In Darkness and In Doubt

My partner in crime who is writing "The Lost" informs me some of her reviewers wanted to see more of this one. I had no idea! :) So she told me to get a move on in uploading, so in the name of smut enjoyment, here is more. :) Thanks! Elven

*

She awakened to the sound of rustling nearby. Opening her eyes slowly, Saralonde curled the sheet to her before she even realized the ability was hers once more. When she did notice her wrists were no longer bound, she inhaled a grateful breath and considered her options. They were few. Boromir was standing before a mirror, tightening his sword belt around his waist. The reality of the night came back to her as she looked him over. He had been right when he said the last thing he would make filthy would not be her language. She could still feel his strong body on hers and it filled her with loathing. His groans, his scent, all of it invaded her thoughts.

He turned, fooling with his right bracer. “Good. You are awake. Get up.”

Saralonde tightened her fists at his order, glaring at him without moving. He watched a moment, then a half-smile crossed his lips. “Very well. If you will not get dressed I will take you to breakfast naked. If my attention wanders and my brother becomes too interested I make no promises of your safety. He is not very easy to control once he has a desire on his mind.”

“Leave me here. I want no part of your parties,” she told him, holding the blanket harder.

Boromir shook his head, then approached with a mildly amused look. He seemed in a fair enough mood, if unwilling to allow her privacy. His fingers curled around the cover, then he jerked it until her hands hurt enough to force her to let go. The sheet slid to the floor and he stepped over it, bending towards the bed to reach for her. Saralonde tried to roll away, but his hand caught her ankle and a hard pull brought her chest-first onto the bed. He climbed onto her, straddling her again as his hands rested on his shoulders, pushing her down hard. “Are you going to make me hurt you, Elf? There are twenty minutes yet before breakfast. In only half of that I could have you squirming in pain.”

His pants and leather overcoat were rough against her sensitive skin and he was heavy. She did not know if she could handle it again; the thought made her stomach tense in dread. “What do you want?” she asked darkly, trying to remain still. Seeing her cooperation, Boromir got off her, running his hand down her back and behind. She shivered when his hand didn’t leave her body.

“The sight of you makes me want to remain here,” he said softly with a sigh. “Such a form. But Aragorn wishes to speak with me, so you are safe from my lusts for now. Get up and get dressed. There is a dress on the chair.”

Saralonde pulled her thoughts together and got up, trying her best to ignore his presense. Still as she walked, skimming the floor for her missing clothes, she could feel him watching her. She kept her back to him, picking up a lacy white dress from the chair. It was pretty and delicate, smooth as she slipped it on. “No undergarments?” she asked coldly, turning to see a lusty smile on his lips.

Boromir shrugged and got up. “For your purposes you do not need any.”

She crossed her arms and removed her gaze from him, disgusted. Boromir laughed at her attitude and took her by the arm, forcing her to follow him from the apartment. Though it was day the light seemed hard-pressed to break beyond the trees. It was still dim as they walked along the platforms towards whatever destination he had in mind. She followed in silence, trying to contain her fear and sorrow. As her eyes graced the silver walkway she considered what life would be like for her if there was no rescue or escape. Living here indefinitely frightened her.

Saralonde braved a glace and watched him walking beside her, arms crossed and expression mild. He looked at her, then bumped her with his arm and snickered when she hissed in contempt. His kindness was no better than a slap in her eyes. Still, she knew to fail to take advantage of his mood would be unwise. “Where is Legolas?” she asked, unprepared for the choke that brought to her voice just by the asking. She waited for some smart remark or denial of information.

After a moment, Boromir decided to relent. “I do not know, but I can find out easily enough.”

“Will you?” She looked up into his face, wondering if she dare hope for such a thing.

“It will depend on your actions,” he replied seriously. “Respect will win you such treasures as information.” He grinned at her. “Of course, it is not as fun, however.”

Saralonde looked at the platform, trying to quiet a sudden retort. Respect. As if she could ever really feel that for him. It was on her tongue to explain just why she would never, ever respect him, but an image of Legolas flashing through her thoughts kept her silent. For him she could do most anything. So she kept her mouth closed and began to steel herself for the day. She needed to know what had happened to Legolas.

