Also, I fear I should warn for very extensive footnotes but those can easily be ignore. ;)
"Muindor, Glorfindel just gave me your letter and left me alone, so I could pen an answer. I am so grateful; I know what risk it means for you to write to me. If adar found out, I dare not imagine what he would do. Yet I am so happy that you took this risk; it means so much to me to get news from home! Have you told Drauglaur in the stables that I am well? You have not said anything about adar; I take it he still does not speak of me. Do you think that he will ever forgive me? I have never wanted to displease him, but I do not know what I could have done differently. I tried, but I know now that I will never be like you or Galuron."
With a sigh, Legolas put away the quill and tore the letter, shaking his head. He sounded like a child; this was nought but pointless self-pity. And he was no child, had not been since that one fateful afternoon at the lake... But how could he make his brother understand that? Mayhap it was time for him to admit that some things could never be changed, and no matter how much he hoped that his family would forgive him, the shame of his failure to defend himself against Glorfindel would always cling to him...
It had been a beautiful spring day, the rays of the sun so warm that both the horses and their young elven guard were content to doze among the colorful spring flowers. The air was sweet with their scent, the birds tried to best each other with their songs to woo a mate, and Legolas, youngest son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, busied himself with making a wreath of the white and yellow flowers which blossomed in abundance here at the side of the lake.
The day was so beautiful that for once, he did not mind that he had to guard the horses instead of being at home with his family. He was of no use there; at least out here he had a function to fulfill. And he liked the company of the horses. They were content to taste the new grass, play with each other and every now and then, came to let him pet them, nuzzling at his tunic in search of one of the wizened autumn apples he had taken along as luncheon.
It was, he supposed, something he should be grateful for, yet he knew that his father had not assigned him to this task because of his love for the horses. Nobody ever questioned his father's treatment of him and Legolas had never complained, but he knew what the life of his two older brothers was like, and how vastly his own differed from that.
They as well had served as guards to Mirkwood's horses, like every youth aspiring to once stand in his father's service. These were times of war, and so mounts were a precious supply, but even before the war had broken out, the agile, stout-hearted animals had aided Thranduil's guard in the defense of the forest against the encroaching darkness. No heavy-boned chargers, these - the hard life in the dangerous gloom beneath Mirkwood's boughs had bred a race of hardy animals with thick coats that defended against the cold of winter and the danger of spider-venom both.
It was an honorable task to thus guard one of the forest's riches, especially as it kept another precious commodity, the realm's youth, in the heavily guarded areas close to Thranduil's Halls where the forest was lighter and where clearings and the shores of small, dark forest lakes offered easy foraging to the horses. Still, the innocuous task of horse-guarding was usually left behind once a youth turned thirty-five, to instead take up duties as page at Thranduil's court to learn the basics of politics and courtly protocol before they were sent to training in weaponry. That was what his brothers had done, and Legolas' oldest brother Celeirdúr had shown such talent with the sword that after he reached adulthood, he had been quickly given a position as captain of a group of border guards. Thranduil was very proud of him, and all of Mirkwood's inhabitants felt secure in the knowledge that Celeirdúr would be a worthy successor to their king, should the unfortunate need ever arise.
Legolas' other brother Galuron was less gifted when it came to swordsmanship, although he could best most of the other guards. Still, he had a quick mind, found pleasure in discussions of both lore and battle tactics with his father's generals and finally found his place in being trained as his brother's advisor and tactician.
That left only Legolas; but so far, his father had shown no interest in his upbringing. His childhood was mostly spent with lessons with tutors, his free time used for dreaming. His father rarely desired to see him, and if he did, it mostly meant a lecture for Legolas while his brothers' advances in training were praised. No matter how hard Legolas tried, he could never manage to bring a smile to his father's lips, and so eventually he stopped trying, dreamed through his lessons and kept to himself. He had never had much friends, for what parents would let their child seek friendship with one who had obviously gained their King's disfavor? The only thing Legolas could look forward to was when Celeirdúr would find the time to spend a few minutes with him. Due to his duties as crown-prince and captain, that did not happen very often, but sometimes, when Celeirdúr had returned with his men from the border, he would let Legolas ride on his horse or tell him of their latest fights.
But even though his brother spent some time with him now and then, he never dared to challenge his father's treatment of Legolas, and he did not protest either when year after year passed and still Thranduil did not call Legolas back to court.
Legolas had decided that he did not care. He liked the life outside with the horses. The other youths left him alone, both because he was Thranduil's son, albeit in disfavor, and also because he was too old by now to be part of their group. There was no need to please anybody here, and Legolas spent his days dreaming in the sun-warmed grass.
Today was no different. With a smile, Legolas put the wreath of flowers on his head, wondering how long the horses would withstand the temptation to nibble on it. Then he yawned and got up. It was so warm in the sunlight that he decided to go to the lake and swim, for his hair was in need of cleaning as leaves and fir needles were stuck in it. There was time enough still to wash and then later let the sun dry his skin before it was time to return to the small telain where those not on guard could sleep.
While he slowly wandered down to the shore, he began to tug at the belt around his waist, finally loosening it to let it drop into the grass. Yet just when he began to unlace his leggings, a loud splashing alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. In surprise he took a few steps back, but when he saw who had emerged from the lake directly in front of him, he could do nothing but stare.
It was a golden-haired ellon, older than him and the most magnificent being Legolas had ever beheld. His sun-kissed skin held a golden tint, but more brightly still shone his hair which fell in thick, wet curls down his shoulders and back, a color more glorious even than Anor's rays. The water drops on his skin caught the light of the sun and glistened, and then the man shook his head so that more water ran down his chest from his hair, and stepped out of the water. Now Legolas could see that truly everything about him was magnificent, and he was blushing furiously as he had to force his eyes away from where they had strayed between the other's legs.
The stranger regarded him with an amused smile, his blue eyes as deep and as mysterious as the sky. He stretched, displaying the movement of long, hard muscles under his golden skin, and for a moment, Legolas thought that one of the Valar had come out of the water, for surely no ordinary man could possess such complete, perfect beauty.
