Feud

Feud
www.feud.shadowess.com
by erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Beta'd by Sarah AK

Disclaimer: The recognised characters and settings used in this fiction were created by JRR Tolkien. The words, other characters, and ideas here surrounding them belong to erobey alone. No infringement is intended or monies earned through this work.

Chapter 72: Sigil ar Raph-ristol [Dagger and Whip]

Legolas shuddered to hear these objects named aloud, linked together, sounded with the same breath. Not even Fearfaron brought this up, he hoped Lindalcon did not know, and the healer had chosen to leave it alone. He had not voiced his fears over the hate and anger growing in him since that first night spent in Aragorn and Mithrandir's company. Confronting that pool of festering rage had initiated the attack of grieving that overtook him then. He had not revealed any of the darkness that shrouded his soul since the horrific dream of the beach and the blade. {And only Mithrandir did I allow to witness the role the dagger played.} How could Berenaur know?

{The dagger and the scourge, they are merely reminders of what has been endured, what has been conquered.} Legolas silently tried out this blatant falsehood on himself to see whether he might be able to utter the statement and convince Berenaur there was nothing to discuss or explain. His inner mind refused to be mocked, however, and he actually cringed in the Noldo's confining embrace. The deadly objects were tangible touch points connecting him to the daily conflict within his being, physical representations of all that he had loved and everything he now loathed. That he and Ailinyéro inhabited the latter category was a given. The troubling part was trying to decide where to house Malthen.

A gift from Malthen on his coming of age, the dagger had been purchased from a metal smith in Lorien during one of the guardsman's extended journeys there. {With Naneth. I wonder if she helped choose the blade?} He shoved that idea away; not liking much to imagine things those two had shared together. Legolas was never without the hunting knife before the Judgement and after reclaiming it from Ailinyéro had not set it aside until the Council hearing had begun.

It was not an elaborately decorated weapon, had no illustrious history behind it, and was not a thing of wonder such that it earned a naming. Mostly it was a valuable tool in the wilderness. {And a remembrance of Malthen, a small part of him kept with me.} An aid in the making and mending of arrows, dressing hide from game, stripping fibre from bark and vines for rope, he would never part with it. The dagger had saved his life more than once. {But came near to ending it thrice.} It was his hope and his doom, a grievance and a boon, death and life; he depended on and drew comfort from its lethal mithril edge.

But the scourge had no utilitarian value. Not a single wholesome act, no worthy service could he render with the slender five-tongued lash. One could not fight against an enemy with such a weapon, or subdue game for nourishment. The knotted rawhide whip was a wicked invention; a devise designed to nurture agony and humiliation, purely an agent of torture. He kept it only so he would always know where it was, to prevent it from being used on him again. {Aye. You keep it to prove to yourself that you are not so base as to flay your own flesh in order to feel pleasure!}

"Legolas? Please, you must speak." The advisor made his simple request once more, concerned for the silence accumulating around them like the layers of leaves superposed upon the ground at the base of the old tree's trunk, and wrapped his arms around his love, lying on his side and pressing his chest against the disfigured back.

Legolas was startled to hear Berenaur's voice and feel the confining closeness, lost in his rambling internal consideration of the place those objects held within the fabric of his character. {How can he know all this? To whom has he been talking?} But there was no one who could have supplied an understanding Legolas himself barely possessed. If Berenaur could see this darkness in him, others must do so just as easily. For someone that hardly knew him to perceive more of his heart than he could himself was frightening. And infuriating.

"What is there to say? He beat me with the whip and threatened me with the knife!" he spat venomously and tried to get up, shoving and squirming to get out of Berenaur's hold.

But Erestor had anticipated that and held him fast, arms a steely band about his chest and legs encircling his hips as the full weight of his body pushed the writhing elf deeper into the cushiony down bed. "Nay, that is half the truth. Why do you keep this inside? What will happen if you speak of it?"

Suddenly Legolas stilled as he considered this. {What indeed? What more can be done? Everything is ruined, what is this false claim to honour and dignity I try to hold onto?} He laughed bitterly. "Aye, worse has been revealed since then; I guess it is from habit that I wish not to mention the details. Why do you desire to know of it, Berenaur? Does it excite you to think on these things being done to me?"

"Nay. But it does excite you."

All the air left Legolas' lungs in a petrified rush and seconds slugged by before he drew enough back in to protest. Instead he found himself powerless to fend off the brutal truth.

