Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Faded Light: Book II	By : Laurin Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 11982 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Characters and places belong to JRR Tolkien and to his estate. I own only my OC's and twisted storylines.

Chapter List
- 42
- 43
(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see the top of Chapter 1.)
= <B> This chapter contains a flashback of an attempted suicide. If you can’t handle it, skip to the last few paragraphs. This one is a little dark.</B>
I had actually been planning a different chapter here, but I haven’t managed to finish it. So, I decided to break up ‘Narcho Erethren’ into three parts and make some changes. And I will post the one I was planning a couple of chapters from now. This one goes back and forth a little bit between the present and a flashback; I hope it makes sense. =

Chapter 2.43
Narcho Erethren pt. 2
He remembered they had been traveling south for days. Legolas had started to lose track of time after the second day, of how many times Kebu and his band of balchoth had despoiled him...
Near evening, they had stopped and camped near a stream, and Kebu had irritably pushed his prisoner in the direction of one of his men and ordered, “Gaenír, take the Elf and get ‘im cleaned up...he’s startin’ to stink...”
The stream had been shallow and the water freezing, but it was the first time he had been able to wash himself at all since he was taken prisoner. He had had to endure for days the feeling of disgust and uncleanness after what the Men had done to him with no way to get it off, so he didn’t complain, even when the Man, Gaenir, stood a few feet away and kept watching him as he bathed...
After a while, apparently, Gaenir had enough of simply looking and came to the edge of the stream, shedding his clothes before the stepped into the water. The Prince noted with interest the knife the Man unthinkingly let fall on the ground with the rest of his things...
He watched the Easterling warily from where he was still pretending to wash himself, but he didn’t dare try to make a run for it yet.
After a few minutes, the Man turned to the youth, the lust more evident in his eyes now.
“Maybe now that we’re both clean,” he said moving closer, “I’ll take a piece a that bit that Kebu has been keeping to ‘imself these last few days...”
The Elf shrank back at the words and tried to take a step back, but the Man grabbed his arm. “Come on now,” he said, “I’ll even let you pick which way I take ya first...
“On you knees...or...” he ran a finger over the youth’s lips...
“You still tremble like an innocent, but we know better don’ we...
“Don’ worry...ye’ll get used to it soon enough,” he said when the youth tried to pull away again and gripped his arm more tightly and dragged him onto the grass. The hand that had been stroking his lips had moved down, trying to explore more private areas.
“I hear the Haradwaith enjoy all manner a pleasures...‘twon’t take long before you even enjoy it.”
Legolas was sure he would have given up any self respect he had left and pleaded then, but he had found out that first night how little begging got him...and he had not uttered a word since...
His mind went back to the knife nearby and he sank to his knees, taking what seemed the more bearable of his present options, and he thought he stood a better chance in this position than whatever else Gaenir was planning...
“A while in Harad and ya’ll be nice an’ loose, and ye’ll be cravin’ for a nice hard cock as often as ye can get it...
“That’s better...” he said as Legolas shakily reached for him and laughed seeing the youth hesitate. I bet ya’ll make a needy little whore one’s they’ve trained ya.
“Open yer mouth...” He pressed hard on the youth’s lower jaw until he was forced to open his mouth as wide as it could go and with his other hand he firmly guided the member into his mouth...
========================
The slave woke up, his heart racing as if he really had been running and felt compulsively for the scar on his arm, remembering the pain.
Nightmares were practically a part of his routine, like eating or bathing or being face down or on his back while some Haradrim was taking his pleasure on him. But it had been years since the path of his dreams had led him to that particular day...
========================
...the Man, Gaenir, held the back of his head tightly by his hair, sliding forcefully in and out of his mouth until the youth was sure he was tasting blood.
He felt like he would suffocate caught between the foul member and choking on his own suppressed tears, while the Man just gripped him more tightly, moving his head however he wanted...but he had his eyes closed, and he was so lost in his own perverse lust he didn’t see the Elf’s hand wandering over the ground.