They continued in silence until they came to a set of stairs. Boromir led her down the short flight to a ground level where a building stood, doors and windows open to allow nature in. A traditional Elven dining hall where she could see both Men and Elves gathered. The grass tickled her bare feet as he urged her on.

Inside there was a fire lit in the center of the room, bringing warmth and light. At the rear was a large table decorated with beautiful flowers and fine dinnerware made of shining silver. There sat King Aragorn with Haldir at his side, talking together about something amusing. They looked up to Boromir as he approached, ignoring Saralonde completely. The Captain of Lórien bowed his head and sat across from his king, directing her to sit at his right. “Good morning, my King.”

Aragorn fingered his goblet, nodding softly. “Good morning, Boromir. I trust your night was spent well.” Only then did he venture to look at her, his glance aloof, but curious. She felt uncomfortable beneath those eyes.

Boromir nodded, taking a pitcher from the center of the table and pouring some red wine into his goblet. He took hers and poured when he was through. “It was a well as expected. My houseguest was quite accommodating.” His gray eyes came to hers, sparkling a dare to retort. She flushed and looked away from him, fingers toying with her napkin.

The Men began to chat and Saralonde listened, but a figure distracted her. He had the look of a Man, but stood no taller than a child. Her heart sank when she realized what he was. A Halfling bearing a tray with food, bound in servitude to the denizens of Lothlórien. He had curly golden hair and bright blue eyes, and despite his station appeared to be in a fair humor. He approached her and offered up his tray for her selection, greeting, “Hello, my lady. I haven’t see you before. Are you a guest?”

Removing an apple from the tray, Saralonde muttered, “Guest. Something like that.” She took some bread and cheese. “How long have you been here?”

He seemed a little surprised she cared to asked, but was more than willing to answer. “Oh, I was raised here, my lady. My name’s Peregrin Took, Pippin to a lovely girl like yourself.”

Smiling softly, she replied, “Saralonde. Are there many other Halflings here at Lórien? Is it…difficult here?”

Pippin shook his head, snatching a bit of cheese for himself. “Not too bad. There’s quite a few of us here, actually.” He darted glances around conspiringly. “It isn’t my place to say, but you should come visit. Gaffer makes a brew that’ll knock your socks off.” His eyes widened when he noticed something across the table. She followed his gaze to see Aragorn watching with an unreadable expression. Pippin continued hastily, “What am I saying? A fine lady such as you wouldn’t have no business down in the glades. Forget I said anything.”

He scurried away, leaving Boromir without any breakfast. The captain rolled his eyes and snapped his finger at another Halfling that had wandered by. This one had darker hair, seemed quieter and less apt to speak out of turn. She wondered what sort of master Aragorn was that would drive Pippin away so hurriedly from just a glance. The Men had forgotten the incident already, but it troubled her to see such innocent beings as they trapped into living such dark lives.

“You think they’re unhappy?” His voice had a quiet quality, but was distinct enough to draw her eyes up. King Aragorn rubbed his finger around the rim of his goblet, waiting for her reply.

Saralonde exhaled, not certain what she should say in this situation or how easily angered he was. “I wonder at their happiness if they are forced to labor at such menial tasks.”

Aragorn smiled, dipping his finger into his goblet. When he raised it he watched a droplet of the blood-colored wine trail down his finger and drop back into the cup. “But you do not know all the tasks they perform, do you? You do not know that some of them fight, some act as spies or go where my Men cannot go because of their size. You do not know that some do nothing more than brew ales and tend gardens.”

Leaning back in his chair, Haldir smirked and looked at her. “My Sindar kin were ever so fond of self-righteous pride. It is ndernder Thranduil even listens to Elrond.”

“What would a Shadow Elf know?” she hissed, unable to contain her venom from him. In truth she almost felt more contemptuous towards he than any of the Men, for Elves should know better than to do such evils as these Elves did. Boromir gave her a warning look that made her glare down at her plate in frustration.

“More than you realize,” Haldir responded coldly.

Aragorn inhaled a weary breath, shaking his head. “Not at such an early hour, Haldir. Goad the Mirkwood Elves on your own time.”

The Elf frowned, but said nothing, content with his breakfast. The king watched her a few moments more before turning his attention to Boromir. “Speaking of the Mirkwood Elves,” he was saying, taking a drink of his wine. “I was curious as to what happened to the prince.”

