Greenleaf

Title: Greenleaf - Chapter III: Grey Havens
Author: Genesis Grey (helfireclub@hotmail.com)
Website: http://www.sexystickman.com/ren/
Pairings: Thranduil/Legolas; Corn/orn/Legolas; Haldir/Legolas; Galdor/Legolas (list to be added to in future chapters)
Disclaimer: Own nothing, but this string.
Summary: See Legolas. See Legolas' father be a bastard. See Legolas being an emissary to other elven realms. See Legolas get the crap beat out of him and be sexually abused. See author run for cover as Leggy fans kick her ass.
Warnings: Incest. Rape. Non-Con. Slash.
Beta: Nethene
Author's Notes: Feedback is always appriciated - tell me what I'm doing right, tell me what I'm doing wrong, tell me t's 's someone out there a' readin'. :) Oh, and to an Honest Reviewer - It doesn't get any better in this chapter, but in the next one he gets some pleasure instead of pain. *grins*

-Chapter III: Grey Havens-



Three days in Cirdan’s realm and I have yet to convince him my grandfather, Oropher, did not betray his forces during the Last Alliance. Of course, I have no proof he did not, and I my self am not certain since I was not there. But I have heard my grandfather was a good elf and try to convince the Shipwright of that, or at least that he should look past ancient affronts and help the current King of Greenwood.

The only comfort I take in these long sessions is that the Lord of Mithlond has given me no indication that I can earn his aid by way of my body. On the contrary, when we are not trying to come to some sort of agreement, he has been quite fatherly. Though I loathe to use that term. He has been gracious enough to show me his city and the harbors and I have been amazed to see it all.

As I lie in the chambers furnished by my host, I hear the cry of the seagulls from outside. It rends my heart to hear them, because when I do I want nothing more than to board one of the great swanships and sail away from Middle-earth and my father forever. To be safe and sane and have time to heal my weary soul. Perhaps even to find my mother.

I miss her very much some days. Other times I am glad she is gone, so that she cannot bear witness to the wreck of an elf I have become. It has already killed her.

There is no pain closer to my heart than the memory of the light fading from my dear Mother’s lovely blue eyes. She suffered a great deal before the end, struggling with everything she had to stave off death, but in the end it was futile. From the moment she walked in to that room her slow fading from grief was assured.

I can only imagine the true terror a mother must feel when she sees such a thing. The innocent opening of a door as she enters to find the son she has raised with her love and care and the husband she has married for better or worse, touching in ways the Valar never intended.

I still see her, in my mind’s eye, as she collapsed to the floor, clutching her chest and shrieking sobs of pain and horror. I can still feel the stone floor and smell the blooming roses in the air as I ran to her, falling to my knees and begging forgiveness as I cried in the folds of her skirt. I can still feel her soft touch as she held me and screamed, demanding for my father to leave. I can still feel the heat of my father’s defiant gaze as he departed the room, and I knew my mother would never be able to protect me, no matter how hard she tried.

She faded quickly after that day, and no one, save myself and my father, knew why. After a cycle of the moon she could no longer even rise from her bed. She was defeated by the elf she had thought loved her, by the father of her children. I stayed with her during the last days, scarcely leaving her side. She was so sad, always stroking my face andds ads as if to make sure I was still with her. I sang to her and told her stories of happier times and she would smile with what little strength she had and tell me how she longed to stay with me, to protect me; but the pain of what she had seen gripped her tighter than I ever could.

There are tears in my eyes and I wipe them away as I stop thinking of my mother. She is always with me, in my heart, but in these days I can only remember her death and wonder if it will be my own. I have survived long, but as the years go by I grow weaker and wearier.

I rise from my bed and leave my room to walk the halls. At this time of the morning I have found a kind of blissful peace. The Teleri and Noldor elves that dwell here are either resting in their rooms or at the harbors and I have the corridors to myself until midday.

But this day is different.

Galdor, messenger of the Havens and cousin to Cirdan, confronts me in front of the Hall of Memories. I bid him a cordial greeting, but he merely snarls in reply. I can see the deep hatred in his eyes. He would slay me if he was allowed, but I am Cirdan’s guest and have his protection. Still, somehow I think this elf has thought of a way around that.