Legolas had noticed while he bathed before the various sizes of rocks near the riverbank; he just needed one that fit in his hand and was the right weight...
The Man’s thrusts became more erratic as he neared his climax, and the Prince pushed aside his shame at the thought that he had by now learned to recognize something so lewd and unseemly and waited for the right moment.
Just as the Easterling was about to come, the youth bit down on the erect organ as hard as he could...
Before the furious and shocked Man could really respond, he had smashed the rock on the side of his head and dived toward the spot where the Man had dropped his things earlier, grabbing the long hunting knife...
It happened so fast, he barely had time to register it until he saw the Man’s body falling to the ground, his head dangling to one side halfway off, face, bleeding from where the rock had hit him, frozen into a look rage and surprise...
He had killed in battle before, Orcs mostly, and he had killed some of these very same Men only a few days ago, but this had felt different somehow...
But he had no time to dwell on it. He gathered up his own clothes, mostly in tatters now, after the Men’s abuse and being forced to march for days through the desert, and started running in the opposite direction of the marauder’s camp.
He knew he wouldn’t make it home; they had been traveling for days now and he was too weak, with the marauders not far behind him...
=========================
He pushed aside his blankets and made it into the washroom in time to throw up last night’s entire supper...
At least, he thought, he was glad it had been a night when he had no company. He would not have wanted to explain to the King, or anyone else he happened to be entertaining, his sudden dash to the washroom to vomit...
He kept throwing cold water on his face, hoping it would chase away the images...
===========================
He didn’t know how long he ran, with only the thought of staying ahead of the Men...
Eventually, he had found refuge in a small cave and collapsed in exhaustion and pain; it was the first time since his nightmare had started but a few days ago that he had time to contemplate all the hurts of his body and the bleakness of his situation...
He had seen the marks on his body while he bathed in the stream, the bruises everywhere along with rope burns on his wrists where he had been tied most of the time...ugly hand prints on his hips where Kebu had forced him every night...he even hurt inside, as if his innards were bruised too, which they probably were...
It seemed like more than a few days since it all began that morning when Lalaith and Borlas had failed to report back after their night’s watch...but they were all dead now, his friends...Morwen, who should have been his bride and future Queen of Mirkwood was with Mandos now...
His hand went to his bare finger where he had worn their betrothal ring for almost two hundred years; both he and Morwen always left their rings at home when on patrol, so at least they hadn‘t fallen into the marauders filthy hands...
“Diheno nin, Adar...” he thought wretchedly as he let the tears come. “I’ve failed, I failed to save my companions, failed to die as a warrior...failed to even keep even my own honor...I’m sullied now, unworthy of my Royal name...”
He knew he had few options. All he had with him was the knife he had taken from the dead Easterling. The Men would find him soon and he would pay for the murder of their comrade.
“All I’ve got left is a coward’s escape...but maybe Naneth and Morwen and the others will be waiting when I come to Mandos...”
He lifted his sleeve and slowly pressed the knife into his flesh...
There wasn’t much pain at first, as he sliced his arm and watched the bright blood, first a slow trickle over his skin, then covering everything in red... as he started to get lightheaded and waited for Mandos...and he wondered if his family would ever know or whether they would have to wonder forever about his fate...
========================
He couldn’t bear the thought of more sleep, so he grabbed a robe and stepped outside and sat on the steps that led to his apartments. It was still dark and completely silent in the small courtyard; he couldn’t seem to stop his shivering, still fingering the old scar.
It had never completely disappeared, whether because of how the Men had dealt with it or because his body’s Healing had become so weakened he had never been sure...
=========================
He had soon discovered he hadn’t cut deeply enough, and his shaking hand had made the blade veer off halfway...
The marauders found him before too long and in his weakened state, there was little he could do to fight them.
