Torment

Torment
Morgoth/Maedhros
Dark-fic, non-con/rape

A/N: So this is the first time I've written a dark-fic with non-con/rape in it. I'm rating it R because I just don't think it has as much substance as my other stories to be called NC-17. This is also the first time I've used Maedhros as a main character.
I mostly wrote this to be a memory sequence that rfacrfaces over time for the Arda Reborn RPG in which I play Maedhros. My mind was on a roll and I didn't want to forget anything so I wrote it all down. And here is the result.
I hope you all enjoy. Feedback is gladly welcome.

Revision: I've added onto one paragraph to better explain why Maedhros asks Fingon to kill him. It's been pointed out to me that Elves should normally die after being taken against their will. I know this, you don't have to tell me this; this fact is the exact reason why I never had this happen to Elrohir in 'Starry Sky.' The reason Maedhros doesn't fade is because he is a son of FEANOR; I somehow don't think the dear daddy would be very pleased that 1) Morgoth violated one of his sons and 2) said some died from the fact. Maedhros is just too damn stubborn to die, and there's still that oath to fulfill.
And someone please review! It would be most appreciated!


He was taken to Angbond after the ambush, bound with his hands behind him and the chains hindering his movements. He was the only one left alive from his campaign, the only one that was necessary to keep alive. Foul hands had beaten him when he stumbled on the march, the breast of his tunic torn and dirtied with his own blood and their hands, the emblem of his father still shimmering proudly through the grim. They marched for hours it seemed, pushing the Elf before them, their captive by command of their Lord. And when they reached their destination, they pushed him before a dark throne, shrouded in shadow.

He felt eyes on him then, and invisible lips twisting into a smile of pure maliciousness. He held his ground however, glaring from where he knelt as the Star of Fëanor glimmered on his breast plate from what little light the room held. His fists tightened, nails digging into his palms when that hated voice spoke, ordering him to be taken and chained, cold seeping into the room with every word. And then hands were upon him again, hauling him off.

The sounds of clothes ripping and armor clattering to the floor were the only noise, other than the grunts of the Orcs, that were heard in the stone cold room. The Elf made no sound, merely glared and struggled fiercely against his captors. But they won in the end, chaining his wrists to the wall and above his head, taking his armor and clothes away to leave him with nothing but a grimy sheet for his modesty. Then they left him alone, shutting the heavy door behind them, their disjointed laughter ringing down the corridor.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was pitch black everywhere he looked. Storm gray eyes, narrowed in anger and hatred for his captor, scanned the area; if not for their keen elvish characteristic of sharp sight, he would have not seen anything. Maedhros let out a growl when he heard the door unlock and was pushed open. Once again, the copper-haired Elf attempted to break his bonds, but the manacles and chains about his wrists prevented that. He glared through his curtain of hair as a black clad form paused in front of him, lips raised in a smirk of triumph, black hair framing a pale face and obsidian eyes.

“Morgoth,” Maedhros sneered, giving his bonds one last tug.

“Fëanorion,” Morgoth said, leaning over and taking Maedhros’ face in hand. His touch was cold, immensely cold that even an Elf could feel acutely; Maedhros flinched at the touch but said nothing, the grip on his chin firm enough to prevent him from pulling away. The Dark Vala’s eyes seemed to widen upon receiving a closer look at the Elf he held captive. “My, we are a sight to behold aren’t we?” He had never seen the eldest son of his enemy up close, but what he saw now caused a dark desire to stir inside him. He kept the lust out of his eyes, however, as Morgoth continued to gaze at the scowling Elf.

“My brothers will never do as you ask,” Maedhros hissed. “They know you will never keep your word and free me should they meet your terms. So what is it you want, Morgoth?”

“Ah, so much like your father. And there is some of your grandfather in you as well, I see.” The Dark Vala let go of Maedhros and began to wander the room, all the while keeping his obsidian eyes trained upon the Elf. “I want nothing more than to see you suffer,” Morgoth said with a smirk. “I want to hear you scream and beg for mercy. I want the proud, eldest son of Fëanor to plead for his life whilst knowing that you are at my mercy.”

“You ask for too much. I won’t bend to your will; no sound will live these lips of mine to satisfy you so long as I draw breath.”

“We shall see, Fëanorion.” Morgoth stepped aside as the door opened again and in walked three Orcs. The Dark Lord took something handed to him whilst two of the beasts made for Maedhros, unchaining him from the wall.

