Faded Light
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
10,224
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
10,224
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
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.
Book I: The King of Far Harad
Author's disclaimer: All people and places in this story are used fictitiously. Canon characters and the world of Middle of Earth all belong to the genius that is JRR Tolkien and to his estate. Similarities to anything else, fictional or otherwise, are purely coincidental, the storyline and OC's alone being a product of my own twisted imagination. No profit whatsoever will ever be made from this story.
Note: Legolas, as a courtesan in Harad is clearly an AU. And I know sex slave Legolas has been done to death. Hopefully, this will be a little different.
The setting is mainly Harad, Gondor and Mirkwood a 100 years, more or less, before the War of the Ring. So, most of the Fellowship aren't born yet. (So, if you're into all those handsome-ranger-saves-poor-abused-elf and they fall in love stories...sorry, this one isn't like that. There may eventually be romance, but not for many chapters, and not with Aragorn. Since I actually like seeing him with Arwen, and I really can't imagine him falling in love with Legolas, or anyone who he probably knew all his life.)
I've probably also generally mangled much of the chronology for my own ends; for that I extend my apologies to all Middle Earth experts out there.
For Elvish words and phrases, I have mostly used Sindarin, with a little bit of Quenya where I had trouble finding the Sindarin equivalents. My Elvish is also not that good, but I'm working on it.
Be warned. This story will be heavy on emotional angst; it will contain mpreg, slash and many other disturbing adult themes. This is not a pretty story for many chapters. If this stuff disturbs you or if you are under age, hit the back button now. Again, this is a very dark story; I know that's not everyone's sort of thing. So if you're not a fan of dark angst don't read.
(For anyone interested, there is a partial list of characters posted between chapter 9 and chapter 10.)
New reviews always make my day, so let me know what you think. Enjoy.
Book I:
Chapter One
The King of Far Harad
The Elven dancer was the most exquisite whore the King of Far Harad had seen.
His golden hair had been cut shorter than was the custom of the Elves, but it seemed to shimmer in the light of the hall and with each erotic movement of the dance. Though long a slave, the scantily clad body was all but unmarred, pale and, the king imagined, deliciously smooth.
"That Elf there?" he asked one of his attendants near his couch. "He is one of Arya's whores, is he not?"
"They call him Dafi, my King, for he does not speak," said the man. "But his beauty is incomparable.
“And they say he is quite talented in the bedroom," he added with a knowing leer, which was not lost on the Haradrim ruler; though his eyes lingered a moment longer on the sensual sway of the slave's hips, on each detail of slender white thighs.
"So I have heard.
“Bring him," he said, as the dance ended. "And tell his master I would have him this night."
He watched the graceful figure of the slave move quickly to the royal couch as he was called forth, coming immediately to his knees, as he bowed low, and imagined that pale beauty splayed out on his bed...
"Lift your head, pretty one," he said smoothly, "I wish to have a better look at you."
Uncertainly, the mute slave gazed up at the Human king, revealing the most beautiful and sorrowful blue-gray eyes, the Mortal had seen.
"They tell me you do not speak. But you have pleased me, and that deserves a reward," said the old ruler, wetting his lips.
He took a bracelet from a near table and reached down to place it on the Elf's wrist.
"Such finery suits you, altan min," he said pushing back the youth's hair and tilting his chin, when the slave made to lower his head again in a sign of gratitude.
"Please me further, and I will be more generous still," the King smiled, and the Elf did not miss the hungry look he had come to know so well over so many years.
-----------------------------------------------
Hours later, the slave known as Dafi knelt in the center of the royal bedchamber, awaiting the Man's will; submissively, as he had been taught, and unclothed except for the bracelet the king had given him during the feast.
He had washed and prepared himself, and had scented his skin with the fragrant oils his master saved for these special occasions.
Occasions when the Elf's body brought high profits, he thought, running his fingers over the jeweled bracelet, which Arya would soon take for himself; though the obsequious Man had insisted Dafi wear it for his encounter with the king.
"You're sharing King Javad's bed tonight, my sweet little slut,” the whoremonger had said. "Be flattered.”
The youth closed his eyes and couldn't stop the tears, as he thought of another king...far away, who he was not likely to see again, and of the secure feeling of a big, soft bed on stormy nights, strong arms that soothed away all the frightful things and never brought hurt or shame.
If he made an effort, he could think back and distantly remember what it had been like to be cherished beyond any of the treasures of the Elvenking. To feel whole and clean, and not have the constant scent of strangers on his body.
What would his avaricious, fawning master have said to know his most sought after whore had himself been conceived and born in a royal bed?
And Ada, he thought, wiping quickly at his eyes, does he think of me still? Would he despise me now if he knew what I have become? His Little Leaf, all shriveled up and reduced to spreading his legs and taking Mortal Men from behind.
How many years now? he wondered, trying to swallow the painful lump in his throat.
Seldom did he mark the days anymore; the endless nights, which were always just like the ones that had come before. He would have done anything to simply forget every moment since that hateful day on the borders of his father's realm, when the marauders attacked and mercilessly slew every member of his patrol.