He grabs the front of my tunic and I do not stop him. His actions are slow in my eyes, the movement of a scholar and a runner, not a warrior like myself. He pulls me close and hisses in my ear how it is my grandfather’s fault his sire died during the Last Alliance, that he is going to make me pay since Oropher had the audacity to die in that same battle, and that I am going to let him do as he will and not invoke Cirdan’s protection.

I want to laugh, but I can see in his eyes that he is serious and I know my fate.

He shoves me into the Hall of Memories and I find myself backed against a mural dedicated to Olwe, Elmo and Thingol as he advances. I stand straight as he comes close, his breath caressing my face as I look upon him defiantly. Though I fear I will be forced to submit, I will not go easily.

Cocky Prince, he calls before reminding me he is kin to the elf I am negotiating with. My brow furrows, but I say nothing and he moves a step or so back. There is a smile on his face now, and I take no comfort in it. He tells me that he has sway with Cirdan, and if I ever want my kingdom to have the aid of Mithlond, I will do as he demands of me.

At first I want togh agh at him. Even if he is the cousin to Mithlond’s Lord, I am still a visiting Prince of Greenwood. But then my father’s words come to me, and I remember that I must forge an alliance through any means necessary. Even if it is accepting the torment of this elf before me.

Galdor seems to see the defeated willingness in my eyes and laughs, calling me his obedient little pet. I let out a growl despite myself as he orders me to come to him on my hands and knees. I tremble as I drop to the floor, my mind trying to find a way to escape this situation and still earn an alliance for my home, but there is none. Slowly I crawl toward him on all fours, like some orc tamed warg, until my vision is filled by his boots.

I dare not raise my head, lest Galdor get angrier than he already is. He barks orders like my archery instructor, instructing me to lick his boots as he kicks them dangerously close to my face. I want nothing more than to protest, but I do not. I simply do as he asks and count myself lucky that he has yet to venture outside this day. His boots taste of freshly tanned leather and polish. I try to focus on that rather than the sound of his mocking laughter.

By the time I move on to the second boot he has tired of this humiliation and moves on to another one I am more familiar with. He kicks at my face and I jerk back. I dare a quick glance upward as he moves away to sit on one of the many chairs lining the Hall and I shudder. This will get worse before it gets better.

He demands I crawl to him, to prostrate myself over his knees. Against my very will I do as he commands and know full well what to expect when the first strike comes, but I whimper in spite of myself.

As he beats on me again and again I try to ignore my situation, but the memory I fall into is scarcely better. It is of the first time my father spanked I h I had yet to reach my majority and I had done something truly foolish that needed to be punished. Though what my transgression was I can no longer remember.

He threw me over his knee and pulled down my breeches, hitting my buttocks over and over, until I was in tears. It was the first time I felt him aroused, though I didn’t realize it at the time. The strange hardness growing between his legs and pressing against my belly as he shifted and rubbed against me, giving me one or two more smacks than were deserved.

There is a loud heartrending sound, and it takes me a moment to realize it is the sound of my own voice crying out in pain. Despite the padding of my breeches Galdor’s hand has begun to hurt my frequently abused backside. I feel his groin stirring to life against my stomach as I holler and squirm in agony, just like when my father does this.

Finally he throws me to the ground, taking delight as I let out a last shout of pain and roll onto my stomach and whimper. I pant in pained breaths, ashamed that I cried out. I take back my thought of this Galdor being a mere scholar or messenger. He strikes like a warrior that knows how to bring his opponent hurt.

He hooks the toe of his boot under my chin and forces me to look up as he smiles sadistically. I know that look well and have no delusions of what he will force me to submit to next. I have seen it upon my father’s lips for the better part of my life. As I lie at his feet and at his mercy he asks where he should fuck me. I cannot help but think it a strange term to be used by so high class an elf.

I give no answer as I struggle to kneel before him and await his decision. I have no preference; it will be a miserable experience no matter what happens. He leans forward and strokes my cheek, caressing my lips with his thumb, and I know he has made his choice. Again, very much like my father. He has always said he takes the most pleasure from violating my luscious lips.

Galdor asks if I wish to do this the easy way or not. I can see in his eyes that he wants to force me, but I will not give him that pleasure. I lean forward and part his legs, rubbing my cheeainsainst his groin and licking the fabric of his breeches. He is surprised by this, but easily relaxes into my ministrations.

I am a good little whore.