For a brief moment the copper-haired Elf entertained the thought of overtaking them and escaping, but such ideas were quickly suppressed when his chains were pulled in opposite directions. His body protested the abuse, muscles straining against the bonds which the Orcs held fast. Pure hatred burned in his eyes as Morgoth stealthy glided behind him; ice cold hands tenderly lifted Maedhros’ mane of copper off his back and over his shoulder in what otherwise would have been seen as a loving gesture. A finger left an icy trail across the skin of a shoulder blade before leaving all together. Maedhros waited, wondering what Morgoth had planned. And then, suddenly, he knew.

A burning, sheering pain tore through his back a second after the sound of a whip cracking echoed through the damp cell. Maedhros shut his eyes, clamping his lips together to keep in the anguished cry. Just as the stinging began to subside, another crack and more pain. His body jerked, the chains rattled at the sudden movement, causing the Orcs to pull upon them, nearly wrenching Maedhros’ arms from his shoulders.

Again and again the whip sounded, adding lash to lash upon the fair skin. Red welts began to turn into bloody rivulets as the crimson liquid flowed, marring the skin and the already dirtied sheet. Maedhros was overcome by the pain but refused to utter a sound; a drop of blood spilled from the corner of his lips as he bit down on the lower one.

Just as suddenly as it began, it ended. Dazed, half-blinded by the pain, Maedhros was vaguely aware of being suspended to the wall again, the damp stones stinging the open wounds just beginning to h He He cringed as Morgoth leaned forward, licking away the blood from his lip in a seductive manner. With a smirk of triumph, the Dark Vala turned with a sweep of his robes, and left the chamber accompanied by his minions. Only after the door had been locked and the sounds of footsteps had faded away did Maedhros give in to unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Maedhros had lost count of the days. Perhaps it had been a month since his capture, perhaps more but he no longer knew. Each day seemed to be nearly identical to the one before it. Morgoth would come, say he wanted to see Maedhros beg for his life, to scream for mercy before promptly inventing some new, inventive method of torture.

But the Elf never uttered a sound. He had been threatened with death, whippedrnedrned, branded, beaten, his skin sliced open slowly, but never once did he say a word. His strength was slowly leaving him, his muscles were atrophying through the lack of nourishment; Morgoth only gave him enough to keep Maedhros alive, never more. He was starving, in need of rest and healing, none of which he never received.

Today would be different; somehow Maedhros knew today’s torture would be nothing like anything he had gone through before. For one thing, Morgoth was alone; the corrupted Vala always arrived with a servant or two at his side, but there were no Orcs with him this day. Second of all, the Dark Vala wore a simple, loose black robe tied at the waist with a sash. It was nothing like the intricate garments he wore previously, and the fact unsettled Maedhros though he couldn‘t even begin to fathom why. It set his senses off, his instincts screaming for him to flee if only he could.

“What is it today, snake?” the son of Fëanor growled, his voice dry and hoarse from lack of use and water. If he couldn’t run, then he would be defiant towards the end no matter what came him way. “Do you intend to draw patterns upon my skin again with a knife blade? Maybe with a branding iron this time? Or have you come up with something more creative?”

“Oh, that I have, Fëanorion,” Morgoth replied, the look in his eyes causing Maedhros to cringe inwardly. “I’ve come up with something very ‘creative’ indeed.”

Maedhros shrank against the wall as Morgoth stepped closer. Suddenly, he felt very uneasy with the Dark Vala so close, even more so than before; Morgoth had been close to him previous times, touching his face the way a lover would. The caress, for that was what it was in actuality, had always sickened Maedhros to the pit of his stomach. Somehow the touches now seemed nothing to the feeling Morgoth was emanating at that moment.

“Do I frighten you, Fëanorion? Have I finally broken through that hatred you bear towards me?”

“I shall never release the hate I feel for you!”

“Then why do you shrink away from me? Why does your voice quiver when you speak?”

Unable to come up with a reply, Maedhros merely glared. His eyes narrowed further in suspicion as Morgoth took another step forward; had the Elf had the use of his hands and arms, it would not have taken much to cover the distance between himself and the corrupted Vala, if he felt so complied to touch him. A delicate eyebrow arched as Morgoth grinned evilly down at him. Maedhros was about to speak but his words were cut off, his eyes widening in shock and repulsion as Morgoth snapped open his robes and forcibly pressed his already rock-hard sex into the Elf’s mouth.

His mind screamed at the invasion; Maedhros drew his head back in an attempt to pull away. But a hand gripped his hair hard, shoving his face forward as Morgoth began to thrust into his mouth. The act was wrong on so many levels; the Elf hated the Dark Vala even more for the injustice but could do nothing. His arms were bound, his head was held and Maedhros had to fight down his gag reflex as the tip of the foul erection pressed the back of his throat.

