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Maitimo, Maitimo	By : tearsoftelperion Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1696 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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-Maitimo, Maitimo
- 1
Maitimo,
Maitimo

�We�ve been tricked!�

He spit. He knew they had from the very beginning, but he hadn�t thought
Morgoth would send a larger legion.

�We must reason.�

These beasts would not reason.

They would only kill. And so blood stained the ground until he was the only
left; held by the arms and neck by orcs. He watched his comrades being slain.
But they hit him hard, and he fell into a flurry of dark dreams.

Maedhros whimpered to himself, curling into a ball as much as his tortured
limbs would allow it.

�He is his father�s son.�

�Then I shall break him as well,
my lord.�

A scream had been ripped from his throat before he was even half awake. The
unmistakable crack of a whip and the feel of an open flame accompanying the
sting.

Yes, he could remember that. That had begun it. But Gothmog never touched
him again. He didn�t need too. The long burn would never fade from his back.

Just whipping for some time. Sometimes several of his servants would carry
out the task at once, from different angles, so that it might create an abstract
piece of art with crimson paint. After each session they would force him to stay
kneeling, his arms outstretched, whilst their lord admired him. Sometimes he
would touch. Sometimes he would soak his hands in salt beforehand.

Since his return, Maedhros had refused any salt be sprinkled over the little
bit of food he would be coaxed into eating.

These uncreative methods of torture became steadily more boring. After the
whipping, intricately designed brands with cruel filigree were crafted.

He knew where they were: one on the inside of his thigh, another on the side
of his neck and a third above his hip. He knew they would be there forever. He
would always remember the way Morgoth had held him down each time so that the
brand would not be ruined.

Beating him senseless seemed to be a favourite as well, especially with long
rods of steel or iron. Never anywhere that would cause him death�oh no, that
would have spoiled the fun! Maedhros came to not mind it so much. At least the
bruises were not permanent. This was perceived, and that was when Sauron
suggested idly that they test the machines.

Several of the� machines had
been tried. Many proved dangerous. He nearly died by one. Therefore Morgoth
became satisfied with one in particular; he called it the rack.�

Maedhros� height was marvelous already; in battle he had to keep his
guard up so that he would not become an easy target. His brothers had commented
that he was at least another inch taller. Only he knew why.

The machines, though amusing, did not give Morgoth the satisfaction of
physical contact during the torture. He resumed the whipping for a while, as
well as burning and cutting. More and more he began to visit the F�anorian
alone, and more and more he began to express how much appreciated his beauty.

�Have you not wondered why I have
left your face alone?�

And then he would touch Maedhros� cheek with those clammy hands and leave.

He tried to choke back the sob. Those hands� grey in pallor with neatly
kept nails, so cold, so cruel. Morgoth�s touches were a mockery of a lover�s
touch. The first time he felt a real caress of that sort he had shrunk
back in terror. And then he had been alone, for his reaction had been perceived
as rejection. Three weeks later � why, it was a month since had been saved!
� and his beloved had not returned.

�Will anyone want you now?
Look. I have brought you a mirror.�

Maedhros rarely spoke to his captor. He had almost forgotten how to speak. When
he saw himself, however, it was a form of torture in itself. He cursed the Dark
Lord.

�Maitimo, Maitimo,� Morgoth
sang, and caught the leg that tried to shoot out towards him. When he leaned
forward on his haunches, the dungeon wall he was chained against became colder.

�But I want you,�
Maedhros murmured to himself in a cracked voice, clawing at the bed sheets under
him with his only hand. With those words he understood the rape of the
Silmarils.�

There was no longer a need for chains. He was allowed the luxury of adopting
a corner to sit in, his knees drawn to his chest and his head bowed. The insects
crawling around did not bother him anymore, and it was not so hard to ignore the
constant drip in the dank cell. And though it seemed as though his body was
broken, Maedhros still retained his dignity and pride, even as he sat naked and
defenseless, even as Morgoth came to him periodically. Even as every ounce of
dignity was stripped from him. And even as he was so violated that his f�a
tried to flee, his pride stayed in tact, and he survived.

They would not break him.

If had died during those moments at least Mandos might have found some sort
of pity in him. Perhaps he�d be getting the kind of rest the healers had
ordered him to get. They were not pleased that he would not sleep. They did not
understand.

After so long of just Morgoth�s visits, Maedhros was startled when on one
occasion several orcs accompanied him, as well as Sauron, who lingered idly,
watching. After so long of just Morgoth�s visits and his treatment, when he
was whipped and beaten that day it was especially painful. For the first time he
begged them to stop. They did.