"I cannot speak of this, please!" the wild elf wailed, now limp, face buried in the yielding mass of covers and pillows, voice muffled yet nonetheless vividly conveying the ragged frenzy blooming inside his thundering heart.

"Aye, you can. Try, Pen-rhovan." Erestor said nothing more after that, keeping his tight embrace steady as he kissed the nape of the neck and along the shoulders. He would give Legolas as long as he needed to get through this.

And many minutes it required indeed as Legolas gathered his courage, arguing against the revelation in anger, hungering to trust enough to expose this horrid and hideous place in his soul, the corruption he feared would overtake him.

What will happen once Berenaur knows?
{He already does; he just told you.}

He will be revolted and flee, hoping to find some place to cleanse his flesh of the stink of their union. How could he abide to look upon him much less share this intimate cohesion?
{No! He chose to bring you here; he sought you out and offered you this joining.}

Mayhap he still does the Elf Lord's bidding and they will laugh together over the depravity they have uncovered. They have been friends for Ages, after all.
{Nay! His concern is genuine; one does not brave dishonour at home and Thranduil's dungeons merely for a tumble in bed.}

Berenaur could not possibly want him; he has two mates already, reputable ones.
{Indeed, but he professed his heart to you, claimed you. You let him!}

"Why?" He asked a second time, only the umbrage and distrust was missing and the singly worded question was encumbered with a new mixture of emotions: fear, hope, desperation, anguished desolation, all bundled into this compact expression.

"You cannot guess, can you?" Erestor said with a smile so faint it almost did not reach the reply, for the sorrow in it was stronger. He rested his chin on the archer's shoulder and rubbed his nose against an earlobe. "Neither am I sure you can believe the answer, not yet. I see this is difficult, but have faith in me, Pen-rhovan. Your trust will not go unrewarded. Speak and be unburdened of this ill."

A shorter length of soundless time transpired against the counterpoint of rustling agitation issuing from Tawar's minions, an audible reflection of the turmoil in their champion's spirit. The Îdhben [Sleepers] had awakened midst this starry night's autumnal solitude and sent word sweeping through twig and stem, branch and bough of the union of Tirn-en-Tawar and the Noldo interloper. All around the hidden talan and for unending leagues to the very boundaries of the forest, the Greenwood prayed unto Yavanna for the well being of the Wood Elf. It seemed to Erestor now that the trees desired the same as he and the sense of urging encouragement within the old oak's creaking limbs was surely more than his imagination's work. He felt the archer's chest draw a deep inhalation and held his breath expectantly.

"His name was…is Rochendil and he has despised me from the moment he learned of my existence, I believe, though why I have never learned," Legolas began the unpleasant tale. He told of early memories from childhood, the escalation of slurs and jibes aimed his way once he joined the elf's company, furious glares following some commonplace pleasantries exchanged with Andamaitë. There was a particularly humiliating event that had happened during one patrol along the Northern Border and he told that, too, since now it seemed to fit the pattern.

He had not been with the company long, a ten-year perhaps, and as youngest was invariably assigned the less glamorous tasks. Filling water skins, for example. He remembered leaving camp to fulfil this obligation, but Legolas' next recollection involved Annaldír shaking him awake late in the night. As senses returned to normal acuity, he realised in disgust that he stank of sour wine and was but half-dressed.

"The wrong half; tunic and shirt agape, leggings cast in a heap over discarded boots, weapons, and two empty bottles of strong vintage. Rochendil was there, too, cursing and condemning my 'careless self-indulgence', furious for causing others to worry over my disappearance and forcing Talagan to send out searches for the 'spoiled prince.'"

"Valar! What happened?"

Annaldír had been sympathetic and tried to ease his friend's embarrassment with humour. The spearman had drawn Rochendil away as their confused comrade hurriedly dressed. He had accepted Legolas' insistent claims that he had not brought the drink and could not recall partaking of it, or anything of the night's events. But Rochendil had not been so magnanimous. He had reported to Talagan that the wine was his and had been stolen from his pack. When Legolas vehemently denied the charge, Rochendil had countered that, if he truly could remember no details of the night, how could he so profess?