The humiliating act seemed to last forever with Morgoth thrusting into the helpless Elf’s mouth, his groans filling the air as he slowly suffocated Maedhros. The obsidian eyes were dilated with lust and wanting, but no he wouldn’t take what he really wanted from the Elf, not yet. Morgoth wanted to have Maedhros suffer before claiming his prize. And then he would break him.

When the Elf was on the verge of losing consciousness, Morgoth released, spilling himself down Maedhros’ throat, his hand tightening painfully in the copper hair and nearly wrenching a handful out. The icy essence, cold like the body it came from, burned its way down the Elf’s throat; his stomach protested, lurching in an attempt to dispel the foul seed but to no avail.

Slowly Morgoth pulled away, fastening his robes back into place as he watched Maedhros slump against the wall, chest heaving in order to draw in much needed air. Kneeling, he tenderly caressed the satin skin of a cheek, the silk of copper tresses that framed the face. He leaned forward, licking away the last of his seed at lingered on Maedhros’ lips, feeling the shudder that coursed through the nearly wasted body, before purring into an ear. “I hope to enjoy many more ‘creative’ moments with you, Fëanorion.” With a last flick of his tongue across an ear tip, Morgoth stood and swept from the room.

His body convulsed from the aftermath of what had just happened. Gray eyes swam with unshed tears that threatened to spill at any moment. Maedhros shut his eyes tightly, keeping the flood of tears at bay. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t give in. He was a son of Fëanor, he refused to be broken by his father’s enemy! He refused to let Morgoth see him so weak and helpless! It’s what the Vala wanted, and Maedhros wouldn’t give it to him.