Saralonde felt herself tense in expectation as she looked up at the king. Aragorn did not miss her interest, offering hesmilsmile. “Prince Legolas is comfortable with Lady Galadriel as company.”

Boromir halted in bringing a piece of bacon to his mouth. “Galadriel? You left him with…” The king raised his eyebrow at the question. Exhaling, Boromir finished his bacon and wiped his hands off on his napkin. “I was only curious, my lord. I meant nothing, of course.”

“Of course.” Aragorn’s voice was distant.

Breakfast continued. No more was spoken of Legolas or Galadriel, nor of Hobbits or slaves. The Men left Saralonde to her thoughts, speaking of a battle with the Orcs taking place in Rohan. She caught a mention of someone on the way to Lórien, but she paid no mind. What was another human being added to the number of her enemies except just that? It mattered little.

When the meal was through, Boromir stood and called on her to follow. Disappointed with the fruitless morning, she stood and obeyed without care. Hopefully he would return her to his room and leave her there so she could think. When they turned she saw Faramir entering the hall with a smile. “Brother, Elf,” he greeted, his eyes sparkling at her glare.

Boromir grunted, looking his brother up and down. “It took you long enough to drag yourself from your bedchamber. Late night drinking?”

The younger gave Saralonde a sidelong glance of amusement. “Yes, but I also entertained the lady archer that accompanied our Mirkwood guests. She was quite…v.”
.”

His elder brother merely laughed, but Saralonde could not stop herself from hissing, “You’re a disgusting animal!”

Faramir shook his head, making a mockery of a bow. “You have no idea, my dear. None at all. At any rate, I came looking for you, Boromir. Orophin would like to have a word with you concerning the other Mirkwood Elves. I could take your prize back to my place.”

At that she swallowed, afraid the Captain of Lórien would actually consider it. Boromir’s eyes had hardened, however. “Lady Saralonde is free to do as she will. There are plenty of guards to see that she doesn’t make it past Caras Galadhon.” The younger frowned at this, crossing his arms. Boromir held up a finger, pointing it directly at his brother. “And you had best not harass her, either, Faramir. She is mine and I do not share.”

“Why, Brother, yeem eem grumpy,” Faramir laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. It did not win his elder brother’s esteem. “One would think the dear lady did not satisfy you.”

A half-grin appeared on the elder’s face. “If you are so inclined towards Elves, why not go and play with Arwen?”

The young captain blanched, then shook his head, stalking away. Again Boromir and Saralonde began walking side by side. “What was all that about?” she asked, enfolding her arms together before her. The platform was chill against her bare feet as they ascended.

“Aragorn would kill an who who touched Arwen,” Boromir replied grimly. “He is very protective of her, despite his darkness. Or maybe because of it. Who can know for certain? One of the Silvan Elves got it in his fool head one night to sample from the King’s plate and let us just say it took him three days to die.”

“Things are so dark here,” she mused softly.

Boromir gave her a little impatient glare, shaking his head. “Things are dark everywhere. If you don’t see that you’re blind.”

Saralonde bit her lip and forsook the conversation, knowing he was right. Things were dark everywhere. Instead she asked, “Did you mean it when you said I was free to do as I will?” She thought of Legolas, thought of finding him or someone that would tell her where he was.

He nodded a bit reluctantly. “Aye, I meant it. I do not suggest you wander beyond the populated areas. Aragorn’s guardians will not care whether or not you belong to me. If you appear to be attempting escape, they will kill you and make no mistake, even if you cannot see them they are there.”

“You care whether I live or die?” she said a bit cynically, looking at the platform.

Boromir gripped her arm and jerked her close. “I care about not losing my prize. You remember, Elf, your prince is still alive somewhere and he would suffer if you died, I’m sure. Banish any thoughts of heroism or martyrdom if you care for him.” He shoved her away with a final look, then stalked on ahead, leaving her alone. Watching his back as he disappeared behind tall tree branches, Saralonde wondered where she should go. She held little hope of finding either Legolas or the other Elves. As much as she cared for her kind she could not bring herself to seek out Faramir for company of the archer he claimed to have violated.

“You look lost.” The soft voice from behind gave her a chill. Saralonde turned towards King Aragorn with a practiced calm that would hide her true feelings. He smiled and came nearer.

“Boromir said I was free to roam,” she told him a little defensively and he raised his hands in deference.

