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Bound and Broken
Author: koulagirl
Beta: none
Email: [email protected]
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Erestor/Elrond/Glorfindel or Erestor/Glorfindel
Warnings: Rape, character death (minor)
Request: Non-con/rape/hurt/comfort Erestor rescued by Elrond or Glorfindel. They do not know him. This the first time they meet him. Threeway if possible
Written For: Mystkyten
1. AVARIN
The Elf wasn't sure how he'd been separated from his companions. They'd set out together, a small food-gathering mission that should have been simple. Instead of food, though, they'd found trouble - trouble not in the form of a rival clan, or the occasional vicious animal, but the presence of a strange creature, similar in looks and stature but yet not.
The Elf was not to know of the race of Men, Il�vatar's Secondborn, and could not recognise them for what they were. He was confused, wondering what that was covering the darkened skin of these strange creatures, and why it was there. To the Elf, who wore only animal skin to cover his sensitive areas, it seemed ridiculous, and yet, it would have made sense in winter.
The men, too, seemed not to know of Elves. They sighted the small party and fell upon them, brandishing weapons made of a material that the Elf had never seen, a material that shone under the sun's caress and caused damage the Elf had only seen from the claws of a wild beast. The men wielded the weapons, and the Elves scattered, but now the Elf found himself alone and in darkness. He knew he was alone, but knew not how he had been brought to this place. He was above ground, and could not reach out with his mind, touching nature just so and asking it the way home...
Sudden light blinded the Elf, for whom the darkness had been absolute behind stone walls. The men here were cruel, for the Elf loved the sun, and he leaned into the light, seeking its warmth. It burned, and the Elf could not escape the chains that bound him to the wall. The light was a torch, fire burning at its end, and it was relief when it was taken away to light the lamps around the room. Though it lasted but a few moments, the Elf drew strength from the light and the presence of another and knew that there was something outside this loneliness, this captivity.
Now, though, he could see the room around him. The stone walls were sealed with black, creating a darkened atmosphere, though the walls themselves were a light grey. The strange devices blended in at first, as the Elf's eyes adjusted to the way the lamps cast a shadowy light, cooler than that of the torch, though longer lasting.
The Elf could see, now, that this man was not wearing the elaborate amount of clothing that he had wondered at, nor did he bear a shiny weapon. This man wore only a robe of deepest black, and the sleeve that trailed on the Elf's shoulder was soft, almost like fur.
The Elf decided that one who wore such clothing could not mean him harm. He did not shy from the man's touch, nor did he look away from the man's eyes, a colour he had never seen, the colour of the sky during rain.
The man's hand crossed the Elf's torso, tracing patterns that lit the Elf's skin with fear. The Elf knew that he should not be feeling this touch on his skin, not the toughened detail of callused fingertips and the soothing touch of the fur-like robe.
He shivered, and moved. He thought it was away, but he found himself pressed against the wall, cold stone on his back, chilling his blood so that fear could turn to terror as the hand moved further down. The other left a sharp sting on his cheek, and the Elf whimpered.
The man spoke, words the Elf could not understand, and stepped away. The Elf relaxed, thinking his ordeal over. The man's robe fell to the floor, though, and the Elf endured again a foreign touch on his bare skin, without the healing comfort of the soft material.
The Elf only realised that he was naked when the man grasped his sensitive area. He screamed, and the man squeezed, causing excruciating pain.
If that's what sex was, the Elf decided that the law of his tribe forbidding it before binding was most correct. The pain travelled through his body, and he struggled as much as he could, but he could not escape the man. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not this way, not now. He'd been waiting, faithfully, blindly, but not for this.
Oblivion had been invented for such an event, yet the Elf had difficulty finding it while at the man's mercy. Wherever he looked, there was another shadow, and he couldn't tell if it hid another, greater threat. He would be slapped if he looked away too long, or closed his eyes. When he was already forced to accept the pain of the man's rough jerking, and the scratching of the man's nails against untouched skin, anything else was a humiliating torture. He couldn't escape the touches, so gentle on his chest, or the bites on his shoulder, and each one added to the burden on his f�a. He felt as if he was being crushed under each stroke, and with his mind he cried out, praying to the gods the legends of his people claimed that his ancestors had denied.
It all stopped for a wave of release in which the screaming of his mind dulled to a whimper and the pain burned white-hot, like fire and ice together streamed through his column. Pleasure unbidden caused the Elf more pain, as his climax weakened him in ways he could not understand. He could not run as he was released, and pushed to the floor. Cold, too, it was, yet he barely felt it through the strange sensations he was feeling now. Confusion tainted his ability to comprehend what was happening to him, both at what had just happened to him and what he felt nudging behind him.