But the tables had turned, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to maintain his mask of indifference and hate, because it was starting to shatter. What was being done to him was starting to affect him, in more ways than he wanted, emotionally and physically. Maedhros began to wonder how much longer he would last.

~~~~~~~~~~

The copper head bowed, his breath issuing past his lslowslowly as Maedhros forced away the pain of another torture session. The metallic scent of his blood filled the air as crimson rivers flowed down his chest and abdomen. His mind was cloudy, thoughts hazy but Maedhros was aware of Morgoth entering as his servants left; the Dark Vala had been absent during the session, allowing his Orcs to perform the whipping. But now he was here, and again he was alone with the Elf. Maedhros knew what was to come next, and mentally prepared himself for the assault.

Morgoth glided towards his hostage, his face expressionless as he knelt in front of the copper-haired Elf. Bracing his hands upon Maedhros’ knees, he pressed them apart and slid between them in one fluid motion. Smirking at the glare directed towards him, Morgoth leaned closer, brushing a finger across a single cut on a cheek that marred the otherwise still perfect face. Maedhros’ nearly year long captivity had done nothing to lessen the grace of the Firstborn and the light of the Two Trees that shimmered in his eyes and emanated from his being. He fascinated Morgoth, to say the very least.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Maedhros growled, managing enough strength to jerk his head out of Morgoth’s reach.

“Ah, but there will be no need for words today,” Morgoth replied, his voice sounding soft and sweet to the ears. “I have something special planned for this day.”

“What? More torment? I believe I’ve already lived through everything your twisted mind could think up for me.”

“Oh?”

Maedhros flinched; he didn’t like the glimmer he suddenly saw in the dark swirls gazing back at him. He moved when Morgoth leaned forward, issuing a muffled cry when the Dark Vala pressed their lips together. Twisting his head away, the Elf glared at his captor with a mixture of shock and hate evident in his stormy eyes. “What in the Valar’s name do you think you are doing?!”

“Sweet torment, Fëanorion.” Morgoth leaned forward, purring seductively into a pointed ear. “I’ll have you scream for mercy yet,” he whispered whilst deftly licking the delicate curve.

“I want nothing to do with you!” He had to--wanted to--flee from this place, and fast! But Maedhros was still bound, his chains rattling as he struggled against the steel holding him in place, rendering him helpless in the one moment he desired his freedom the most. “Don’t touch me,” he growled in an attempt to upset the Vala to the point that Morgoth would change his mind.

Such was not to be the case, however. Maedhros’ defiance seemed to propel Morgoth forward as he claimed the Elf’s lips again. Icy hands began to roam the battered flesh before him, fingernails scraping lightly over the cuts, causing Maedhros to whimper softly in pain as some wounds were reopened. He left those luscious lips to explore more of the helpless Elf before him, coming to rest upon the slender neck, suckling the skin lightly. Pale hands dipped beneath the edge of the dirty sheet and fumbled along the skin it encountered.

He hated this, hated what was being done to him, and at the same time wasn’t able to change the situation at all. Maedhros screwed his eyes shut, wishing he were in Aman again, that his father was alive, that none of this had ever happened. But it had, and the hands and lips sending endless cold through every fiber of his being was grounding him to the painful reality. Maedhros somehow expected that this moment would come when Morgoth first whipped him, but he had desperately hoped it would never happen. All the hoping and praying had been in vain.

Morgoth flicked his tongue across the lobe of an ear, grinning wickedly at the blush, half from embarrassment and half from rage, that surfaced across Maedhros’ cheeks. His lips began to trail over the delicate curves of an ear whilst his hand sought and found the Elf’s most private pieces of anatomy, stroking the skin. Maedhros remained unaroused by his touch, but his ministrations were having the opposite affect on Morgoth himself. He suddenly wanted to posses this Elf, possess him hard and claim him for his own. And the Dark Lord would have his way.

Maedhros let out a sharp gasp as the sheet was torn away, what little modesty he had cast was aside by the act. His eyes widened as a scream, the first sound he had made in all his long days of torment, flooded the chamber, echoing maddeningly off the walls as Morgoth sheathed himself into the Elf’s unwilling body with one hard thrust. The pain was unbearable, setting his skin aflame in anguish; he felt as if he would tear apart at the intrusion, could feel the blood already beginning to pool beneath him. And then--Valar, the pain!--Morgoth began to more.

Maedhros gripped the chains about his wrists, nearly wrenching his arms from shoulders. Groans sounded in his ear as Morgoth fastened his lips around the tender flesh, teeth clamping down upon the skin, bruising and breaking it. With each inward thrust, Maedhros’ bscrascraped against the wall behind him, the rough edges tearing open the newly healed wounds on his back inflicted upon him just the previous day. Endless agony washed over him, centering on his lower back and legs. His mind was in sheer torment, and he was unable to repress the screams and pleas that left him.

Yes, this was what he wanted. He wanted to hear the first born of Fëanor begging for mercy, screaming in torment and pain. He wanted to possess that perfect body, break the stubborn will and mind set against him. Maedhros’ cries, coupled with the Elf’s warm heat surrounding his engorged and enflamed flesh, sent Morgoth into a state of abandon as he pounded relentlessly into the other. He was quickly losing himself, and, almost before he realized it, he had released into Maedhros.

Morgoth tasted blood on his lips, realizing he had bitten into Maedhros’ skin. Sucking up the crimson liquid greedily from the abused ear, he pulled away from his ravaged hostage, smirking to himself at the whimper of pain Maedhros issued. Leaning in to kiss the plaint lips again, Morgoth flicked his tongue across the lower one before moving away and leaving the chamber.

Drawing his legs up, Maedhros rested his head upon his knees, hissing at the pain his movements brought and wincing at the blood flowing from his abused flesh. A torrent of tears fled from his eyes as he was unable to dam them back any longer. His fëa flickered, threatening to go out after the violation, but Maedhros couldn’t let it. His pride got the better of him, his father’s oath surfacing again in his mind. He wouldn’t leave this Arda until he had done what he had set out to do. But now, things would be so much more difficult. Cursing Morgoth, Maedhros wondered how much longer he would suffer.

~~~~~~~~~~

For days he had been hung from the cliff face by his wrist, but that didn’t seem as awful as the torment he had endured previously. Since the first time Morgoth had violated him, Maedhros had endured many more such torments, and not always at the hands of the Dark Vala. At times he found himself overtaken by, what seemed like, countless numbers of Orcs; on a few occasions, it was Sauron who had come to oversee his torment. But it was always the same: endless humiliation and torment.

And now, Maedhros found himself dangling precariously from where he hung by his right wrist. His shoulder had gone numb days ago and only ached dully when he shifted slightly. This throat was parched from lack of water and his frame too thin from the absence of substantial nourishment. He was but a shell of his former, proud self. Maedhros knew this is what Morgoth wanted, to watch him suffer endlessly knowing that none would come for him. He had resigned himself to his fate.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the wind as it whistled through the rocks, vibrated through the crevices. He wished, not for the first time, that he was with his brothers again and was listening to Maglor playing one of his songs. He wanted to be with his family and friends, wanted to be in their circle of warmth again. If only…if only…

His ears must have been deceiving him; Maedhros fancied that, for a moment, he heard the notes of a familiar song dancing in the wind. He pushed the thought aside, blaming his unstable emotional state on the hallucination. But it was no hallucination, for he heard the notes again, this time louder as if the singer had lifted their voice to be heard more clearly. Maedhros listened for a time, unable to pick out the voice but feeling that familiarity of it all the same.