"Are you alone, young one?" the stranger finally asked when Legolas did not move. His voice was deep and smooth, golden like the sunshine in his hair and yet laced with mystery, a dark timbre which promised alluring things and woke desires Legolas could not find names for.
"Y-yes," Legolas stuttered, blushing when he realized how awe-struck he had to appear. "Who are you?"
"It was so warm, I just wanted to take a bath," the man said without really answering the question. "Are you supposed to watch the horses?"
Legolas nodded. "The others stayed behind because Duthiel will have her foal tonight..." At the end of the sentence, his voice got softer, and he lowered his head when he realized that this man would surely not be interested in that kind of information. Once again he felt like a fool, surely nothing more like a child in the eyes of this stranger whom he found he wanted to impress more than anything, even though he knew him not.
Soft, warm laughter finally made him raise his eyes again. The other was watching him with a gaze both amused and curious. "So then... I shall keep you company today, so that you do not feel alone out here."
"I do not mind, I am used to it!" Legolas quickly answered, then bit his lip, afraid of driving away this man who brought such a strange heat to his belly. "Do you not... have more important things to do than wasting your time here? Though I do not mean that I do not want company..."
"Ah, pen neth, I do not consider this time wasted, at least not if I have such a beautiful companion to talk to." Legolas swallowed when the other stepped closer to wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him against that strong, still-wet body. "Come, let us sit down in the shade beneath those apple trees, and then you can tell me of your life here."
Legolas knew that his face was still flushed, but he could not suppress a rush of warm excitement over the interest this beautiful stranger expressed in him. The close contact made his skin tingle - when was the last time anyone had voluntarily embraced him? He was so nervous that he did not dare to speak a word for fear of saying something foolish, lest the man realize that he was not worth wasting his time on.
But the stranger did not leave; instead he pulled Legolas down beside him. The youth shyly returned the smile he was offered, and it was only then that he once more became aware of the fact that the man was still naked.
"Where are your clothes?" Legolas asked, trying in vain to not be affected by the full splendour of the virile body. "You should dress... It is colder here in the shade."
"No, I am still wet. I will wait until my hair has dried at least. Tell me, do you spend all of your time here or do you also return to the King's court now and then? Are there any news?"
"Ah, no..." Legolas whispered. Suddenly he felt ashamed that his father thought so little of him that he could not even tell this stranger about the latest events. "I am sorry, but I have been guarding the horses here for a long time. It has been weeks since I last returned to the King's Halls."
The golden-haired man sighed. "Oh well... There are other things we can do than talk about politics, I would say. Your beauty would be wasted on those dry topics anyway."
"What do you mean?" Legolas began to ask, but all of a sudden he was interrupted by warm, demanding lips which sealed his mouth. Shocked, he looked into the blue eyes of the stranger which had suddenly grown dark, like a summer sky overtaken by storm clouds. Legolas shivered. His small, frightened gasp of protest was lost against the man's mouth, was used also as a means of entry for a hot, insistent tongue. Aggressive and curious, it seemed to burn its way deep into Legolas' mouth, taking him and claiming him the same way his soul seemed to have been claimed by those mysterious eyes.
When it ended, Legolas felt lost for a moment, his body shaking in the warm spring air like he had just lost his only source of heat.
"Delicious!" the man purred and raised a hand to caress Legolas' hair which was still adorned by the wreath of flowers. "Honey and apples and flowers, you taste like a gift of the Valar. Ai, I want you! Tell me, are you still innocent? You shake like you have never been tasted before."
"No!" Legolas finally protested when he regained his voice, his hands pushing hard against the other's broad chest. "I do not want this; let me go!"
"No, hên lend... You are ripe; I can feel your need to be taken! I can smell it on your skin, and it would be folly to let such beauty go to waste. Those other guards must be blind that they have not made you share their beds! But I am no such fool. I will see you fall apart beneath me, teach your body what it feels like to completely surrender, so that you will never touch another again without thinking of my face."
"No!" Legolas protested again, his panic rising, and he tried to escape from the man's grasp once more. But his opponent was stronger, more experienced by far, and managed to escape Legolas' kicks with a smile. Finally, as he grew more and more afraid, Legolas bit the arm which held him prisoner in his despair, wriggling out of the other's grasp when the man pulled his hurt arm back with an annoyed groan.
Legolas managed a few steps before he was once again overtaken. The other's heavy body landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground with his weight while his hands began to yank at Legolas' clothes.
"Stop it! Let me go!" Legolas begged, still trying to escape, but this time the cruel stranger made sure he kept away from the youth's mouth.
"No, I will not." He gave Legolas a cold smile, unmoved by the youth's panic. "You will be mine, if only because you have drawn my blood. For that, I will see the blood of your innocence spilled today..."
Legolas shook his head. Cold panic curled in his belly, made him shake and gasp for air, but still, despite the way his body reacted to the threat, his mind could not comprehend the reality of his situation. Nobody had ever touched him; nobody had ever shown any interest in him whatsoever; and what this stranger now threatened him with was so far removed from all he had so far experienced in his life that he felt a strange detachment, as if what was happening to him could be nothing but a bad dream.
But when the fabric of his tunic gave and was torn from his body with a loud, ripping sound, panic returned even worse than before. There was no thought left, just fear, panic, the need to get away no matter how. Again he struggled with all his strength, but the man now took his torn tunic and bound his wrists with it, and then Legolas could no longer even try to defend himself.
"Why?" he gasped helplessly, unable to understand why another would want to hurt him. What had he done to deserve this? He did not know the stranger, had never met him before; he did not understand what could make the man do this to him. And then he could no longer think when his leggings were stripped down and a hand spread his thighs, cupping his soft member and his balls in a warm palm.
Legolas began to cry silently. He did not understand what he had done wrong, why he was being punished in such a way. "Please, please, don't..." he whispered, begged, repeated his pathetic plea again and again like a desperate prayer, but his words were not heard. A thick finger brushed against his opening, then forced its way inside, and Legolas almost choked on the sob that fled his lips. It hurt, it burned and Legolas bit so hard down on his lip that he could taste his own blood as the finger was joined by another. Together they stretched him out, and it felt as if they were trying to tear him apart from the inside.