Where were the damned healers? Why weren�t they here to change his
bandages? He did not like being alone like this.

The dark Vala looked at the bruised and battered body with an air of
satisfaction. He smiled his twisted smile at the still unmarred face. But
inside, he felt rage. This Elf�s spirit was not broken yet, and he did not
know why. Therefore, after having his way with the pretty redhead whilst the
others looked on, he gripped the strong jaw. Maedhros could not look away.

�Call me your lord.�

No answer.

�Do it.�

No answer. He felt infuriated by this unfathomable pride.

Then he had hit him hard across the face so that his lip was split, and
called for Sauron to come forward with a blade.

Maedhros screamed thrice. Twice as the points of his ears were sliced off,
and then when his grimy hair was cut away to chin length. At first he thought
that this was the beginning of the process of mutilating Elves into different
forms. But it stopped there. Morgoth
stated that he had no more use for him.

He groped blindly for a bell on
the nightstand, not being able to move from his back.

When he first saw the sun he had thought the Valar were sending down a deadly
ball of fire to end the life and destruction in Arda. Trying to cower against
the face of the mountain he hung against, it eventually got brighter and he
realized it was nothing of the sort. Terror turned to love whenever the bright
ball managed to let its rays peak past the rocks and warm him from the elements.

One month it shone especially bright, and his pale skin was badly burned. Then
there had been rain and terrible wind. He had been pelted with debris.

His hand found the metal noisemaker. As it rang he winced, the sound
breaking the silence he had become used to.

Perhaps it was Morgoth�s intention to starve him to death. When it rained
he could drink it, but there was no food that fell from the sky. There was,
however, a secret way from Angband to where he was hung, several feet above.
There had once been a rock that jetted out just beneath him, but they broke it
away to elude any chance of his escape.

When they began to lower pieces of bread and rotten meat down to him, he
refused. His body may be able to survive torture, yet it could not survive lack
of food. After several weeks they told him that if he did not eat, he would be
taken down and brought back to Angband. He ate. He would not be broken.

Someone came slinking into the room. It was too dark to see whom, but they
fluffed his pillows and pulled the sweat-stuck blanket down. He thought they had
left until a cool cloth was wiped over his forehead. Though the silence did not
do well to filter out his whimpers, the darkness covered his tears.

And so he stayed for time uncounted. He had lost track of days, finding not
the strength to do so. He hung until he heard the singing�

He had heard the tale of Fingon�s valiant singing so often that the memory
failed to circulate through his mind. All that he heard was singing; his
cousin�s voice.

�Maitimo.�

Maedhros realized his eyes were closed. When he opened them a lamp had been lit
and Fingon�s face peered back at him.

�Have you forgotten the light,
little Elf?�

Now he would see his tears. He tried to brush them off. The younger stilled his
hand.

Then Fingon kissed him. This time, he did not draw away, and only wondered now
if his half-crazed confession on the back of Thorondor would, in the end, prove
to be a positive thing. He had not been rejected, at least, and now he received
a comfort that he so sorely needed.

The bleeding had been blocked as much as it could be. His cuts, too, were
cleaned with some pond water. They could not stop for long.

�F��

�Shh.�

He groaned.

�Kill me.�

�Why?�

�Because I am in love with
you.�

Then he had lost consciousness.

It ended as quickly and as sporadically as it had started. The son of Fingolfin
drew away looking like a deer in the face of a hunter�s bow.

�I will get the healers to
change your bandages.�

Maedhros stared after him as he left, quivering. Damn Fingon. Damn Fingon for
not killing him. Damn Fingon for maiming him. Damn Fingon for taking away the
comfort he needed.

Damn himself for not breaking in the iron hell

�Maitimo, Maitimo.�

He began to weep unlike he ever had since Angband.

�Cry for me, my little
prince.�

Perhaps he had been broken.

---

Author�s Notes

�The
rack is a torture device. It consists of a rectangular, usually wooden frame,
with a roller at one, or both, ends. The victim's feet are manacled to one
roller, and the wrists are chained to the other. As the interrogation
progresses, a handle and ratchet attached to the top roller is used to very
gradually stepwise increase the tension on the chains, which induces
excruciating pain as the victim's joints slowly dislocate. (Taken
from Wikipedia.)

I can only assume that, by stopping before joints would dislocate, the limbs
would at least be stretched over a long period of time. This may not be
accurate, but it suited my story.

�This
is not meant to be taken literally. Although blatantly hinting that Maedhros was
indeed raped by Morgoth, this is moreso alluding to how the Silmarils were
violated and stolen by Melkor, much like he was through the rape and
torture.
- 1
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Maitimo, Maitimo