Aragorn came to stand beside her. “I meant no harm, Lady. I thought to offer to show you around Lothlórien if you do not have anywhere in particular to go.” His light blue eyes seemed kind enough, but she could see darkness within their depths. He seemed curious. Noticing her hesitation, he nodded softly. “You have no reason to fear. If I wanted to harm you I would just do it, rather than lure you off. I am King, after all.”

That was hardly a comfort, but his hand taking her arm and urging her to walk with him made her choice for her. Saralonde licked her lips and looked on ahead, trying to ignore the warm fingers wrapped around her forearm. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, for the time being content to allow him to lead her. Making a fuss in the open when he had done no harm yet would not be wise.

He dropped his hand, but kept walking, so she remained in stride with him. “Nowhere, my Lady. I thought walking would settle the battle within you. Have you ever been to the Golden Wood? Forgive me, I know not your age.”

Saralonde folded her hands together before her. “No,” she answered, ignoring his question of her age.

He seemed not to notice or care. “It is a beautiful place, is it not?”

She looked around her almost reflexively. It was very beautiful, but touched of an evil that ran as an undercurrent beneath the golden trees and quiet atmosphere. “It is,” she replied, unable to disguise the h ofh of sorrow in her voice.

Aragorn picked up on that, offering a sad smile of his own. They walked on for long moments, silent and lost to their own thoughts. Then he stopped when they came to a set of stairs spiraling down a tree. “You wish to know what has become of your Legolas,” he stated, watching her eyes light up in interest. “I will take you to him.”

He held out his hand and she hesitated. “What will you ask in return?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head and flexed his fingers towards her.

Swallowing hard, Saralonde took his hand, feeling she had no choice. Any number of things could happen at the foot of these stairs. Her heart desperately cried out to see Legolas, to make certain he was alive, but fear settled into her when she imagined being used against him. What things were they demanding of the Prince of Mirkwood? What would he do to end her suffering? She did not want to be used like that.

But the path had only one end. She was sure Aragorn would not allow her to turn back. The stairs were a short flight and at the bottom grass met feetfeet. It was darker down here, further from the sunlight. Stone walls had been built to enclose this part of the forest. Immediately she began scanning the way ahead for any sign of him. There seemed to be nothing, not until a shadow ahead gave way to her sight. Two trees stood ahead and between them she saw a form on its knees. She let go of Aragorn’s hand and rushed forward, whispering, “Legolas?”

When she came before him, she halted and covered her lips with her hands. He had been mistreated, far more brutally than she. He looked so tired, hanging there with no way to rest. His dark eyes met hers, widening and filling with wetness. “Saralonde? Meleth?”

Trying to stay her own tears, she came and knelt before him, looking him over. “Nîn Legolas, darthach. Guren naegra an le.”

He ran his cheek along her hand when she lifted it to his face. “My heart aches for you. Have they hurt you, Saralonde? They would not tell me anything of what was happening to you.”

“I’m all right,” she said softly, unable to bring mention to what had happened. She prayed he would not try to learn more, for she could not lie to him, but it was something she did not want him to know about. “Why have they done this to you?”

Legolas blinked softly, laying a kiss against her palm. “They seek to subvert me, but I will not turn.” His gaze tled led above her to where Aragorn stood, arms crossed as he watched. The injury and resent she saw in her prince made her breath catch for a moment. This was all wrong. They should never have had to suffer this. “Do not worry for me, Saralonde,” he said softly, looking again at her. “Try and win your freedom if any have mercy. Do not concern yourself with my well being.”

Saralonde gave him a stern look, shaking her head at him. “U-bedo sin, Legolas. Melethon le.”

He looked the dress she was wearing over, unable to hide his longing. “Aniron nid prestannen. Meleth...”

It broke her heart to see him so sorrowful, so wistful. Her own suffering she could handle, but his tore at her soul. “Dîn, Legolas. Iston lín ind.”

“Lady Saralonde.” The cool voice of Aragorn broke the illusion that they were alone. “Lady Galadriel will return soon. You do not want to be here to see what happens.”

“You would tell her th Leg Legolas fumed, struggling in his bonds. His glare was hot and steady on Aragorn. “You could not have merely said it was time to leave, but you would have her worry! You filthy dog!”