"Ai, Elbereth, leithio nin," he sobbed as the fingers drove yet deeper into him. "Ada, help me, ada..." But once again his father was not there for him, had left him all alone, and deep inside Legolas knew that it was too late now, that this man would do what he wanted and then leave him here to die of his shame.
"Ada, ada..." he whimpered one last time, his eyes open but unseeing as tears continued to fall. He had stopped moving, had surrendered himself to his despair, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he waited for the moment his heart would break and save him from the pain.
Glorfindel stripped beneath one of the trees which grew along the side of the small lake. It was a beautiful spring day and the sun was shining down on him; and as he had nothing to do until nightfall, he had decided to risk a quick bath to wash the grime of travel from his body, though he was deep into enemy territory now. So far he had seen no one, but he knew that there were usually youths around to guard the horses. The area was thought safe by the King's advisors as it was so close to Thranduil's Halls and the paths heavily patrolled, yet Glorfindel knew better - he himself had easily evaded the attention of any soldiers so far, and with the help of Ithil's light, he hoped to get close enough to Thranduil's caves tonight to mayhap find out where they held their prisoners.
For now, though, all he craved was a bath...
He slipped into the water silently, careful not to raise any traitorous waves, and as soon as the water was deep enough, he let himself sink down until he was completely submerged, delighting in the coldness that at last washed the sweat from his overheated skin.
He swam beneath the surface until he reached a small inlet, and only there, where rocks and a gathering of old, withered wood protected him from the eyes of any observers, did he dare to come up again. But still nobody was to be seen, and so he rested his back against the sun-warmed surface of a rock and enjoyed the cool water and the quiet, which was only disturbed by the singing of birds. It was then that he saw someone move towards the shore, a youth clad in the simple, green tunic worn by those who guarded the horses. He seemed to be a little too old to still fulfill that task, but... he was beautiful! Glorfindel stared at him, took in the slender body, the graceful movements, the long, straight hair unbound, save for two simple braids of youth at his temples. He seemed like innocence incarnate, the pale gold of his hair reflecting the sunlight as he moved towards the lake, and in that moment, Glorfindel knew he had to have him, secrecy be damned. He had lurked too long in the murky darkness of Thranduil's forest to deny himself this - and his mission could still be accomplished. He could bind and gag the youth if the need arose, yet that might not even be necessary, he thought, for what did a horse-guard know of the war? With his golden hair, Glorfindel did not look like a Noldo, and if the youth grew too curious, there were numerous cover-stories to be told. After all, had not many of the Silvans of Lórien left the Golden Wood behind for Mirkwood's gloom? He might be just such a newcomer - out here such a story would not be met with suspicion, for who would expect Elrond's seneschal and Captain of the Guard in the very heart of Thranduil's realm?
Very carefully he once again submerged himself into the water and then swam beneath the surface towards where the youth was standing. He saw the surprise on his face when he came up, surprise and awe - but no panic. Glorfindel allowed himself a small smile. A true innocent then, naïve and sheltered... delectable. He would take his innocence in the sunlight and make him disturb the quietness of the Greenwood with loud moans.
Glorfindel almost laughed out loud when the youth trembled in his arms while he kissed him deeply. Oh yes, innocent, but so wanton... And with the flowers in his hair, he looked like a sacrificial offering whose purity would be taken as a show of reverence.
Only that when Glorfindel ended the kiss, instead of sweet submission the youth's eyes showed only panic, and he began to struggle...
It annoyed Glorfindel, whose patience was already worn thin by the covertcy of his mission and his powerlessness, by being unable to help when he knew that some of his men were held and mayhap even tortured somewhere close by. He, a veteran of battles ages past, could only laugh at the stable-boy's attempts to get free, and so he dodged the kicks without effort until he felt a sudden, stinging pain in his arm. The young Sinda had bitten him in his panic, and in his surprise, Glorfindel had released the youth.
As he stared at the small trickle of blood on his skin, he felt a dark rage well up within him. There had been a deep, burning anger inside Glorfindel ever since he had seen how a company of Sindarin warriors mistreated a Noldorin captive earlier that day. He was not used to helplessness, and yet he had been unable to do anything but watch, for to attack would have destroyed any chance to maybe free that prisoner and more of his men during the coming nights.
And now, when the youth's teeth broke his skin, the pain made him lose control, allowing his anger to rule over his actions at last. He threw himself onto the slighter body, held him to the ground with his weight while he ripped the clothes away. Oh yes, the youth was beautiful, pale and untouched and so pure that he wanted to rip his innocence away, destroy it in pain and blood just like this one's kin had done to his captured men.
He spread the Sinda's thighs apart, touched his soft member and revelled in the helpless little sobs this produced. Oh yes... He would show him how it felt to be abused, just as had been done to his men! He pushed one finger forcefully into the tight opening, felt the slender body shake with pain and fear, then added another finger. The virgin muscle stretched tautly around them as if this was the utmost the youth's body could take, but Glorfindel knew that those two fingers could not compare by far to the girth of his erection. The thought of how tight the Sinda would feel to him made him rouse to aching hardness, and suddenly he could wait no longer. He pulled his fingers out and hastily positioned his swollen cock, then gripped the youth's hips and pushed himself deep into his body with a lustful groan, using brutal strength to overcome the resistance of the too-tight entrance.
The Sinda did not scream, and that was what made Glorfindel stop.
The body felt delicious to him, hot and tight and trembling around him, but when he looked down, he saw that the youth's face was wet with tears. He was ghostly pale, blood trickled from where he had bitten his lip to stifle his scream and his head had rolled to the side, eyes unfocused as he again and again whimpered for his ada in a pitifully thin voice.
Suddenly, Glorfindel felt sick. This was not what he had wanted to do! He had been angry, vengeful, had felt the need to hurt until all he could think about was to punish the young Sinda, but this... this was sick. This was rape, brutal, horrible rape, of an innocent no less, and while he had often enjoyed it to make a reluctant lover submit to his will, he had never resorted to pure force before.
Now he was no better than those Sindarin warriors...
"I am sorry, child," he whispered and lowered his head to the youth's face, tenderly kissing the tears from his cheeks. "Shh, do not cry, I will not hurt you anymore...I will show you pleasure, I promise!"