The horse-master had also been luridly specific in his descriptions of Legolas' slovenly state when discovered. He had proposed a punishment be administered, but Talagan had dismissed the matter with a terse reprimand, sending Legolas away to clean himself up and complete the assignment. Maltahondo had been outraged and the tongue-lashing he had given was worse for Legolas than the whipping propounded by Rochendil would have been. Malthen had not believed his story.

"You think Rochendil had something to do with it? Is it possible you had been drugged?" Erestor asked quietly and felt Legolas nod.

"I felt ill; Malthen said it was from too much wine. But the entire event came to be at Rochendil's suggestion. My water was gone, for somehow a small tear had worked through the seam in the leather of my vessel and he offered me his; I drank and volunteered to refill it. Then he said I might as well see to everyone's at once and collected up the empties for me. Talagan concurred and I left camp. I know not what happened after that. I was not found anywhere near the stream."

"Had you been violated?"

"Nay, but I had…known release, somehow."

Erestor rearranged himself, still clinging to Legolas firmly, fitting himself against the strong back as he eased the archer more comfortably onto his side. He snuggled against the pliant body and rubbed his cheek reassuringly against the back of the golden head. He sighed. What to say? There was more to be revealed and he decided it best to withhold comment until the darkest deeds were aired.

"Go on."

"After the Judgement, during the public sentencing, he claimed chastisement as his due. He began as soon as Gladhadithen reported my…injuries healed."

"Wait," Erestor had noted that second of hesitation. "What injuries?"

Legolas was quiet for many minutes. "It is the custom, in these cases, for the offending warrior to tender his life in return for those lost by his errors," he said and was amazed to have managed it without any tears.

"You were expected to kill yourself?" Erestor's words rang with stupefied abhorrence. He had known from Elrond that the scar below Legolas' heart was self-inflicted, but had not understood what circumstances prompted him to take such a drastic step.

Legolas ignored this query and continued. "Others intervened and so I did not die. I tried again and was once more thwarted by the mortals. Then Thranduil came to the humans' infirmary and pronounced his sentence. Talagan and his lieutenant gave me a very thorough thrashing, I suppose trying to worsen my condition so that I would perish. Unfortunately, that was also unsuccessful, and five days later I had to face all the elves affected by the warriors' deaths." The wild elf was pleased at how calmly he could recount these events, and wondered how he could feel so removed from them, as though he had seen these things happening to someone else.

"Oh Legolas, such words are unbearable to hear! How can you speak so casually of finding death, and in such a way? I cannot affirm such opinions or customs!" Erestor was incensed, absorbing this abbreviated narration of the facts. He pressed closer and held on tighter, dreading what might be next revealed.

"It does not matter anymore." Legolas uplifted his left shoulder in a lethargic shrug.

"Aye, it does to me," Erestor growled against the bare skin as the joint returned to its normal position. "I would not have allowed any of it. I would have taken you away from here and the Judgement be damned!" he exclaimed vehemently. He kissed the bowed head repeatedly and was relieved to feel Legolas respond, gently rubbing a hand across Erestor's arm where it encircled his chest.

"I would not have gone with you."

The advisor took a slow breath. {What retort can I give to that?} "There is more and Rochendil is responsible. Continue, Pen-rhovan," he urged gently.

"The chastisement." Legolas shifted in discomfort, stiff and tense in his lover's arms. "I accepted this; it was his right. Yet I hate him for it! He taught me to use the scourge until my back ran red. He dressed my cuts with salt. He used my blood to lubricate his hand while he pleasured himself."

"Valar, no!" Erestor exclaimed in disbelief and unfastened one arm from his embrace round Legolas' shuddering shoulders to softly run his hand over the bowed head, for Pen-rhovan had begun crying.

"The last night was five, nearly six years ago now. He meant to break me; he wanted me dead, perhaps he had tired of his game." Legolas' words were pitched low, for he could hardly stand to hear them, and a groaning wail of self-loathing followed, clinging at the heels of the syllables as bitterly as the freezing burn of wet sleet on naked skin. "He mentioned a new lover. And he succeeded; he proved that all he had said of me was true, all those horrible things!"

"What things? They must be lies to spring from such a twisted being!"

"No, he was right. I was excited by his lust for me, and I let him, let him…" The sentence was disrupted by a broken howl of tormented mortification. "I came with his hand on me and my own knife pressed against my root. It was awful… It was exquisite!"

"Nay, Pen-rhovan; you were forced!"