I carefully open the clasps of his breeches and expose his staff. Fortunately my hair obscures my face when it contorts in distaste at the sight that thrusts towards me. I do not want to do this. I would prefer to continue licking his boots or for him to batter me until I can no longer move. But this is the torment he has devised for me.

My tongue laps at his length before my teeth graze his tip. He twitches at that and makes a sound of enjoyment as I begin to take him into my mouth. He lets out a laugh as grabs my hair and yanks forward, forcing me to take him completely. I nearly choke as the hard flesh is rammed down my throat, but I manage. My head begins to bob rhythmically along his shaft, more because of his tugging on my hair than any pace I would have set.

He moans and groans and I find it a wonder that no one has heard. Then again, I was wandering about because the halls of Mithlond are amazingly empty at this time of day. Maybe it is not so surprising that no one has happened upon us. I am glad for it actually. One of the few things I have always been thankful for is that my father is not an exhibitionist. I would surely die if he displayed our actions to others.

Galdor’s hips are beginning to thrust readily and his grip on my hair tightens. Telltale signs that he is ready for release. He grunts and my head bobs up and down a last time before he lets out a loud cry and climaxes. I swallow his bitter seed completely, though I loathe doing so, and at last he lets go of my hair and allows me to again fall to the floor.

He says nothing for a time as I lie there, curled around myself and rocking slightly for comfort as I used to do when my father first began to use me. My reprieve does not last long, and again Galdor is reaching for me. He tells me what a good little pet I am as he kneels next to me and stokes my hair a moment before snatching a handful and making me stand on hands and knees once more.

I catch a glance of his eyes and I know whatever is about to happen will not be pretty. He is angry with himself for being so easy on me before, and therefore is even angrier with me. He rises to his feet and begins to tell me the story of his father’s demise. Of how my grandfather pulled back his troops, leaving the warriors of the Haven to the mercy of the Dark Lord’s orc army.

Before I can even argue that perhaps it was a miscommunication he kicks me viciously in the side, sending me rolling across the floor. I can hardly defend myself, or rather I do not defend myself, though I am probably a better warrior than him. I simply hold my arms in front of my face as he kicks me repeatedly, calling me and my line traitors to elvenkind. He is insane in his rage. But I imagine I would feel the same if my father had perished and I held Cirdan responsible. Well, if my father and I had a different relationship I would.

There is a loud snap and I shriek in pain. His brutal strikes have managed to crack a rib. But that does not stop him and I cannot help but think of that first time with my father in the gardens. Elves are cruel, so cruel. That is the only thought I can manage as I hear a voice screaming down the hall and feel a great relief as the blows stop raining down upon me. Someone lifts me and I let out another howl of agony. Then the world goes black and by the time it comes back into focus I am some place I have never been before.

It is a healing ward of some sort. A healer hovers close and asks me how I feel. She tells me two of my ribs were broken and I have been unconscious for nearly three days. I give her a thankful smile and she blushes. A young and innocent elf. I can only hope I was once so oblivious to the true nature of elves.

She begins to walk away to tell Cirdan of my awakg, bg, but turns back to me as she asks about the scar on my chest. I go rigid as she speaks of the greenleaf. I do not want to lie to her, but I will not tell her how it came to mark my body. She gives me another smile and tells me she only asks because she has a balm that makes the scars fade.

I grin like the charming prince I was raised to be and tell her the scar is dear to me, but perhaps I might return to Mithlond one day and she can tell me more of her balms. She blushes and giggles, covering her face as she leaves, all thoughts of my scar fled from her mind.

The smile leaves my face as I lie back on the bed and await Cirdan’s arrival. I do not truly wish to talk to the elven lord, but this is his realm and I must. I do not wait long before he enters the healing ward, alone.

He sits beside me, and to my surprise, asks my forgiveness for the actions of his cousin. He says that he did not believe Galdor would act so bold as to attack a visiting Prince, that as an emissary himself he should know better. I can tell from his voice that he does not know the true horror of his kin’s attack and I do not enlighten him on the matter. It will be better for both myself and Galdor that way.

Cirdan says he will acquiesce to offering the aid of the Haven’s to Greenwood in reparation for his cousin and that he hopes that will be enough. A smile/grimace creases my face in amusement as I thank hi fin find it humorous that I have gotten exactly what I came for, a pledge of aid to Greenwood, and all it took was an act of non-consensual sex and a vicious beating.


TBC...