The Sinda did not react to his words, but he had stopped calling for his ada, lying still on the ground as if he had given up all hope. Glorfindel lovingly cupped a pale cheek in his palm and guided the blood-covered lips to his own. He cleaned the blood away with his tongue, then gently sucked the full lower lip into his mouth, caressing it, tasting the sweetness of the youth before he once more invaded the Sinda's mouth with his tongue. This time he went slowly, gave him tenderness instead of forcing him into submission. He tasted him gently, took his time to explore and caress the heat of his mouth, until at last awareness returned to the youth's eyes and his body began to weakly struggle against his captor once more.
"Shh," Glorfindel whispered. "Do not be afraid, I will make the pain go away..." Once again he kissed the soft, swollen lips while he wrapped one hand around the youth's member, coaxing the limp flesh to swell in his hands until it finally rested hard against the Sinda's belly, droplets of silvery essence dripping down to glisten on his pale skin. The youth was crying once more, but this time, Glorfindel could hear his breath hitch as unwanted, soft moans escaped the bitten lips, showing the pleasure his body was forced to experience.
Glorfindel smiled. This was much better... He would show the little Sinda pleasure, make his body writhe in lust and need. He would not be remembered because of the pain he had caused, no - the youth would spend his nights thinking of how he had moaned in Glorfindel's arms, what pleasure he had experienced in submitting to his enemy.
"Surrender to me," he whispered seductively. "Beauty such as yours should be used, should be owned... I will show you what you were meant for, little beauty."
He forced himself to patiently wait for a while, his hands bringing the youth again and again to the brink of orgasm only to deny him release, until Glorfindel finally had the Sinda where he wanted him. The thin shoulders beneath him were shaking and the pale skin was damp with sweat. Tears were still sticking to the youth's long lashes, glistening like dew in the morning sun, and when Glorfindel lowered his head to kiss them away, the slender body arched up with a breathless moan, thighs involuntarily spreading to give him better access to his swollen shaft.
"Do not feel shame, child; just accept that this is your place. 'Tis what you were made for, to give pleasure in such a way, to receive pleasure as well if the one mastering your body is merciful..." Glorfindel took hold of a slender legs, resting it on his shoulder, then he began to move again. He moved slowly this time, gently rocking into the tense body instead of thrusting, but nevertheless the motion produced more pained moans, and once again tears ran down the pale cheeks. Glorfindel kissed them away in fascination, pleased beyond what he would have thought possible at how completely he possessed this young beauty, forcing the Sinda to learn that Glorfindel was master over his pain and pleasure both - as so many other former lovers had been forced to learn. Then he pushed inside a little harder and suddenly, with a thin whimper, the body clenched around him, hips bucking up when Glorfindel brushed again and again against the spot which brought the youth such pleasure.
"See, I told you that you would enjoy this," he purred in triumph and took the Sinda's sweet mouth once more, master and victor both now, as it should be. He continued to rock into the trembling body, giving pleasure because it pleased him, not because it was the youngling's due. At last a pained moan was breathed against his lips when the youth came in his hand, as sweetly submissive in his climax as any of his well-trained lovers, and Glorfindel allowed himself to be taken over the edge as well by the friction of the clenching muscles, gloating at how easily he had broken in this fractious colt.
Still pale and too confused to truly understand what had happened to him, Legolas whimpered softly when the man spilled himself into his tight passage, the torn muscle burning as it was coated with hot seed; and when he pulled out, the sharp pain once again took away Legolas' breath and forced new tears.
The stranger chuckled and pulled the unresisting youth to rest against his chest. "Stop crying, you will be healed by tomorrow. It is supposed to hurt, in any case, so that you will never forget that it was me who you have lain beneath the first time. And you enjoyed it, do not deny it; it came naturally to you. Your body knew what your mind did not yet, that you shall find true pleasure only ever in defeat, using that sweet body to serve your betters."
Legolas was still panting for breath. His body felt like it was floating, glowing with the most exquisite pleasure he had ever experienced and at the same time aflame with excruciating pain, and yet there was some strange barrier, detaching those sensations from his body as if he experienced them through a veil of mist. He shook his head slightly, trying to get rid of the haze which clouded his thoughts. "Let - let me go," he finally rasped, using his shoulder to push himself up to his knees only to curl up into a shaking ball again as more of the man's essence trickled out of him, burning on his torn skin.
Again arms closed around him and pulled him back against a broad chest, and then once more fingers strayed between his legs and entered him. Legolas sobbed in helpless despair as they drove deeply into him, stretched him beyond what he thought he could endure. When they were finally pulled out, covered with blood and semen, the golden-haired stranger wiped them on Legolas' belly and laughed softly. "You are not hurt that much; you will soon start to heal. Be thankful," he then continued in a darker tone, "I could have treated you like your warriors treat their captives, and then you would have been in agony for days. Instead I gave you pleasure... Or do you want to deny that?"
Legolas turned his face away, tried to block out the cruel voice, but the man did not allow him to ignore his words. He trailed his fingers through the sticky mess on Legolas' belly, then held them up for the youth to see his own blood, mingled with his essence and that of his captor, glistening on them.
"See? You enjoyed this, child - did you not? Come, admit it!"
When Legolas turned his face away again without answering, the man grew angry once more and pushed him onto his back, running his sticky fingers over Legolas' cheeks, his lips, leaving trails of white fluid on his skin before he finally forced them into Legolas' mouth. The youth flinched away in disgust but could neither escape nor wipe his face as his wrists were still bound behind his back.
"Taste it, little beauty. That is what your innocence tastes like, your innocence and the pleasure it gave me to take it from you. Do not deny your own pleasure - admit it!" the man threatened, and Legolas shook his head while new tears escaped his eyes. He began to struggle which made the other growl with impatient annoyance, and then there were the fingers again, hurting him, entering him so roughly that he was sobbing with pain once more.
"Stop it!" he begged helplessly, but the man only laughed before he began to curl his fingers, brushing again and again against a place which made Legolas arch beneath him. He gripped the youth's quickly hardening organ, massaged it to full hardness while Legolas could still feel those fingers inside him. They pushed ever deeper, exploring that most intimate place with casual cruelty, spreading him open until Legolas could do no more but sob and give in, accepting the bursts of pain-tinged pleasure because there was nothing else for him now. Utterly defeated, his body trembled under the onslaught of insidious pleasure, and at last he found himself almost out of his mind with need, moaning, sighing, pleading without knowing what he was saying, what it was he wanted.