Only a single novice warrior had been spared; one who had also been the Crown-prince of Mirkwood. For no better reason than having caught the eye of the Men's loathsome leader, who had wanted a diversion for his journey south.
That night everything was taken from the young Elf; though he fought his captors, as if for his very soul. He had lost, and then he had screamed until his voice gave out; the hateful Man never imagining it was the Elvenking's own son on whom he took his filthy pleasures.
He did not know how far they traveled after the massacre, did not know how he managed to walk at all after the cruel torments he endured at the Marauders' hands, praying only that the Man might grow tired of him and plunge a knife into his anguished heart.
Quickly had he learned that it was the dead who were the fortunate ones, for it was not their souls, which the Men killed, leaving their shells to wander this world, eating and sleeping and pretending to be alive...how often had he been made to wish that he might have gone with his friends, who had at least been allowed the dignity of a warrior's death.
By the time they crossed the desert, the prince had no words left at all, no tears and little will to fight, and so became simply Dafi.
But that was not the end of it...his debasement continued for weeks, and in Far Harad, he was bargained to the slavers, to even darker nights...
----------------------------------
The marked man and the slaver had stood over the near-naked youth; their eyes filled with a dark desire the prince had already come to fear, assessing his price as another might bargain over a piece of pottery or a horse.
"I've rarely seen an Elf this far south," said the slaver. "But he's by far the most beautiful. You've outdone yourself this time, Kebu.
"Have you broke him in yet?”
"We just picked 'im up the other day. Ain't had much time to work on 'im," said the Man and laughed.
How Legolas hated that laugh.
"Sweetest whore I ever had," Kebu went on. "Could almost swear I was 'is first."
The slaver licked his scabby lips at the words, running sweaty hands over the back and shoulders of the cringing Elf. "I think I'm gonna enjoy trainin' this one," he said, taking a handful of golden hair, as his other hand took its time roughly fondling the youth's body. "I'll give you the usual. But I'll throw in a share a the profit once he's sold."
"Done. No doubt 'e'll soon be bringin' much pleasure to many a Haradwaith bed."
---------------------------------------------
He wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes still shut tightly against the nightmares that never left him.
Diheno nin, Ada, came a small voice deep within. I tried- -I tried- -
TBC...
Elvish Translations:
Adar, Ada / Father, Dad, Daddy
Diheno nin / Forgive me
Note 2:
Roughly translated, the word Dafi means “mute one.” I found it awhile back on a list of unusual names though I don't really recall its exact origin anymore.
“Altan min” is a blend of two different languages, since Tolkien never came up with a Haradrim language, and is roughly “my beautiful one.” I changed it from the original draft where I had tried using a bit of French.
Note: Legolas, as a courtesan in Harad is clearly an AU. And I know sex slave Legolas has been done to death. Hopefully, this will be a little different.
The setting is mainly Harad, Gondor and Mirkwood a 100 years, more or less, before the War of the Ring. So, most of the Fellowship aren't born yet. (So, if you're into all those handsome-ranger-saves-poor-abused-elf and they fall in love stories...sorry, this one isn't like that. There may eventually be romance, but not for many chapters, and not with Aragorn. Since I actually like seeing him with Arwen, and I really can't imagine him falling in love with Legolas, or anyone who he probably knew all his life.)
I've probably also generally mangled much of the chronology for my own ends; for that I extend my apologies to all Middle Earth experts out there.
For Elvish words and phrases, I have mostly used Sindarin, with a little bit of Quenya where I had trouble finding the Sindarin equivalents. My Elvish is also not that good, but I'm working on it.
Be warned. This story will be heavy on emotional angst; it will contain mpreg, slash and many other disturbing adult themes. This is not a pretty story for many chapters. If this stuff disturbs you or if you are under age, hit the back button now. Again, this is a very dark story; I know that's not everyone's sort of thing. So if you're not a fan of dark angst don't read.
(For anyone interested, there is a partial list of characters posted between chapter 9 and chapter 10.)
New reviews always make my day, so let me know what you think. Enjoy.
Chapter One
The King of Far Harad
The Elven dancer was the most exquisite whore the King of Far Harad had seen.
His golden hair had been cut shorter than was the custom of the Elves, but it seemed to shimmer in the light of the hall and with each erotic movement of the dance. Though long a slave, the scantily clad body was all but unmarred, pale and, the king imagined, deliciously smooth.
"That Elf there?" he asked one of his attendants near his couch. "He is one of Arya's whores, is he not?"
"They call him Dafi, my King, for he does not speak," said the man. "But his beauty is incomparable.
“And they say he is quite talented in the bedroom," he added with a knowing leer, which was not lost on the Haradrim ruler; though his eyes lingered a moment longer on the sensual sway of the slave's hips, on each detail of slender white thighs.
"So I have heard.
“Bring him," he said, as the dance ended. "And tell his master I would have him this night."
He watched the graceful figure of the slave move quickly to the royal couch as he was called forth, coming immediately to his knees, as he bowed low, and imagined that pale beauty splayed out on his bed...