"It made me sick and he chained me up again. He let them all in…"

"What? Who did he let in?" Erestor's comprehension quailed at the images these statements raised in his mind.

"… and put the dagger to my throat. He was hard anew and so was I! He wanted me to suck him. I refused and he cut me; I almost came." A frantic railing sound tore from the wild elf's lungs and he shook as though the ejaculation was impending.

"Ai! Legolas, Legolas! Far! (Enough!)"

But the archer seemed not to hear; once begun he had to say it all, ripping away the flimsy gauze of worth and honour with which Berenaur had sought to cloak him.

"None of the soldiers tried to stop him. I could smell them; they were aroused, too. Some were openly masturbating; I could see their hands round their cocks." Legolas' fingers dug down desperately on Berenaur's arms as if to prevent them from acting out the scene.

"They wanted me, wanted this from me. Waiting their turn. Blood and pain. I…I wanted to see them come. I was going to do it! I would have let Ailinyéro spill down my throat but for Fearfaron's intervention."

And there were no more words, nothing more to be added, no means of retraction; everything was revealed. Legolas covered his face with his hands as he wept.

All comprehensible thought drowned in the sobbing turbulence of lamentation and shame, resipiscence and fear, despair and helplessness issuing from the tormented elf. Erestor was lost in his repugnance of it, for this was far more detestable than he had expected. Though he had seen the scars, he had been unable to truly visualise such treatment and could barely control the urge to retch. He held Legolas and spilled countless tears with him, loosing a deluge of woe that neither relieved his soul nor cleansed his mind of the vision of these flagitious abuses. The Noldo could summon no platitudes sufficient to undo such cruelty and heal such damage.

They remained thus, locked in a crumpled heap, for what seemed hours, exhausted from the revelation, shuddering in aftershocks of disgust and nausea that fanned through both in a single wave of bitter gall. Erestor had no idea what he could do to alleviate Pen-rhovan's pain and just started with the first thoughts to make themselves coherent enough to utter.

"I thank the Valar for that carpenter! I do not wonder he is so protective and sent me such cautionary glares! Eru's arse, he will be after my hide when he learns where we are right now!"

"Nay, he will not be angry once he understands," Legolas smiled in spite of his sorrow. "You are not like the others." He drew and released a shaky sigh and wriggled deeper into the comforting encirclement of the Noldo's strong arms. Berenaur had not lied; he had needed to speak of that night. Once given voice the events lost the power of their secrecy for he need no longer fear the outcome of revealing this demented component in his psyche.

"You are still beside me," he whispered in wonder.

"Aye, so shall it always be if I have a say in your fate," Erestor repeated his vow aloud this time.

Erestor spoke his oath with clear purpose and full commitment to uphold the promise, regardless of other obligations or future concerns. {It is right, he shall be mine alone.} There was no question within his heart that not only was there a means to do this, but that should his belief prove false he would force a way; he would not be deterred. Words, so simple to say, so easy to let slip from the tracery of convoluted thoughts spun within the mind. Severed from the unspoken context from which they arose, bereft of the supporting network of insight and wisdom that enabled them to stand against opposition, meanings had a tendency to alter.

What was absolute within his own understanding was muddled and vague, even completely impossible to bear hearing, for the Tawarwaith. This affliction of an overactive tongue was forever plaguing Erestor and before he had time to consider the consequences, the fervent vow was voiced. No sooner had the well-meant sentence wafted through the night air than Legolas became rigid and actually grew cold within his arms. After this fractional stillness he writhed lose and sat up, twisting round to face the advisor, fearful and angry. The expression flaring through his eyes was so raw that Erestor shut his own a moment as realisation seized him.

"How can you say this? You are bound to others. I do not need such lies."

{Oh, Vairë curse these lips, this tongue!}

When Erestor re-opened his eyes the wild panic in the archer's demeanour had vanished and in its stead a dull comprehension filled the darkened orbs. The wounded soul was all exposed, a ragged shroud tied to him on tenuous tethers, tattering in the blast of the mistral called up by the unintentional betrayal, threatening to break free and become scattered among the stars.

"Because it is no lie! This is what I feel inside; it is what rests easiest in my mind when I think of you. I cannot lose you again as I nearly did before. Everything that has happened to you since that day in the enchanted glen, you could have been spared all of it but for my wayward tongue and deliberate scheming."