"Do you like this?" the man breathed hotly into his ear, and Legolas whimpered.
"Yes, yes, please," he begged as he writhed between the demanding fingers. Tears of shame escaped his eyes as he was rolled onto his stomach, pulled up to his knees so that he could feel the other man's hardness rub against his cleft.
"Do you want this?" the stranger asked again, his voice deep and seductive. He followed the question with another demanding pull on Legolas' aching member, and the youth just gave in, forgetting all pride, all shame as he pushed back against the hardness, begged to be taken.
It hurt like the first time when he was forced open by what felt impossibly large, impossibly hot; but just when Legolas' knees gave out and he slumped forward with a thin sound of pain, the man pushed deep into him, and once more the pain vanished beneath a veil of passion which banished all other sensations. There was only pleasure, lust, wanton abandon beneath the strong hands that held him up against the body which possessed him so completely, until he came again with a long, shuddering moan, followed by a throaty growl as the stranger reached completion inside him as well.
This time Legolas was too weak to even think of flight. His body was still trembling, his mind exhausted beyond belief by all the conflicting sensations he had to endure. All Legolas wanted was to curl up in his bed beneath the cover where no one would find him, but the golden-haired stranger still held him tightly in his arms and prevented escape. Legolas knew that he was still in danger, should try to flee, should at least stay awake lest the man hurt him even more, but he was so exhausted, his mind desperately needing the refuge only true sleep could bring it while his hurt body needed the energy to start healing.
"Yes, sleep, child," the man whispered intimately against his lips, languid with sated triumph. "Sleep, and never forget my face. Never forget that it was Glorfindel of Imladris who took your innocence and showed you pleasure."
When he heard that name, Legolas' eyes filled with horror, but it was too late. Sleep had already come over him, for the need of his hurt body and wounded fëa was too great; and so his head sank against Glorfindel's chest in a gesture of seeming trust as his eyes closed for the healing only deepest sleep could bring.
Legolas was alone when he woke several hours later. The shadows were getting longer, and for one moment, he wondered why he had fallen asleep when it had been his task to guard the horses. Then he moved, and hot pain shot through his belly, made him gasp and curl up on the ground. He remembered now, remembered how that golden-haired man had overpowered him, made use of him...
With a soft sob, Legolas pulled himself up to his knees. It hurt, it hurt so much, and he felt terribly sore and - used. He felt used, inside and out. He felt like he was not himself anymore; this had to be another's body... How could such a thing have happened to him, Legolas, who had lived all his life without even contemplating that such a crime could be done to him, as though he were a thing instead of a person?
But the evidence of what had happened was still there: dried semen, sticking to his skin, mingled with dark traces of his own blood. And he reeked! Sex, lust, the stranger's sweat -- the scent clung to his skin, made him feel dirty. Slowly he got up, whimpering softly at the ache between his legs. It hurt to move, but he could not stay here, not like this, he needed to get clean... He stumbled forward until he reached the shore, and then simply let himself fall forward into the shallow water, resting on hands and knees, his head bowed. The cool water played around his body, soothed his aching flesh at least a little, and finally, Legolas found enough strength to weakly scrub at the spots of dried seed on his skin. Tears ran down his face while he cleaned himself, but he was so caught up in the task of removing all traces of what had been done to him that he did not even notice. All he could think of was what had happened to him; it replayed in his mind again and again. The man's words, the weight of his body, the pain -- and yes, the pleasure. The ultimate humiliation as he writhed beneath him in wanton abandon, as he begged for more.
"Disgusting!" he sobbed out loud, "I am disgusting! You were right to send me away, ada!" He settled on his knees, wrapped his arms around his body as he shook with the force of his sobs. He had not wanted it -- but he had begged for it, had he not? And now... Now he felt so dirty, and he knew that he would never be clean again. He had surrendered himself to a Noldo, to an enemy of their kingdom, and not just any enemy! Glorfindel, the infamous Balrog-slayer whom his father had so often cursed, good friend and right hand of Elrond Peredhil!
"Ai!" Legolas moaned, "Ai, ada! Forgive me! I did not know! I did not mean to betray you!"
But it was too late now; he could not change what had happened. He was tainted, would always be. He would never be able to forget Glorfindel's face, or the way his body had so easily surrendered to the pleasure the Noldo had forced on him, just like Glorfindel had told him he would. He had been shown his weakness, his failings as a prince of their people, and by an enemy no less...
His tears continued to run down his face and drip into the lake while he knelt in the water, shaking as he fully realized what had happened. All the times he had dreamed of finally being given a chance to win their father's love... It would never happen now. He could never be a prince like his brothers were, respected and loved, for he would always remember just how weak he truly was.
Had his father known? Had he somehow been aware of his worthlessness,his depravity, and not allowed him to return to court because of that?
"You were right, ada..." Legolas whispered brokenly. "I'm not worth your love... I will no longer dream of returning. I will stay a horse-guard, here where I cannot shame you again..."
He stood, the water dripping from his body. The sun was already low, the shadows long; a cool wind touched his skin, but he did not feel the cold. Neither did he feel the pain of his abused body - all he felt was exhaustion. It stifled every thought like a dark blanket, made him want to simply forget everything that had happened and just hide somewhere, to lose himself in sleep for weeks until all had passed from his thoughts.
Slowly, he made his way out of the water to where his clothes were still lying in the grass. He dressed with stiff movements, then began the walk back to the telain, his arms wrapped around his waist to keep his torn tunic closed. He wanted nothing more than to sleep; sleep until all this had vanished, until his life was back to what it had been before.
It took a week until Legolas dared to go out to the lake again.
The first day he had spent in his bed, crying silently as he again and again lived through how he had betrayed their people. But Glorfindel had been right in one thing, at least -- the torn muscle had mended and the pain had lessened a little. Yet nevertheless he felt terribly sore, and when he carefully applied a healing ointment to his opening, the skin felt hot and swollen beneath his fingers, bringing new tears of shame to his eyes as he remembered what Glorfindel had done.