“Legolas, no,” Saralonde urged, putting her hands on his shoulders. He flinched at her touch, pain flitting across his face as he backed from her hands though he tried so desperately to bear it. She let him go, then leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers, conscious that her tears had broken past her lids. He opened his mouth, hungrily accepting her kiss, stroking his tongue against hers. Neither wanted to break it, but Aragorn would not stand for too much of it. He nudged Saralonde with his boot and she pulled away, feeling cold inside. “Melethon le, Legolas.”

“Melethon le,” he repeated, watching her with frustrated, longing eyes.

Saralonde turned away, wiping her cheeks as Aragorn led her to the stairs. Anger would have caused her temper to boil, but for what would happen to him if she let it get the best of her with the king. So she kept silent, her tears refilling and falling as she walked. At the foot of the stairs, they stopped. “Go on,” Aragorn urged, nodding upwards.

“You…?”

“I am staying. It is none of your concern, now go.” The kindness had fled his eyes, replaced by a sharp, impatient look.

Tearing herself away from him, daring to glare at the king, Saralonde stormed up the stairs without a destination in mind. With luck perhaps she would get lost and they would never find her. She would only return to being taken advantage of if she found Boromir’s rooms and remained. She wished for him to stay busy, to forget she even existed, but knew better than to hope.

*

As it was Saralonde had desired privacy after a good long walk and getting lost. All the platforms seemed the same, each leading off to only God knew where. She needed to rest and to think, so when she ran across Haldir, she asked him curtly to show her where Boromir was staying. He had been annoyed with her asking anything of him, especially without showing the respect he thought was proper, but had agreed easily enough to take her there. Not without saying a few nasty things concerning the nature of why she was returning, however. She was grateful when Haldir left her at the door without demanding to come in or something worse.

Now Saralonde waited for Boromir to return. Dinner hasseassed with Pippin bringing her some food when she failed to turn up at the table. The Hobbit had mentioned Boromir was in a foul mood, but could not say whether or not her absence had added to his frustrations. Not that it mattered, she supposed. He would return ill tempered in any event and as in any situation like hers she guessed he would take it out on her.

It was late by now. She was curled up on the couch in the sitting area, a blanket over her and a book in her hand. At first she had smirked, finding an actual book in his rooms, as if reading was above one such as he. In truth there were not many more than this on the shelf she had searched. It was a tale of the old war, the Last Alliance, where Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand. She found a tassel placed at a page where Isildur lay beneath the enraged Dark Lord, holding his father’s sword high. What was the significance of that to Boromir, she wondered.

Footsteps sounded outside. She steeled herself as the door opened, admitting her captor. Boromir looked her over, grunted and peeled his cloak off, throwing it over a chair. “Aragorn told me of your little outing,” he said, his voice irritated. He kicked his boots off and started on his bracers. “How was your Elf?”

Saralonde looked at him coldly, making no move to get up if he had any intentions. “He has been mistreated sorely.”

Boromir nodded, throwing the bracers down onto a tabl“Suc“Such is life as Aragorn’s slave.” He grunted and moved to a window, drawing the drapes shut. “Get up.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the book. “Excuse me?” she said hard, angry at what was coming.

He turned and pointed at her threateningly. “Get yourself off that couch, or I’ll come force you off. I am in no mood for your disobedience, Saralonde.”

“Did it occur to you that I may be in no mood for your lust?” she hissed, closing the book. She was half-tempted to hurl it at him.

It was a mistake, saying that. His gray eyes flashed and he said nothing else. Stalking towards the couch, Boromir reached for her wrists and jerked her up off the couch. He backhanded her as soon as she reached her full height and her face turned hard from the blow. “Listen to me and listen well. Whatever dream you had of being free with your Elf lover is shattered. You are mine and will learn your place. Take the dress off.”

Looking at him straight, Saralonde held her stinging cheek with slit eyes. “No,” she told him, unable to just give in and take it. She wanted to keep hegnitgnity at least.

Boromir laughed mirthlessly, squeezing the wrist he still held. “Do you honestly think this will not happen? Did you think it would not happen yesterday before I forced myself into you?”

“I know it will happen,” she replied softly, trying to ignore the pain in her wrist. “But I won’t just let you do it.”

He nodded, his eyes cynical and dark. Tossing her back onto the couch, he retreated to the crimson drapes and ripped one of the tiebacks off wallwall. “We can do this the hard way if you insist.”

