What Gandalf Didn't Tell

Disclaimer: The 'Lord of the Rings' characters contained herein are the sadly the property of Tolkien. I have borrowed them for a time. These names have been used without their permission. All else is my own creation.

Rating: R AU (In case you forgot from the first chapter). Language, violence and N/C graphic sex. Oh, and depending on your view of Balrogs, Beast. Don't say you weren't warned.

Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.


What Gandalf Didn't Tell

Chapter Two


Riding on the back of the great eagle, Gwaihir, Gandalf felt peace for the first time in a long while. For just a moment, he reveled in his freedom. The glint of moonlight on water below reminded him of his physical state and he suddenly, desperately wanted to get clean.

Gwaihir obligingly dropped down to the lower reaches of the Isen River. The chill water made him shiver, but he dunked himself repeatedly, even scrubbing his back on the river bottom to clean it.

“Why do you do this?”

Gandalf looked up at the huge eagle. “What? Wash?”

“This total submergence in water.”

“It helps us get clean. A lot like your preening does for you. Keeping your feathers clean with just the right amount of oils helps you fly better and helps keep you stay healthy. Keeping our bodies clean of filth helps keep us healthy.” He raked his fingers through his beard, totally disgusted with the feel and sight of all the filth in it.

“I see.”

It was several minutes before Gandalf was satisfied with his beard's cleanliness and he turned his attention to his hair, ruthlessly unbraiding it and dragging his fingers through the snarled strands. Having his hair free made him feel more like himself and he sighed as he stood up, feeling a thousand times better.

A gust of wind blew past and Gandalf shivered violently.

“You need... what do you call them again?” Gwaihir clacked his beak.

“Clothes. There are some waiting for me. To the northeast. There is a clearing with a ruined stone circle. Do you know it?”

“Yes. It is on the edge of Fangorn Forest, but there is enough room for me to land and take off again. We should hurry. We will not reach it before dawn.”

The sun had risen nearly a finger's width over the horizon when Gwaihir landed in the clearing. It took Gandalf a moment to find the cache and he couldn't help smiling when he saw what Nohemtay had hidden away. The top basket contained robes and a pack. Not only were the robes gray, but they were patterned on his old ones. In the next basket down, a long one, sturdy boots, his belt and pouch which still had his pipe in it, his belt dagger, and his staff were tucked neatly away. Lifting his staff, he froze briefly before picking up the sheathed sword he had thought lost to Saruman. He dressed quickly, belting on the sword with a sense of relief. Then he turned his attention to the baskets on the bottom.

The packages inside had been wrapped tightly and he opened them carefully. His hunger intensified at the sight of the apples, bacon, sausages, and cheeses, all foods chosen for length of storage time. A frying pan cradled the meats and a cutting knife lay between them. Tucked below the pan was a pot, a mug and some tea bags. Several water flasks finished off the provisions. “If only I could take the time for a fire.”

“You are overly thin, even for a human. Eat. But this is a bad place to have a fire.” The eagle stared into the forest surrounding them.

“Yes, I know, but...” Gandalf rose and looked into the depths of the forest. He spread his arms wide and said loudly, “I am Gandalf. I mean no harm, but I am hungry and exhausted. I beg your indulgence in a small fire to cook with, using only what you would give up to me. In return,” he picked up one of the apples and held it out, “I shall plant the seeds of an apple here to grow and sprout.”

The sense of being watched and weighed filled Gandalf. The intensity weighed him down, but he refused to lower his arms before it eased. A decision had been made he knew when the intensity backed off. To his right, the sound of breaking wood reached his ears and he saw a shower of small twigs and branches cascade to the sparse grass.

“I thank you. I will plant the seeds after I have eaten. My word.”

Quickly Gandalf gathered the wooden bounty and made his small fire. “I know it is not much, my friend, but I will share the meat with you.” As the pan heated up, he placed some of the bacon and sausages in it.

“Do not scant yourself. I fed well before sunset. I shall hunt again later. Eat.” The eagle cocked its head at the basket. “Though if you have an apple to spare?”

“Of course.”

Gandalf grabbed the apple he had held out only moments before. “Here.” He still marveled at how the massive beak capable of biting his leg off at the thigh could be used so delicately as to take the apple off his flat hand without leaving a scratch. “You've developed a fondness for apples, my friend.”