“I’m startin’ to think you’re not likin’ our company...” chided Kebu before swiftly aiming a sharp kick to his ribs. His face twisted viciously, and he looked like he was resisting the urge to beat the Elf black and blue...well more so than he already had in the past days.
“I hope you don’t expect to go unpunished for the murder a one a our own,” he said, “even if ‘e was the biggest fool east of the Harnen...”
The Elf just gave him his best iron glare, the one he had usually reserved for the most insufferable of his father’s Courtiers...
“Mark my words,” said the Man, kneeling down and taking hold of one of his warrior braids, “that look won’t be there when the Harad breakers are done with ya...
“Get somethin’ to stitch up that cut, ” he ordered. “An’ get some leg irons...we’ll tie ‘im over the saddle a poor Gaenír’s horse for the rest a the trip...
“Cause me any more trouble, whore,” the hateful Mortal promised nastily, taking the youth’s face in a hard hand, “an’ next time I’ll have ‘em burn yer clothes, an’ then I’ll get a rope and have ya tied to the back a my saddle so ya can run along behind, bare assed...”
He laughed mockingly, his smile even more unpleasant than when he was just being a thug. “It’d be a fine sight for the men to enjoy all the way to Harad don’t ya think?”
He let go of the youth and moved aside, as one of the Men came back with needle and thread along with cloth for bandages and a bottle of the cheap wine the Easterlings drank.
“He don’t need none a that,” said Kebu, taking the bottle for himself and taking a swig. “’e can stand a little discomfort after what ‘e just done.
“I don’t much care if that arm gets to Harad neither...’twon’t be the part o’ ‘im fetchin’ the most coin from the Harawaith...”
And then there was only pain as he was held down and his wound sewn up...
====================
The sun was rising, the sounds of the Palace’s inhabitants starting their day growing louder by the time Dafi finally roused himself and went back inside his rooms. He headed for his dressing table and retrieved a bottle of good wine he kept there for the times when his nightmares were their worst or when he was feeling especially pathetic.
He was half way through his second glass when Numair came in a short time later.
“Rather early for that, isn’t it?” asked the other slave in his usual serious one. For a Haradrim, Numair really was rather frustratingly sober and austere, he thought.
And for some reason, an image of his uncle, Ruthlagor suddenly came to his mind.
The memory of his stern, high-minded uncle made him drain his glass and reach for the bottle again.
“I think you’ll want to save the rest of that,” said the Haradrim. “You might need it later.”
Dafi was about to say something about Numair minding his own business, but he looked up for the first time and something in the Man’s eyes made him forget his comment.
“What is it?”
“The King is dead. They say his heart stopped while he slept.” And just like that, the world the Elven slave had been inhabiting became a new one...
TBC...
Elvish Translations:
Narcho Erethren / Lonely Tears
Balchoth / barbarians
Diheno nin / forgive me
Adar, ada / Father, dad, daddy
Harnen / River flowing from southern Mordor southward into Harad.
Names:
Gaenír / Dread man (Orc name, but it works just as well for an Easterling.)
Morwen / Dark maid (Legolas’ betrothed who died in the massacre of his patrol.)
Borlas (Lasting Joy) / (Warrior who died in the massacre of Legolas’ patrol.)
Lalaith (Laughter) / (Female warrior who died in the massacre of Legolas’ patrol. She was also a relative of Tadion’s, (but more about that later.))
A/N: (...I know I kind of threw that one out there. But it shouldn’t be that big a surprise right? Legolas and Emau discussed Javad dying about 30 chapters ago.
The question is what will happen now; can Legolas still get to Horondor? Will his plans still succeed? Will his letter reach Feredir? Stay tuned dear readers...)
(By the way, I’m trying to write a chapter about the actual events of the massacre; I’ve always been curious about that part of the story and there really hasn’t been much about it other than it being mentioned.)
- 42
- 43
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Faded Light: Book II