Saralonde braced herself for a fight. He was much bigger than her, much stronger, so she knew it would nast ast long, but she was too angry with the world to hold back, to accept another loss without making someone pay for it. So when he came close enough, she made to kick him. He caught her ankle in the air and smiled, then threw her off balance. When she hit the floor, she gasped in pain, but watched him as he crouched to obtain her. His senses off guard, he did not expect her to punch his jaw. Boromir groaned when her fist came against his skin, causing his lip to hit his teeth. A few drops of blood came with his fingers as he felt, then pulled away.

Her heart pounded, knowing he would make her pay for that blood. He frowned and darted for her, capturing her arms in his hands. He said nothing, merely jerked her up to her feet and dragged her towards the bedroom. Saralonde struggled hard against his insistence, but his grip was painfully tight on her wrist. Once inside he tossed her down to the bed. She tried to get up, but he met her attempt too quickly, shoving her to the mattress and crawling over her. He trapped her midsection between his thighs, straddling her as he reached for her wrists. “You make this more difficult than you need, meleth,” he commented lightly, tying her wrists to the headboard.

Once she was secure, he got up off her and paced a moment, brushing his hair back. “You fought well, pretty one, but now it is my turn.” Saralonde tensed when he approached and reached for her cheek, caressing it possessively as she tried to turn her head. He slapped her, then his voice got firmer. “I plan to enjoy you at length in repayment.” Boromir gripped the neck of her dress and the sound of the fabric ripping filled her ears sharply. He tore it open, then brushed the cloth aside, his eyes hungrily roaming her nudity.

He started on his leather overcoat, watching very innocent movement she made as he disrobed. The heavy garment hit the floor, causing her to shiver at the volume of it. His tunic followed quickly and he abandoned his clothes for her. Resting his hands at her sides, Boromir bent over her. The heat of his breath closed in upon her breast as he kissed the sides, the looked up as his lips closed over the center. Saralonde closed her eyes, feeling his tongue rake across the upraised flesh. He wrapped his tongue around, drawing her flesh into his suck as his other hand came up, brushing the backs of his fingers over her other breast.

She lay there wondering where the violence was. She wanted that, not this slow violation. The sooner she could go to sleep and escape, the better. “Haven’t you the stomach to punish me?” she hissed, hoping to spur him into ending this quickly. “Or do you think causing me pleasure will teach me a lesson?”

Boromir laughed darkly, pulling himself up slightly. He pinched her softly, watching her face. “This is not for your pleasure, little whore, but for mine.” He rubbed his hand down her stomach to her pelvis, tracing just above her heat. “I like to taste my women, to take my time enjoying them. Like I said, I plan to do so at length, your own pleasure be damned.” His mouth pressed against her abdomen, kissing lightly. “You’re going to learn your place here.”

Saralonde closed her eyes, feeling sick after his dark words. He inserted his hand between her thighs, pushing them apart and moving down. She found herself holding her breath when his tongue came against her inner thigh, lapping the skin and biting gently. His hand cupped her hip, squeezing and rubbing rhythmically. He traveled up, leaving a wet trail on up her leg that chilled in the cool air.

Then he let up, shoving her thighs to the mattress for better access. When his mouth pressed against her heat, she bit her lip and tried to pull her legs together, but his grip on her thighs was hard, immovable. Whimpering softly, she then attempted to pull her hips away and it seemed to drive him even more. His tongue slid down her moisture, then back up in a relentless stroking that made her stomach muscles tighten. She felt his hands squeezing the tender flesh of her thigh softly. His voice against her flesh made her tingle with his groan of enjoyment.

She squirmed beneath his kiss, her body responsive and tense, her hands curled into fists as she listened to the silence. When she moaned behind tightly shut lips, he stopped. Her body throbbed as he climbed er, er, laying his heavy weight upon her body. “Is it so terrible?” he asked, laughing when she looked away from him. He wriggled his way out of his pants and undergarments, tossing them to the floor. He smoothed his hand down her cheek, then dropped his mouth to hers, brushing his tongue along her lips. “Will you be pleased when this is done?”

“Of course,” she breathed, trying to avoid another kiss. When she turned her head he went for her throat, biting her flesh until she gasped in pain.