“You introduced me to them.”

“True.” Gandalf smiled, remembering when he had found Gwaihir badly injured from a nasty arrow wound. It had taken days for the eagle to be able to fly again and during that time Gandalf had been forced to find food. The mighty eagle had been scornful of eating something that was not meat, but had tried it and eagerly devoured all Gandalf had found.

The bacon sizzled and Gandalf turned his attention to his cooking. He tended the meat and when he figured he could take it out safely, he did so, blowing on it so that he could eat it sooner. He wolfed the meat down, burning his tongue in the process, but he did not care. He cut some cheese and savored the flavor as he ate it. The pot replaced the pan and he emptied an entire water flask into it.

He lay back later, full and contented for the moment. The fire had been doused and he planted the seeds from the apple he had eaten for dessert. Curling up, he let sleep steal over him.

****

The gentle nudge from Gwaihir's beak woke him and he rose to find that it was nearly dusk. Saruman's minions would be coming after him in the darkness. He put all the remaining food into the pack along with the cookware and shrugged into the pack. Standing up, he said, hoping the forest would listen, “Thank you. Your hospitality is much appreciated. The fire is out and the seeds planted.”

He mounted onto Gwaihir's shoulders and held on tightly as the eagle stroked hard to rise above the tree line. Soon they soared through the sky.

It was well after sunset when Gandalf strode into the Rohirrim village, having thanked Gwaihir once again for his rescue with another of the apples. He was escorted to the head villager's home where to his dismay he found out that he had been Saruman's prisoner for eighty-two days. A horse was offered and he rode to Edoras. There the king, Theoden, told him to leave immediately on whatever horse would consent to bear him.

****

Gandalf glanced at the horse grazing nearby and shook his head. Theoden's anger had been great when Shadowfax had answered his whistle, but had been bound by his word. For two days the Lord of Horses had carried him toward the Shire, but now they both needed to rest. He looked forward to sleeping.

****

Safety surrounded Gandalf and he sighed as he strode through the beautiful home of his friend, Elrond. His edited story had been accepted wholeheartedly by Elrond and, although it had pained him to lie, Gandalf did not want to cause his friend pain. What had been done to him could not be undone by Elven magic.

He entered the quarters given him and sank gratefully onto the bed. Sleep beckoned and he could only hope that it would be better than the other nights since leaving Rohan.

****

Groaning, Gandalf snapped awake, the feel of the dream Garst's hands still on his flesh. It came as no surprise that he sported an erection as hard and throbbing as when Garst had been taking him. Every time he slept, the same thing happened. He would dream of what had occurred during his capture and he would jerk awake, needing to finish the job. The first time, he had tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away on its own, like normal erections would. Somehow, it had not surprised him that it had not only remained, but actually caused him pain the longer he ignored it. Just wrapping his hand around it and pumping had not been enough. Experimentation had forced him to realize he needed the other stimulation as well. By the time he had found the position that allowed him the best access to his rear, he had been nearly sobbing with need.

The sooner done, the better. On the bed, Gandalf knelt, arching his back and slid two fingers into himself. It only took a few minutes and he choked back the cry of satisfaction.

He cleaned up the bed and dressed. Perhaps he could beg a small favor from his friend. He needed to sleep.

****

“You want me to what?” Disbelief shone in the brown eyes.

“I need to sleep without dreams, my friend.”

“Yes, I've heard that you are having... difficulty sleeping.” The half-elven lord gestured to a seat. “And before you ask, it is my business to know everything that occurs here. Within reason.”

Angrily, Gandalf stalked to a window and stared out into the night. The lovely lights of the village that was Rivendell were lost to him at the moment. “My sleeping habits are not anyone's concern.”

“They are when you wake half a dozen others with your cries.”

“Shit.”

An elegant eyebrow rose. “Unusual language for you, my friend. I already knew you left something out of your tale. You better come clean, Gandalf.”

“Must I?”

“If you want me to help, yes. Otherwise, I will move you to a remote area of Rivendell.” Elrond rose and glided across the floor to rest a hand on Gandalf's shoulder. “As great a healer as I am, my friend, I need to know what I am combating. It is merely another form of warfare, you know. I need to know what memories I must block.”

“By all the...” Gandalf slumped against the window's pillar as the fight drained out of him. His voice came soft and strained. “I was his prisoner for eighty-two days, Elrond, yet I never told him what he wanted to know. Isn't that enough?”

