He'd been grateful. Had told the Elf to name any price, as Erestor could ultimately never repay such a deep debt.

Authon had slyly, quietly whispered his price in Erestor's ear before mounting his own steed. He was bound back to Lindon, as the capital city would be in an uproar now that Gil-galad was dead. Erestor needed to return with his Lord to Imladris, and the whispered price festered in Erestor's mind.

For years.

After Elrond's wedding, there was no further excuse he could use to put off the obligation. He kindly asked Elrond to excuse him from his post for a period of ten years. Elrond had barely questioned the request, so smitten was he with his new wife. Erestor had left out of Imladris that week; he rode to Lindon, fear a heavy pit in his gut the entire time. This was not a simple giving of himself to someone in pleasure and love.

This was a *debt*.

This... was slavery.

Authon's price had been ten years in his service. Erestor would be his to do with as he pleased. Erestor, being an Elf of honour, had agreed.

Ten years.

It didn't seem so long when he'd agreed.

Erestor now walked stiffly to the vanity in the room he occupied. Occupied was the best word for what he did here, as he rarely slept or ate. He merely existed, always in pain, always dreading the next visit from Authon.

However, at the same time, he also dreaded *no* visit from him.

In those moments of pain, Authon spoke crudely of loving Erestor. Of loving his body, his cries, his dark eyes. For years, every act of torture was visited upon him with words of love, and eventually, Erestor had begun to believe it.

He *had* to.

If not, the weight of it all would have crushed his spirit within the first year.

But, should Authon love him -- love him as Elrond had -- then perhaps this could all be tempered. That was what Erestor told himself each time the door opened and a new cruelty was set upon him.

The longer the years took to pass, the more his love of Elrond soured. He had not written his Lord in over six years. Not a word to any in Imladris, and no one had thought to send word. To send anyone to check on the Elf who had, at one time, run Imladris from a single office deep within the main house.

Through tortures and debasements and fear, Erestor had hoped Elrond would rescue him. Would sense this Elf he had spent so many years loving and caring for was in dire need of help.

Help never came, and Erestor eventually gave up.

Gave into Authon's 'love'.

It made every lash mark, every knife wound, and every painful coupling bearable.

Erestor regarded himself in the mirror as he picked up the bottle of oil. He was too thin. His ribs could easily be counted, and his hip bones protruded grotesquely under the skin. He was pale, almost as white as the sheets when they were clean. His hair was limp, and it didn't shine as it used to. Authon did not forbid him from leaving the room, or keep meals from him, but Erestor found he had little appetite for sunlight or food.

His pale flesh was marred by ugly bruises, all in various stages of healing. Thin scars from knife blades could be seen, if one knew what to look for. His joints ached, his muscles screamed, and his backside was always a place of fiery pain. Every move, every breath, brought a new wave of discomfort.

As he turned from the vanity, his back was visible for a brief moment.

Lash marks. Dozens of them on top of dozens more. He would be scarred. Erestor had always prided himself on his flawless skin. No pride to be found in the haunted eyes as he looked away from the bloodied mess. His buttocks still stung with the wounds of the caning he'd received two nights previous, and his thighs protested use after a beating with Authon's belt just this morning.

But he could endure.

He would endure.

It was a debt, and Authon had fallen in love with him during it all. How could he deny someone who loved him, even if he felt little affection for them? Or, perhaps he did feel affection. Was being willing to endure anything, do anything requested, loving someone? He'd been willing to perform any and every act Elrond had asked of him, and he'd called what he'd felt for Elrond love.

Logically, then, what he felt for Authon must be love...

Erestor poured oil over his fingers, not caring in the slightest how it dripped onto the floor and the bedsheets, staining both. What was one more set of stains? With painful slowness, he lifted one leg onto the bed and reached behind himself. His teeth gritted, his eyes clenched tight, he smeared oil around the raw opening and, with a soft whimper, slipped two fingers inside.

His breathing ragged, he repeated the action twice more, heavily lubricating himself. Long ago, he'd learned this lesson. Authon would rarely take any time to ease penetration; it interrupted the flow of the moment.

With a sob in his throat, Erestor set the bottle of oil on the bedside table and climbed onto the bed. His cheeks were red, damp with tears he hadn't known he'd shed, and he rested on his hands and knees, awaiting his lover's return to the bedroom.

He didn't wait long.

The sound of heavy boots outside the door, then inside the room.

Clothing hitting the floor.

And that well known weight on the mattress behind him.

"You are ready and waiting," the Elf purred as his hands moved over Erestor's sore back. "It only took ten years for you to learn."