Boromir laughed at this, gripping her face and forcing her to look at him. Saralonde tensed as his mouth invaded hers again, this time his tongue forcing beyond her lips, but did not fight it. He kissed her hard, adjusting his position over her, drawing one of her legs up into the crook of his arm, forcing it up. “Want to play a little game, Saralonde?” His tongue made a wet trail up her ear and his voice darkened. “How about evtimetime it hurts, you scream your Elf’s name and see if he comes to rescue you? Nerithen le norn.”

Saralonde moaned out when he surged forward into her a few times, his eyes watching every reaction on her face. As she gazed up into those stormy eyes of his she sought anything of mercy or reason. What gazed back was a soft assertion of the truth—his truth. He would not let her go until he had decided to. Her lashes fluttered shut as he thrust forward, then slowed coming back down.

She wanted desperately to be somewhere else, be it physically or to lose herself to the imaginary, but it was hard to ignore the heat of his body, invasive against hers. Boromir braced himself for a more controlled movement, then shoved into her uncomfortably. She could see it in his watchful gaze, he willed her to understand his claim of her being his. When his hand swept down her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that hscapscaped her, she tried to avoid it, fighting him with all her will. She would not submit to him, would do nothing to show she accepted this.

“Come now, Saralonde,” he breathed huskily, shoving again and winning a whimper of pain. The pressure of him inside burned at each rough movement. “Whisper his name.” She rolled her head to the side, biting her lip as he rolled forward three more times, then jerked as far as he could. “You know he cannot save you from this
He
Her leg ached from his iron hold, his rolling weight shoving her down each time he thrust. His movements were measured between strokes of pleasure, then painful reminders that this was not for her, but for him. It was hot beneath him, ufortfortably moist as they began to sweat. He was like a cage over her, smothering her from the free air.

“Do you like pain, meleth?” he groaned, running kisses down her bound arm until he came to her breast. His lips closed over her again, but instead of a tender suck he began nipping her flesh. She could feel her skin bruising beneath the rough kiss, but she dare not pull away for fear his bite might cause her further harm. Saralonde whimpered in pain, tensing as each jerk caused her burn, caused his teeth to mark a little harder. Satisfied, he looked up, abandoning her aching breast. “Did he ever hold you down and make you take it his way?”

“You will not find shame in what I have with him,” she whispered, arching as he slammed up into her. She panted, overcome by the sensation.

Boromir drew back, then plunged forward hard once more, smoothing her hair back from her eyes when she jerked in his arms. “Nor spice, I gather?” he laughed, causing her to flush in anger. She did not dignify that with an answer, couldn’t as he forced his mouth over hers again. His pauses slowed, then ceased all together as he focused on his own rushing pleasure. He moved fast and without mercy for her squirming and gasping, letting her leg so he could smooth his hand down the back of her thigh. He curved to hold her behind, pulling her up each time he shoved down until he gave a final, rough thrust and groaned out, fal aga against her shoulder.

He squeezed the flesh still in his hand, then ran his fingers along her thigh. Catching his breath, he pulled up and shoved his hand against her forehead, holding her head to the pillow as he forced another kiss on her. “Matho nin leitho nedh le? Le no anim.”

Saralonde closed her eyes, refusing to acknowledge him, which only increased his mirth. Grunting, Boromir pulled himself from her body and jerked her wrists free of their bonds. Immediately she moved to get off his bed, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Lie back down.”

“Let me go and wash,” she whispered, her voice ragged and tired.

Boromir shook his head, pulling her down further. “You will live. Lie down beside me.”

She swallowed, not moving to his command right away, but when his fist tightened, she tested him no further. She curled up as far away from him as she could, but that did not halt his seeking hands. Closing her eyes, Saralonde buried her cries beneath her weariness and thought of Legolas.

*

Elvish:
Nîn Legolas, darthach. Guren naegra an le. – My Legolas, you endure. My heart aches (pains) for you.
U-bedo sin. Melethon le. – Speak not in such a way. I love you.
Aniron nid prestannen. – I wish things were different. Lit. I wish things changed.
Dîn, Legolas. Iston lín ind. – Hush (silence), Legolas. I know your heart.
Nerithan le norn. – I will ride you hard.
Matho nin leitho nedh le? Le no anim. – Feel me spill inside you? You are mine.