The next day, it had been his turn once more to guard the horses at the lake side, but since another mare had to stay at the stables, Legolas volunteered to watch her for the next days. It was lonely and boring work to stay inside the stable with only the sick mare for company, but Legolas was glad that he did not have to move much, for he still felt the result of being stretched so thoroughly. And furthermore, although he did not want to admit it even to himself, he was deeply frightened of going back to where he had met Glorfindel for the first time. What if he was still around? And Legolas thought that he would rather die than live through such a thing again...
It made him feel even more ashamed to know that unbeknownst to their guards, there was a spy in their midst - Glorfindel of Imladris, infamous for his heroics in ages past, and much hated by his father. Surrendering to him, moaning for him in wanton lust was one thing, but to not warn his father of this danger in their midst was a further, much graver betrayal. Yet no matter how much Legolas wanted to tell his father or one of his advisors, he could not. Telling them about Glorfindel's presence would lead to questions, and he could not answer them... He could not. No one could know of the shame he had brought upon himself. He did not want to see disgust in his father's eyes, not when the hope of making him smile with pride one day was the only hope he had left; and so he resigned himself to staying with the horses for the rest of his life.
And certainly Glorfindel was back in Imladris by now, Legolas tried to reason with himself. It would be dangerous to stay here for a longer time; no matter how cunning the Noldo might be, Mirkwood's guards would find traces of him sooner or later. No, Glorfindel would have left days ago, and he would never see him again. It would be safe at the lake, for three other horse-guards were already there; he would not be alone this time.
And yet, when Legolas once more reached the tree beneath which the Noldo had taken him, he began to tremble and had to fight the urge to run back to their telain and hide there. But then he heard one of the other youths call his name, and he followed the summon with a relieved sigh. He was not alone now, and he was not that naïve anymore either. This would never happen to him again... He would stay with the horses, and somehow, things would be like they were before.
Nevertheless, when his fortieth begetting day arrived a week later, he was no longer so certain that he indeed wanted things to remain as they had been before. In the weeks before he had met Glorfindel, he had dreamed of his father calling him back to court, giving him an assignment - giving him his attention, his love... And yet, deep inside he had always known that such a thing would never come to pass. Now, after what had happened, he was afraid of meeting him and being known for the wanton traitor he truly was; for certainly the taint on his fëa had to be visible to his father. Yet still there was a small part inside him which wanted nothing more than to be enclosed in his father's arms, to weep and be comforted by his embrace like a child.
That dream died when on the morning of his begetting day, a missive arrived. It was a letter from his father -- no, a letter in his father's name, written and signed by one of his advisors. In a few short sentences, Legolas was told that because of the ongoing conflict with Imladris, his father did not think it appropriate to celebrate, and so Legolas should remain with the horses on his begetting day and do his duty, as every other inhabitant of Mirkwood also did.
Legolas had long since thought himself steeled against his father's lack of interest in him, and yet now he could not hold back his tears. He did not want to cry, yet he could not suppress the tears which ran down his cheeks. It hurt to feel so abandoned... After all these years, it still hurt so much to be shown just how little was thought of him. Furiously, he wiped at his eyes, but still more tears escaped until he finally threw the letter to the ground and ran. He was running without aim; all he wanted was to leave everything behind, his father, Glorfindel, the pain and, above all, the failure he himself had proved to be.
He had no idea how much time had passed - it could have been hours or mere minutes until at last his legs refused to carry him any further, and he sank to the ground beneath an old, gnarled oak. For long minutes he sat there, gasping for air, crying and hating himself for being so pathetic, so dependent on his father's attention - until suddenly he heard a twig snap. And when he looked up, he found that it was Glorfindel who stood in front of him, Glorfindel who answered his tearful gaze with detached curiosity.
Legolas could not move or speak. He knew that he was trembling, but he could not get up; he was completely paralyzed with fear, Glorfindel's eyes holding him captive. Several moments passed during which the Noldo was apparently content to watch the frightened youth in front of him, until at last he moved and broke the spell.
Legolas flinched back violently when Glorfindel knelt down in front of him; yet as he sat with his back to the tree and Glorfindel's hands now rested on the bark right and left of his shoulders, there was no way of escape for him.
"Why are you crying, child?" Glorfindel asked in pleased surprise. "Is it because you missed my touch? Have you been yearning for me?"
Legolas shook his head, trembling when he realized how helpless he was. "No, please... just leave me alone!" he begged. His voice was weak, and he loathed himself for how he had allowed this to happen to him again - yet what could he do against the Noldo's strength?
Glorfindel's eyes seemed to see right through him, as if he could see every thought Legolas sought to hide, and the youth shook his head, beseeching his cruel captor for mercy though he knew there would be none.
"Ah, I would if it were indeed what you desire, but... You do not speak the truth, do you? You do not want me to go. I know that you enjoyed what I did, missed what only I could give you, for there were no guards searching for me. You did not tell anyone that you gave yourself to me, did you?" Glorfindel was still smiling, studying Legolas with amused curiosity, and at his words Legolas' eyes widened in shock. Then he quickly lowered his gaze as if afraid of what he had seen in them, shying away from Glorfindel's hand that tried to raise his chin.
"No!" he protested in helpless despair, "no, I did not miss you! Leave me be!"
"I do not think so!" Glorfindel breathed against his cheek. "You are blushing, little beauty... Does it arouse you to think of what I did to you? Tell me, did you think of me when you touched yourself at night?"
"No! No, please, just let me go! I will not tell anyone!" Legolas begged, his panic rising once more when Glorfindel's fingers lazily tugged open the lacing of his tunic, tracing the soft skin of his chest with a pleased sigh.
"Why should I? I was bored... Yet now that you are here, there are ways to entertain myself. And I know that you will not tell anyone, just as you did not tell them the last time."
Legolas was shaking with fear. Glorfindel was too close, his amused, blue eyes directly in front of his own, his lips only a hair's breadth away from his own mouth... Legolas was enveloped by his scent, surrounded by his golden hair, once more a prisoner of the Noldo's charisma. It frightened him, the way he felt like a helpless small animal which had fallen prey to a predator whenever the man looked at him, but he was not able to fight against that fear. And Glorfindel's words, and the memories they brought, finally supplied the needed incentive to let panic win over paralyzation.