“No. What happened? What has made you fear your dreams?” Elrond lowered his voice. “Did he torture you?” The Elven lord dug his fingers into the tense muscles.

“Oh, yes, for nights beyond all reckoning. He left me totally alone for the first eleven nights. Then he started the torture. He used the staff and, when he would leave, I was a bloody broken body.”

“Did he heal you?”

A bitter laugh escaped. “Even in that, he managed to hurt me. He designed it to hurt me even as it healed me. If only he had left it at that.”

“What else did he do, Gandalf?” The words rang with authority.

“Don't try to magic me, my friend. You are right and, if I want you to help, then you must know. He did something so terrible that it makes me shake to even think of it.” Gandalf closed his eyes and leaned his head against the pillar wearily. “The bastard used my own staff against me. Used it to bind a horrible magic on my body.”

Elrond waited patiently, kneading with his fingers.

“He made me his sex slave. He used me. He had men use me. He even had a foul orc use me. And I wanted it, every second of it, no matter how long it went on. I would beg to be fucked over and over until I had no voice, until I could only use my body to beg.”

“I'm sorry, Gandalf. You have suffered. I think-”

“Yet that isn't the worst of it, my friend.” A shudder ran through Gandalf. “The night I escaped was to be my last night of relative freedom, such as it was. At dawn I was to be taken down into the pits of Isengard and used as a breeder with the orc females. I was to help him create a new breed of orc. He made it so that I could not throw myself from the tower's height, but I was ready to slit my own throat rather than let that happen. That haunts my every waking thought.”

Elrond gently pulled Gandalf away from the window. “Sit, my friend.”

Once Gandalf was ensconced in a chair, Elrond went to his private stock and pulled out a bottle. “You need a drink before I try to work on you. I need you to relax before I can work.”

Drink after drink, Elrond plied Gandalf with until the wizard succumbed to oblivion. His own drink lay barely touched for he knew he would need it afterward. He stood at Gandalf's head and slowly, gently entered the now pliant mind. Images and sensations flooded him and he worked methodically to insure that they would no longer invade Gandalf's dreams.

His drink he downed in one gulp, horrified by what Gandalf had endured. He finished off the bottle before summoning help to put Gandalf to bed. Afterward he intended to get thoroughly drunk.

****

A pounding head greeted Gandalf when he awoke and he made his way fuzzily to the bathroom to throw up. A young male elf stood waiting in the main room, holding a small pitcher, when he returned.

“Master Elrond recommends that you drink this now. It will help with the aftereffects. He also said that if you feel up to it, he would be breakfasting in his parlor this morning.”

“Thank you.” Gandalf took the pitcher and waved the young elf away. He drained the pitcher and felt it taking effect almost immediately.

Elrond sat at a small table, eating, when Gandalf arrived. “I trust you slept well, my friend?” The elven lord gestured to the other chair.

“Yes. Yes, indeed I did.” Gandalf sat down. “What did you do?” He took a good look at Elrond. “You look awful.”

“Thank you. It's all due to you.” Elrond chuckled at the consternation on Gandalf's face. “Relax. I deliberately got drunk after you were put to bed. After what I saw in your mind, I had to.”

“What did you do?” Gandalf helped himself to some toast and started buttering it.

“I have prevented the memories from being able to permeate your dreams. They will not bother your sleep again. Though, I can do nothing about your waking state. To erase them from your conscious mind would not remove them from your memory. You would know something was missing and start searching for it. Most likely with disastrous results. It is better to know what has happened than not.”

Elrond poured himself a goblet of juice. “Mind you, there was one memory that did not look like you would mind having it invade your dreams.”

Gandalf blushed.

Elrond laughed. “In all the years I have known you, never have you blushed with embarrassment. I love it. I shall cherish this for a long time.” He shook his head slightly. “Unfortunately, that memory would have the same effect as the others, so I had to block it as well. You will have to content yourself with the waking memory.”

“I will do so.”

“Who was he?”

“A friend who stayed by my side. He was going to get the dagger so I could kill myself. Despite the risk to himself.”

“A true friend. With luck, some day you can repay him.”

“Saruman will be most displeased with my escape. I fear he is dead.”