Erestor tried to keep his breathing even, his body relaxed, but he instinctively tensed the moment he felt the large head of Authon's sex press against him.

Then into him.

He had never become used to Authon's girth. A whimper escaped Erestor's throat as his poor passage was stretched painfully wide yet again. A sharp slap across bruised and welted buttocks forced another cry from his lips.

Every sound was rewarded with another slap, and always in the same place. Erestor could not win. Not against this. Every thrust forward rocked him with searing pain that he voiced, and every strike brought yet another sob from him. There was no arousal in him for these games. Erestor couldn't recall the last time he had climaxed, and he preferred it that way. Perhaps he could save something of himself for someone else.

As Authon neared his peak, he panted those words that tore at Erestor's heart.

"I do so love you," he said between blows. "You fit me so well, and your sounds... so lovely. Your obedience tonight was a starling surprise. It shows how much you've come to love me as well."

Had it?

Erestor's mind was a mess of pain and confusion and hope.

Hope because tonight... was the last night.

His debt was fulfilled come dawn.

He said nothing in response to Authon. Erestor bore his blinding thrusts until the Elf behind him grunted his final grunt and Erestor's passage was filled with hot, stinging fluid.

Though he tried to remain upright, Erestor's arms and legs gave out as soon as Authon parted from him.

Erestor lay there, panting, trying to distance himself from the pain of his body so he could speak. After long moments, he was able to finally give voice to the words swimming in his head.

"I... leave for Imladris in the morning," he said weakly.

Authon laughed, and the sound was anything but pleasant. "You do not."

Erestor slowly sat up. "I do. My decade in your service is complete, Authon. I must return to Imladris."

Suddenly, Authon was in his face, a fistful of Erestor's hair wrapped around his hand. "Oh, I do not think so. You are *mine*, dog. Bought and paid for that day in Mordor. You are bound to me until *I* release you from my service, not when an arbitrary number I named is met."

Before Erestor's eyes flashed moments from the last ten years.

Strapped to the bed and taken roughly with any manner of object Authon found in the room.

Chained to the wall and whipped until his mind was little more than black nothingness.

Held down as a fist was shoved deep inside of him while his breath was stolen by the hand at his throat.

Posed, bloody, and exhausted, but unable to rest because Authon would punish him if he fell out of the position he had been placed in.

So many days. So many tortures. And all of them given with love on the lips.

Love.

From this creature that held him captive by chains instead of by bonds of the heart.

"I have... paid my... debt," Erestor panted, ashamed of the tears falling from his eyes.

"Come now, dog," Authon said, his voice like silk over steel. "No tears. Not yet. I want to play some more, and there will be plenty of time for tears. Hands and knees again, for I do so love you in that position."

Erestor tried to shake his head. "No. It is done. I have paid you!"

"Erestor," Authon commanded, releasing his hair as he used Erestor's name for the first time in years. "Do not make me tell you again, for I do not believe your ass can endure what I will do to it otherwise."

Trembling with either fear or anger, Erestor couldn't discern one from the other at the moment, he glared at Authon. "No. There will be no more commanding me. It is *over*, Authon. Let me *go*."

Authon drew a small dagger from the vanity drawer, wielding it as he approached Erestor. "You will learn, dog, so help me," he growled, reaching out to grapple the slighter Elf with one hand while prepared to inflict any amount of pain possible with the blade in the other.

Instinct took over then for Erestor. Once upon a time he had been a hardened warrior, and those lessons -- much older than the ones Authon had instilled in him -- were second nature to Erestor. As weak and sore as he was, he was able to deflect the hand that was reaching for his hair. As soon as he did that, he snatched the blade from the surprised Elf's other hand, turned it around, and sank it to the hilt in Authon's chest.

The whole struggle could not have taken more than seconds to pass, and then Authon stumbled back and Erestor looked down at the blood on his hands. With wide eyes, crouched and cowering on the bed, Erestor watched Authon fall to his knees, shock in his cold, grey eyes.

"Erestor?" he said, the confusion filling his voice. "I... I thought you loved me... I thought..." He swallowed, his lips tinged red. "I loved you..."

The skin was slick with blood, and then sharpness in Authon's eyes faded, and the Elf pitched forward and lay still.

Erestor stared at the unmoving body, large eyes full of tears.

Had he loved Authon?

Had Authon loved him?

It must have been! It had to have been true, for no Elf would die with a lie on their lips!

Sobbing, Erestor drew on a robe and rushed from the room.

What... had he done?!

TBC...