Swallowing thickly, moistening his parched throat as best as he could, Maedhros took up the song, remembering a time when he used to sing it with his brother. He hadn’t realizing the other voice had stopped, nor did he hear the sound of booted feet scrambling over rocks. He hadn’t known anyone had approached until his name was called.

“Maedhros!”

Stormy gray eyes gazed down at the figure somewhere below him, instantly recognizing the face that returned his gaze. “Fingon…”

He looked horrible! Fingon was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. The pitiful creature dangling from the stone face was not the cousin he remembered. The skin was marred with numerous wounds, some still healing, some long closed but unable to heal properly through abuse and therefore leaving irregular scars across the pale skin. The copper hair, once glorious in all its beauty, was tangled, matted in some places with dried blood and…something else Fingon couldn’t determine. The eyes that gazed back at him were very much alive though haunted.

Fingon looked about him, desperately seeking some way to free his cousnd fnd friend. The cliff was too sheer to climb; likewise he realized that he wouldn’t be able to scale down from the top if he was fortunate enough to find a way up. He was beginning to despair when the hoarse voice of his cousin called down at him.

“Use your bow, Findekáno,” Maedhros implored. “Free me from my torment. I cannot go on as I once did; I cannot live as I am now.” He wouldn’t die by the fading of his fëa; no, Maedhros was too strong-willed for that, and he still had an oath to fulfill. Whatever torment and violation Morgoth put him through, he would survive it where no one else could. But neither could he allow Fingon, or any one else especially his brothers, to find out what had happened to him. Death was more welcome than whatever humiliation he had to endure with the knowledge of his violation out.

“But…” Fingon was at a loss for words; Maedhros couldn’t be serious! “You cannot ask this of me, Maitimo! I cannot…not to you…”

“Please, cousin. If you have any love for me in your heart, do this for me.”

He swallowed thickly, not knowing whether to listen at the inner voice screaming him not to do as his cousin asked, or to listen to Maedhros as help him find peace. Resigning himself, Fingon drew his bow and a single arrow with quivering hands, forcing himself to aim steadily for his cousin’s heart. A prayer left his lips then, seeking Manwë’s favor though Fingon knew not whether the Vala would answer him. “O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!” He released his arrow them, shutting his eyes to the sight of it piercing Maedhros’ heart.

But the arrow never made it to its target, for then a great wind buffeted the area, driving the projectile off course. Then, before the son of Fingolfin, alighted the King of Eagles, Thorondor. “Not today shall your arrows find their mark,” the mighty bird said just before he swept Fingon upon his back and lifted him to where Maedhros was hung.

The sight of his cousin now so close brought tears to Fingon’s eyes. Gentle, with the greatest care, he swept Maedhros into his arms, wrapping them wit with his cloak. The chain that bound the son of Fëanor would not give no matter how much Fingon struggled with it; the black steel would give way to no one save Morgoth himself. Drawing his sword, Fingon attempted to shatter the chain with a mighty blow, but the attempt ended in failure as the blade clattered to no avail.

“Please, Fingon,” Maedhros pleaded, his voice muffled by the fabric of Fingon’s tunic. “Just end this for me, I beg of you.”

“I cannot leave you here, nor will I end your life for you!” The sound of approaching footfalls reached him then; Fingon was becoming desperate and running out of options. His eyes scanned the manacle closely, finding no way of releasing it from around Maedhros’ wrist. The only option left was to…but he couldn’t do that! This was Maedhros’ fighting arm, to maim it would…but he didn’t have a choice. Taking a deep, even breath, Fingon raised his sword and left it fall.

The severing of his hand from his wrist didn’t hurt as much as Maedhros expected it would. Before he had time to register anything, he found himself cradled in his cousin’s arms as Thorondor lifted them away just as Morgoth and his servants approached the cliff. He heard the rage-filled shout the Dark Vala issued before burying his face into Fingon’s tunic as his cousin attempted to stem the blood flow of his wrist.

He was safe again, here with Fingon. He breathed in his scent, heard the soothing words Fingon murmured into his ear, felt the gentle hands holding and comforting him; this was where he wished to be. But he could never tell him what Maedhros had experienced. No, that was something he would never be able to tell anyone. Maedhros would carry that secret with him for all his years, to his grave.