"Lift your head, pretty one," he said smoothly, "I wish to have a better look at you."
Uncertainly, the mute slave gazed up at the Human king, revealing the most beautiful and sorrowful blue-gray eyes, the Mortal had seen.
"They tell me you do not speak. But you have pleased me, and that deserves a reward," said the old ruler, wetting his lips.
He took a bracelet from a near table and reached down to place it on the Elf's wrist.
"Such finery suits you, altan min," he said pushing back the youth's hair and tilting his chin, when the slave made to lower his head again in a sign of gratitude.
"Please me further, and I will be more generous still," the King smiled, and the Elf did not miss the hungry look he had come to know so well over so many years.
-----------------------------------------------
Hours later, the slave known as Dafi knelt in the center of the royal bedchamber, awaiting the Man's will; submissively, as he had been taught, and unclothed except for the bracelet the king had given him during the feast.
He had washed and prepared himself, and had scented his skin with the fragrant oils his master saved for these special occasions.
Occasions when the Elf's body brought high profits, he thought, running his fingers over the jeweled bracelet, which Arya would soon take for himself; though the obsequious Man had insisted Dafi wear it for his encounter with the king.
"You're sharing King Javad's bed tonight, my sweet little slut,” the whoremonger had said. "Be flattered.”
The youth closed his eyes and couldn't stop the tears, as he thought of another king...far away, who he was not likely to see again, and of the secure feeling of a big, soft bed on stormy nights, strong arms that soothed away all the frightful things and never brought hurt or shame.
If he made an effort, he could think back and distantly remember what it had been like to be cherished beyond any of the treasures of the Elvenking. To feel whole and clean, and not have the constant scent of strangers on his body.
What would his avaricious, fawning master have said to know his most sought after whore had himself been conceived and born in a royal bed?
And Ada, he thought, wiping quickly at his eyes, does he think of me still? Would he despise me now if he knew what I have become? His Little Leaf, all shriveled up and reduced to spreading his legs and taking Mortal Men from behind.
How many years now? he wondered, trying to swallow the painful lump in his throat.
Seldom did he mark the days anymore; the endless nights, which were always just like the ones that had come before. He would have done anything to simply forget every moment since that hateful day on the borders of his father's realm, when the marauders attacked and mercilessly slew every member of his patrol.
Only a single novice warrior had been spared; one who had also been the Crown-prince of Mirkwood. For no better reason than having caught the eye of the Men's loathsome leader, who had wanted a diversion for his journey south.
That night everything was taken from the young Elf; though he fought his captors, as if for his very soul. He had lost, and then he had screamed until his voice gave out; the hateful Man never imagining it was the Elvenking's own son on whom he took his filthy pleasures.
He did not know how far they traveled after the massacre, did not know how he managed to walk at all after the cruel torments he endured at the Marauders' hands, praying only that the Man might grow tired of him and plunge a knife into his anguished heart.
Quickly had he learned that it was the dead who were the fortunate ones, for it was not their souls, which the Men killed, leaving their shells to wander this world, eating and sleeping and pretending to be alive...how often had he been made to wish that he might have gone with his friends, who had at least been allowed the dignity of a warrior's death.
By the time they crossed the desert, the prince had no words left at all, no tears and little will to fight, and so became simply Dafi.
But that was not the end of it...his debasement continued for weeks, and in Far Harad, he was bargained to the slavers, to even darker nights...
----------------------------------
The marked man and the slaver had stood over the near-naked youth; their eyes filled with a dark desire the prince had already come to fear, assessing his price as another might bargain over a piece of pottery or a horse.
"I've rarely seen an Elf this far south," said the slaver. "But he's by far the most beautiful. You've outdone yourself this time, Kebu.
"Have you broke him in yet?”
"We just picked 'im up the other day. Ain't had much time to work on 'im," said the Man and laughed.
How Legolas hated that laugh.
"Sweetest whore I ever had," Kebu went on. "Could almost swear I was 'is first."
The slaver licked his scabby lips at the words, running sweaty hands over the back and shoulders of the cringing Elf. "I think I'm gonna enjoy trainin' this one," he said, taking a handful of golden hair, as his other hand took its time roughly fondling the youth's body. "I'll give you the usual. But I'll throw in a share a the profit once he's sold."
"Done. No doubt 'e'll soon be bringin' much pleasure to many a Haradwaith bed."
---------------------------------------------
He wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes still shut tightly against the nightmares that never left him.
Diheno nin, Ada, came a small voice deep within. I tried- -I tried- -
TBC...
Elvish Translations:
Adar, Ada / Father, Dad, Daddy
Diheno nin / Forgive me
Note 2:
Roughly translated, the word Dafi means “mute one.” I found it awhile back on a list of unusual names though I don't really recall its exact origin anymore.
“Altan min” is a blend of two different languages, since Tolkien never came up with a Haradrim language, and is roughly “my beautiful one.” I changed it from the original draft where I had tried using a bit of French.