“Never give up hope, my friend. Now, I have news of my own. Glorfindel has ridden out to try and find our missing hobbits.”

****

Dragging himself out of the freezing water, Gandalf could not see his nemesis. Somewhere the Balrog was freeing itself from the deep waters. It was far too much to hope for it to have drowned. Somewhere in the depths of the huge subterranean lake the shattered remnants of his staff lay, broken from the force of the spell that had destroyed the bridge they had both been standing on. His lower legs ached from the burns inflicted by the Balrog's fire whip and his arms did so from being yanked off the remnants of the bridge by the Balrog's weight.

Together they had fought while falling an unfathomable distance to slam into the water's surface. He could only be grateful that the Balrog had hit first and that he had hit the superheated body before both of them had started sinking into the frigid water. The force with which he would have hit the water would have left him broken and unable to fight.

Glamdring remained in his hand and he shook his head at how the blade seemed to almost know his various needs. It had slipped into his hand on the fall downward and felt as determined to finish the Balrog as he was. It made him wonder yet again which elven smith had forged the blade and to what purpose.

His wet robes tripped him and he cursed as he fell to the hard rock. As much as he hated to lose their meager protection for it was better than none, he used Glamdring to cut the robes from around his legs. He needed to be able to move and they were badly torn and burned already from the fight. Flinging the pieces of cloth away, it occurred to him that he could see, albeit faintly.

A luminescence shone from the rock walls and he shook his head in disbelief. How could anything shine down here? The strip of land he stood upon stretched along the length of the lake for as far as he could see and looked to be anywhere from fifty to sixty feet wide.

The skittering of a rock alerted him and Gandalf spun around in time to block the massive sword. It wasn't fair, thought Gandalf as he thrust and parried, for his opponent to have had a second sword on it. Between the sword and whip, he was forced to constantly move and he was already weary, both from the fighting and the two mighty spells he had been forced to cast in rapid succession. It did not help that he had lost the power stored in his staff either.

As he fought, he noticed that the Balrog had shrunk after its submergence in the lake. Instead of being nearly three times his height, it now stood no more than ten feet tall. The Balrog's wings had atrophied after countless years bound in the deep caverns of Moria. He doubted that it could fly with them. They appeared to be some sort of balance mechanism now.

He grew even wearier as Glamdring had difficulty piercing the molten hide of the Balrog and he cursed the fact that the water had caused it to compact, for like lava hitting water, the hide had a thick crust from where it had partially solidified. Finding weak points at the joints was difficult as he fought off both weapons.

The blow completely blindsided him. His attention had become focused on the weapons and that fact that the Balrog was not using its wings in the fight had allowed him to regulate them to a minor threat. A parry to the high right left his other side completely open and the Balrog took advantage of it. He had less than a second to see the massive wing headed toward him and there was no way he could get Glamdring over to block any of the blow. The wing's leading edge slammed into him along the full length of his body and Gandalf felt himself lift off the ground. The force of the blow flung him across the open area into the rocky cavern wall, nearly thirty feet away.

The breath was forced from his lungs on impact. Glamdring slipped from his slack fingers. He fell the ten feet to the stone floor, gasping like a fish out of water. His vision darkened.

Gandalf stirred, moaning as every part of his body protested moving. Sharp pains in his chest spoke of cracked ribs and his breathing hitched every couple of breathes. Opening his eyes, he wanted to immediately shut them again. The Balrog stood over him, sniffing.

Its mouth opened and he braced for the tongue of flame and heat.

A voice that creaked with disuse spoke. “Ah, you are of a kind. Good.”
“Of a kind?” Gandalf blinked, wishing he did not feel so fuzzy in his thinking.

“Once we were same.”

“I don't-” Then Gandalf remembered. It had been so long ago. The creation of the world. Melkor turning to destruction. The corruption of Maiar to follow Melkor. Maiar who took on the shape of fire. Balrogs. Horrified and sick, Gandalf rolled onto his side and threw up.

“I want. I need. Vermin turn to ash. Stone-delvers break and shatter like the stone. Only a kind will do.”

“A kind?” Gandalf's body understood before his mind. As he realized what the Balrog meant, a part of his mind gibbered in terror. Another part rolled him over and had him scrabbling across the rocks to where Glamdring lay. “No!”