Legolas jerked back from Glorfindel's touch, threw himself with all his weight against one of the man's arms that barred his way; yet all he succeeded in was to tumble into the grass with Glorfindel on top, who had quickly reacted and grabbed the youth's arm.
Legolas fought against Glorfindel's hold, but he stood no chance against the experienced warrior. It only took a moment until Glorfindel had bent one of Legolas' arms back, threatening to break it should the youth continue to struggle. Sobbing softly in complete, helpless despair, Legolas ceased all motion, surrendering himself to the Noldo. It was too late now; he would be hurt once more. He had run to escape the pain his father kept causing him, only to find new humiliation, new pain at the hands of one who had already taken everything Legolas had held dear. Was this then the Valar's gift on his begetting day, to make him realize the full amount of his weakness, his worthlessness?
Legolas closed his eyes, not wanting to see the disgust the Noldo had to feel as he gave in to his despair. He was crying, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs, waiting for the man to start touching him, hurting him, as he had done before. But when he finally felt Glorfindel's hands, they did not brutally rip his clothes off... Slowly and gently, the Noldo turned him around until he rested against his chest.
"Shh, little one," Glorfindel soothed. "Do not be afraid. It does not always have to be painful... Beg me to be gentle with you, and I will not hurt you this time."
Legolas closed his eyes, trembling helplessly against him. What good was it to resist? He would only be hurt again -- and he did not think he could take any more pain. All he wanted was for this to stop, for everything to stop, as it almost had the last time, before he had made his shame complete by enjoying the vile things that had been done to him.
There must have been something he had done, he thought in resignation, something which made people enjoy to cause him hurt, for he had been hurt so often... Yet he could not remember such a thing, no matter how hard he tried. It seemed as if life had never been different for him, a long chain of rejection and despair, and that he had always only felt so wrong and hopeless.
"Beg, little beauty..." Glorfindel whispered once more into his ear, so seductive with his fake tenderness. And why should he care if it was only faked? It would be more than his father had ever given him. Why not simply give in and hope that he would not be hurt anymore? All the other alternatives meant pain, and Legolas could bear no more of it.
With a sigh he stilled, his head resting against the man's shoulder, his lips brushing the golden hair. He closed his eyes in surrender, abandoning himself to whatever the Noldo would do to him. "Please... Please be gentle," he breathed, new tears falling from his eyes to soak into Glorfindel's tunic.
"Very good, child!" Glorfindel stroked his hair, rewarding him with a tender kiss for his abasement. "And now beg me to take you."
Legolas flinched, then bowed his head as more tears ran down his cheeks. It did not matter anymore. It was too late for courage, too late to think about how he betrayed his people by allowing this. He was already tainted, a traitor, and no matter what else happened now, he would never be able to forget the extent of his shame again.
"Please take me, take me gently," he finally whispered. He trembled as he gave himself over to whatever the Noldo might want to do to him, knowing that he deserved no gentleness but only pain, for his wanton lusts had not let him find escape even in death; and so this had to be the punishment the Valar had decreed for his sins.
Legolas spent the following days as if in a daze. Glorfindel had stayed true to his promise and not hurt him; but although Legolas was able to move without the discomfort the first encounter had left, now the fear was back. He feared that Glorfindel would search him out again, that he could never feel secure again in this forest that he was the only home he had ever known. And above all, there was the shame...
He felt shame for allowing this to happen, shame that he had not fought Glorfindel off. And there was the even deeper shame of being a traitor in truth now, because he willingly allowed a Noldorin spy to stay in their wood without telling his father. Who knew what plans might come of this -- the Noldor could be planning a surprise attack. It would be his fault if people died!
And still, he felt paralyzed, as if a layer of coldest ice enveloped his thoughts, his mind. He was not able to forget what had happened; he could not move on. Again and again he remembered what Glorfindel had done to him, what he had made him feel, and yet no matter how much he wept at night, he could never find the strength in himself to act. He could not tell them of his shame, not even if his silence endangered their kingdom. It would be to admit that everything they had ever said or thought of him was true, and he could not abase himself before them in such a way, even though he had abased himself so eagerly for Glorfindel.
The only thing he wanted was to be left alone now. He wanted to hide, to spend his time alone with only the horses for company. He did not need the friendship of others, did not want his father to acknowledge his existence anymore, and above all, he did not want to meet Glorfindel ever again.
And at least that last wish was granted him. The Noldo did not appear again. If this meant that he had left Mirkwood or had lost interest in him, Legolas did not know or care about; all he knew was that slowly, his fear diminished after his life had returned to its usual quiet routine after some weeks.
And yet, that routine was shattered by some very strange changes in his body which Legolas could find no explanation for. He felt different, ever since he had been with Glorfindel for the first time. At first, he had thought that it was because his body was still healing, but weeks later the strange feeling was still there and he was not certain what it could mean. He had never felt anything like it before; it felt as if something deep inside him had changed... But he had not the least idea what that could be. And during the last few days, he had felt nauseous as soon as he woke and was often unable to keep his food down. It scared him, for such bouts of sickness were unheard of among his people, with the sole exception of poison.
Yet Legolas was certain that he had not eaten anything poisonous, and after some days, he was relieved that his condition did not seem to be worsening, although he still was frequently sick. He knew that he should go and see a healer, but he did not dare to. Somehow he was certain that this was all connected to Glorfindel, and although his wounds were healed by now, he was scared of showing his body to others, always fearing that they might be able to see the taint Glorfindel's touch had left on his skin.
It took a few more weeks until a new change occurred, which this time was finally enough to make Legolas realize that he could no longer simply ignore his condition. His belly had begun to swell; it was hard and slightly rounded; and although it was not visible to any of the other youths, Legolas felt that something was seriously wrong with him. Something he could no longer ignore -- he needed to see a healer. And that meant returning to his father's court...
The healer's eyes refused to meet his as he turned to the window after having examined Legolas.
"What is wrong with me?" the youth asked quietly, and the healer shook his head, waiting with his answer as if he was not quite certain himself.