"Nay, I needed to learn the truth." The words were cold and hard as the peaks of Caradras.

"Not thusly, and I do not believe it was the truth anyway, not about your father's identity at least."

"Perhaps." Legolas shook his head as if trying to shove the memory of that day from his mind. "I want to believe your vow; I am not sure I am able to, though. I do not want you to lose your bond-mates on my account."

"It need not be that way."

"Then how shall it be? I cannot be yours and you theirs also."

"Why not? They belong to one another and accepted me much later."

"I…I do not know if I want…that."

In spite of the seriousness of this discussion Erestor snickered, trying hard to hold in his laughter over Pen-rhovan's discomfort with the idea of a four-way love affair. A spluttery hiccup escaped and Legolas glared.

"Oh, you do not wish to share me now?" the advisor teased, grinning up at the flushed countenance. "I admit, since the first night on the talan when I touched you," Erestor's fingers reached out and trailed slowly down the archer's salient sex, eliciting a responsive shiver through them both, "I have spent numerous hours fantasising of various ways to involve you in my arrangement. There are several very enjoyable, or so I imagine they would be, positions and combinations we might try." The sight of Legolas' eyes growing rounder and more frightened was too much and Erestor burst into peals of deep laughter, grabbing the younger elf and yanking him back into his embrace, holding him securely against his chest.

"Ai! Stop laughing, it is not funny!" scolded Legolas, appalled, struggling to get loose. The seneschal let go and he sat back up, legs and arms both crossed protectively to shield his body. "Berenaur, I do not want to be given to your other lovers in turns!"

Erestor fell silent at once and searched his lover's distraught features. It seemed he had found another festering sore and his heart ached to see the desperate apprehension shining in the turquoise irises.

"Valar, did he do that to you?" he demanded softly and knew instantly it must be so from the deep crimson of shame that immediately suffused Pen-rhovan's cheeks. Erestor sat up and sidled closer, opening out his arms to the archer, frowning slightly when Legolas only looked away.

"Nay, not to share. He gave me away forever," the voice uttering this was as cracked and fractured as river ice in springtime. Legolas slumped into Berenaur's arms, head bowed and eyes shut tight.

"I would never do such a thing," Erestor promised and wrapped Pen-rhovan up snug in his protective hold. "Never! I only meant to reassure you that I would not abandon you in favour of them."

Legolas turned in the welcome clasp and encircled Berenaur's neck with his arms, laying his head upon the Noldo's shoulder with a worried sigh. "But you will leave here and they do have a claim to your loyalty," he murmured dejectedly.

"That is not exactly right. It is true I must eventually depart from Mirkwood and continue my duties in Imladris but I will never leave you. Do you understand the difference?"

"Yes, but what of your bond-mates?"

"I know not exactly what I will say to them. I must confess everything and I can only pray they forgive me the harm I brought to you. They warned me often not to encumber another's heart." {But never cautioned me to watch over my own!}

"How can it be your fault if I cannot deny you? You have not hurt me wilfully and I do not feel burdened. They must absolve you! I will speak to them, if you wish it," Legolas offered.

"Valar! You are remarkable, Legolas!"

"What?"

"You would defend me to them to prevent me from grief! How can you not see that such an action is selfless and noble? How can you yet believe the lies that dishonourable guardsman and the depraved horse-master told you?"

"It is different; I deserved the chastisement and…and I wanted…" Once more his recriminations were silenced as Berenaur kissed him deeply, gently rubbing the right ear tip as he did so. Legolas leaned into the tingling contact.

"Nay. You must listen to my opinion on this," Erestor stated, more sure now of the course to tread. "What pleasure you were taught to seek has ever been shrouded in some dark agony and torment. Never did you know otherwise; is that not so?"

"I suppose."

"It is true, for you told me so yourself after our first encounter in the glade. It was the dagger that caused you such distress that night, for you were recreating that final play."

"Aye, you see how the perversion has hold of me now!" Legolas cried. He tore loose from Berenaur and threw himself down, burying his face against the pillows to hide his disgrace.

Tbc

Thank you to louise_oblique, ivorybrowneyes, TheSilentSenshi, michelle, SivanShamesh, and MorierBlackleaf for reviewing the last chapter. You guys are terrific and I am so grateful for your encouraging words!

Odd words, seldom seen?
Resipiscence: repentance
Flagitious: flagrantly wicked, atrocious, heinous