His fingertips brushed the pommel of the sword. Before he could stretch that extra inch, he was jerked onto his back toward the Balrog, a huge hand wrapped around his thigh. He kicked and kicked, but it was as if he were kicking stone for all the impression it made on the Balrog. His first sight of the Balrog's equipment made him scream and struggle harder. It looked to be over two feet long and as thick as his thigh.

A snort of fire escaped the Balrog and Gandalf could swear it looked confused as to why he fought. What sounded amazingly like a chuckle rumbled through the Balrog.

“Too big. Fix.”

The Balrog shimmered with heat and shrank until it stood only eight feet tall. It held onto both of Gandalf's thighs and its mouth opened in what it obviously considered a grin. “Better. You no tear apart now.”

The 'better' now appeared to be the shape and length of Gandalf's forearm. The head, about the size of Gandalf's clenched fist, glowed a dull red and there was no way he wanted the massive thing inside him.

“This is not a good idea. One minute we're fighting to the death and the next you want to... to...”

Another chuckle from the fire-spirit. “Feel good to move. To fight. Long time since move so much. Hurts. Want this now.”

The Balrog shifted its grip to Gandalf's hips and lifted him up with a single hand while the other hand grabbed the wildly kicking legs and held them out of the way. As the head started to penetrate, pain shot through Gandalf and he froze, whimpering, all to aware of what would happen next. Both of the huge hands were now on his hips, pushing him slowly onto the massive hot shaft.

“Slow. Want you to last.”

Despite the pain, by the time the flexible rock shaft was buried in him, he had climaxed with a straggled sob and would soon do so again. The incredible heat from the shaft notched up his own responses and he despaired of surviving the ordeal.

“Good.”

Slowly the Balrog started withdrawing and thrusting back in, gaining distance with each repeat until it was leaving only the head in before ramming forward. The speed picked up, but Gandalf had ceased to care as he became lost in the multiple climaxes rocking through him, even though he knew how it would end.

The pain started and grew until it was burning through him as viciously as the Balrog's own heat was searing him from the inside. His body could take no more and he allowed darkness to swallow him.

When he came to, it was as his body climaxed again and the pain nearly knocked him out once more. The point finally came that his body was struggling to obey the magical directive and training it had received but it just could not. He lay limp in the Balrog's hands, mind overwhelmed by the agony, his body still hard, but unable to climax, and endured, his throat long since past the ability to scream.

At last, the Balrog jerked Gandalf closer, faster, and harder. Back arching, wings surging up, the Balrog flung its head up and roared a furnace blast of heat.

Despite all he had already suffered, Gandalf screamed as the red hot seed spewed forth into his gut. The resurgence of pain left him unconscious in the Balrog's hands.

****

Everything hurt Gandalf knew as he shuddered into awareness. He could feel blood pooling between his legs. Driven beyond what even his nearly immortal body could endure, Gandalf knew it was only a matter of time before death claimed him. All that mattered now was how he died.

He peered through slitted eyes, looking for the Balrog. It stood nearby, satisfaction evident. Carefully, Gandalf craned his neck around to see where his sword lay. Twenty feet. A part of him cringed at the thought of what the Balrog would do if he failed, but he would not die without trying to take out the fiend.

Praying only that the Balrog would ignore him for a few minutes longer, Gandalf gathered his strength. The Valar blessed him. He rolled onto his stomach slowly and took several deep breaths to help him focus. His legs trembled as he forced himself into a crouch.

A last deep breath and he lunged for Glamdring. The bellow from behind informed him that he had lost his main advantage, but his fingers closed about the cool hilt. Spinning around, aware of the wall at his back, Gandalf brought Glamdring to bear, feeling strength surge into him.

Hammer-like blows battered at Gandalf. Somehow, he managed to keep blocking them. Several near deaths resulted from him slipping in his own blood, but he fought ferociously.

The Balrog's sword clashed against Glamdring, forcing Gandalf back a step closer to the wall. A cry escaped him when the whip curled around his left leg and jerked him off balance. The Balrog turned and fled.

Gandalf stared for a moment, stunned by the sudden reversal. Gritting his teeth, Gandalf stumbled forward, determined not to lose the Balrog in the depths of Moria.

****

Willpower alone had kept Gandalf on his feet as the Balrog slid off the length of Glamdring. Even as the Balrog crashed down the mountainside, he collapsed, unable to even care that he was about to die.