"You are pregnant," he finally said, still not meeting Legolas' eyes although his voice was completely devoid of emotion. "I do not know how you managed this, but I will have to tell the King."
"No!" Legolas quickly protested, shaking his head in fear. "This is impossible, you must have made a mistake! You cannot tell him such a thing!"
The man turned around at last, his eyes cold as he looked the youth over. "So, he truly never told you... It is possible, rare, but possible, and that curse has apparently resurfaced once more in the royal line."
"But... how..." Legolas paled and started to shake. Glorfindel. Oh, merciful Valar, did that mean that he was pregnant with Glorfindel's child?
"How? I am quite certain you of all people know how this happened," the healer said with a sneer. "And you can explain that to your Lord father. I am certain that he will want to know more about the how!"
"My father -- ai, please do not tell him! I will... I will do it myself."
Legolas closed his tunic with trembling fingers and got up, trying to resign himself to his fate. This would be very, very bad. In truth, he was not certain whether he would ever leave his father's Halls again. Would his father even listen to him before ordering him thrown into a cell? And oh, Elbereth, when he asked after the child's father...
Yet now that the healer knew, there was no way he could escape this, or even stall. There was no compassion in the man's eyes, only derision, which Legolas well knew he had earned.
"Very well; I believe the King is currently in the Great Hall, holding council with his advisors."
The smirk on the healer's lips made Legolas realize that it would not help to ask for a few hours of delay until he could see his father alone. He had seen this happen too often, the delight some people took in seeing him humiliated, though he had never understood why - and in the end, did it truly matter? In some hours, certainly the entire kingdom would know and feel validated in their dislike of him...
Slowly and with his head bowed, he went to the Great Hall. He could hear the voice of his father from afar, angrily cutting through the quarreling of his advisors until they quieted. Legolas felt his despair grow. His father was already angry, and in a few moments, that anger would rise to a new height.
Legolas was afraid. If his father found out that it was Glorfindel he had given himself to, that he carried the child of a Noldo... Banishment would be his best option, death another which he would not quite put beneath his father either. It was well-known that the King loathed Glorfindel almost as much as Elrond, for the reborn Noldo had proved a formidable foe, vicious warrior and shrewd tactician both.
And yet, would they even believe him when he claimed that Glorfindel had overpowered him? Would they not look at him with derision, whispering to each other about how only he would try and use such a claim to make himself seem more important than he was?
There as no more time to think of an alternative, though, for in a few minutes, his fate would be decided.
With a sigh, Legolas opened the door of heavy oak and entered the hall. His father's advisors quieted when they saw him and let him walk through their ranks undisturbed, until at last he stood in front of his father's throne. For a short moment, he believed to see something like pain in the King's eyes, but then all emotion left them and he was instead greeted by coldness.
"Legolas," he was addressed sharply. "What brings you here, failing your duties as guard?"
"I am sorry, adar," Legolas said softly, already feeling the weight of his father's dislike, and all too aware that after this day, his father would never again be able to look at him without disgust. "I come from the healer. I have to tell you that... I am with child."
Silence filled the hall. None of the advisors dared to speak. Finally it was Thranduil who overcame his shock with the help of the anger Legolas had already anticipated.
"Who was it?" Thranduil's voice was deathly quiet. "Tell me, whore, who did you seduce? None of your fellow guards - they know better than to risk my ire. They were forbidden to touch you!"
Legolas gasped at his father's admission. "Forbidden? Then - you knew?"
"Yes, I knew of your weakness, Legolas," Thranduil said, his lips curled in disgust. "But that does not matter - I want a name. You will tell me, or spend the rest of your life in the dungeons. Who was it?"
"It was a... a human!" Legolas lied in desperation. If his father knew about Glorfindel, whom he loathed as much as Elrond himself... They would both be killed, Legolas was certain of that. His father would not let the bastard of one of his greatest enemies live - and neither would the whore who had lain down for him.
Yet as much as Legolas himself was shocked and scared about carrying the Noldo's child, he could not let any harm come to it. He could feel the tiny spark nurtured inside him, a part of his fëa, and yet a fëa all of its own. As impossible as the healer's words should have seemed, he had realized their truth as soon as he finally knew what words to put to what had changed inside him.
"A human, adar," he whispered in resignation, head bowed for he knew that no matter what his father decided, he could not stay here. There would be no life here for the bastard of a Noldo. "A man; he had entered the wood without notice of our guards. But he is gone now..."
"A human?" Thranduil stood and took a threatening step towards Legolas, his eyes dark with anger. " You lay with a human, with someone you do not even know? Do you have no self-respect? How dare you do this to me, whore!"
Legolas gasped in shock when the back of his father's hand connected with his face. He took a few steps back, bringing his hand to his hurting cheek in disbelief. "Please, I did not know, adar!" he pleaded, his eyes filling with tears even though he had known that his father would never forgive him for such a thing.
"You are a disgrace! You are no longer my son!" Thranduil exclaimed in violent anger, his face reddening with rage. "Go, crawl back to your human with your belly full, if he will even want to feed a whore and its bastard!"
Legolas flinched and took another step back as if his father had hit him again. "But, ada..." he whispered plaintively, tears running down his face. How could his father just send him away?
"Leave! Leave me kingdom and never return!" Maddened beyond reason, Thranduil pulled his sword from its scabbard to threaten his youngest son with the gleaming blade. "Or I will end this here myself, I swear it!"
Legolas sobbed, blinded by tears as he turned around and fled. There was no clear thought left in him, only the need to get away as far as possible. He had no friends, no allies, had never even left Mirkwood before... But there was the child now, and somewhere, there had to be a place where he would not be turned away. Helplessly wiping at his tears, he mounted his mare and urged her forward, faster and faster until he no longer knew where he was, and then he cried even harder, holding on to Lainiell's mane as he left it to her to decide upon a direction.
Sindarin translations (further explanations in the footnotes)
ethuil'waew - spring storm
muindor - brother
ellon - (male) elf
pen neth - young one
hên lend - sweet child
leithio nin - release me, free me
adar - father
ada - daddy
fëa - spirit [Quenya]
telain - wooden flets, pl. of talan