He knew with a strange certainty that the man was now seeking to breach him, that he was about to experience something much worse than what he had so far. He no longer cared, for he wished to depart, leaving his body as the man's plaything while he fled to safety.
Then he felt a wave of sadness, almost comforting, but devastating as he realised he could understand the man's thoughts, the man's words, as he was breached.
The Elf screamed, and all around him faded until he could sense nothing beyond the man and the brutal sting being inflicted upon him.
Even that faded, when he heard cries not his own, and the man departed.
Oblivion came too late for the Elf, and he was condemned.
2. ELROND
The unwilling Lord of Imladris looked up mildly when his dishevelled Captain burst into his private office.
"Elrond, come! There is little way to explain this but for you to see..."
Elrond rose, and followed Glorfindel adeptly to the Captain's chambers. "I found him as we killed the last of the men. It looks like one of them tried to... use him."
Elrond moved forward, with Glorfindel's implied permission, and inspected the unconscious Elf. Careful though he was to not touch or disturb the Elf, he noted a small flicker underneath the Elf's closed eyelids, and moved away, drawing Glorfindel into the next room.
"I rode here with him as fast as I dared. My party are days behind... Asfaloth took no rest. Will he...?"
Elrond bowed his head, and gestured for Glorfindel to sit down.
"We may be too late to save him."
Elrond observed Glorfindel's uncharacteristic obedience and bowed head as he gave instructions for the Elf's care. Glorfindel would have no other tend him, nor would he suffer the Elf to be moved from his rooms. Elrond mentioned nothing, and allowed Glorfindel to do what he willed. The Captain was trustworthy, and Elrond saw no reason to announce the presence of an unidentified Elf to his kin and friends when he himself could not give a satisfactory explanation of why they should accept him.
But there was something else, that Elrond could not quite identify, but was unwilling to interrupt. It was the same thing that had obviously driven Glorfindel to find this Elf, and then to ride ahead of his party, forgoing the opportunity to reassure his friends and submit the Elf to the care of those with healing ability.
It was a force that worked outside Elrond's ken, and that alone was what prevented action.
The Elf's eyes opened when Elrond finished speaking, as if the silence was an unnatural event. He sat up, wildly looking about while trying to cover himself with Glorfindel's blanket. Elrond stepped back into the room - Glorfindel's bedroom, really, what kind of situation was this? - and waited to be noticed.
The Elf seemed when he comprehended Elrond. Elrond waited for the Elf to speak first... to ask a question, possibly, or introduce himself, though that might seem absurd. But the Elf said nothing, forcing Elrond to speak.
"I am Elrond. You are in my House. No harm will come to you, here, and we wish to help you."
"You are not the one who did this to me. Let me die."
Elrond could understand little of what the Elf said, and wondered if the Elf could understand him.
"I am dishonoured. Allow me to die alone."
Glorfindel entered, then, and stood next to Elrond. Clearly he had heard what was spoken, for he reached for the Elf, yet seemed unsurprised when the Elf pulled away.
"I know not what happened to you, fair Elf, but it was against your will, and the only dishonour you suffer is that by which you refuse our aid."
"I am bound to the creature who broke me, golden one, and to bind to one not an Elf is dishonourable. I wish to die."
"Nay, I will not let you."
The Elf's eyes seemed to glitter, then, and Elrond gasped. They were a pure black, and the pupils were rounded by a ring of silver. He felt as if they pulled him into the Elf's embrace, yet he also felt the pull of something far away - the Elf's home, or a grieving family, so he assumed.
"At least leave me alone to grieve."
"You must promise me that you will not harm yourself while I am gone."
The Elf nodded, mutely, and closed his eyes.
Elrond felt as if free of a spell, and followed Glorfindel back to the anteroom.
"He is of the Avari!" Elrond hissed. "And you brought him here?"
Glorfindel merely looked back at him, a cool expression masking whatever his true feelings were. Elrond would have found this infuriating had it not been Glorfindel's usual way of speaking with him, yet now, he would have preferred that Glorfindel show some kind of reaction.
"All Elves are welcome here, and he would have died had I left him."
"But how do you speak his language?"
"You forget yourself, Elrond. I was alive for centuries before you were born - I have dealt with Telerin traders in my time. It appears that the Elf speaks something close to that primitive form of Sindarin I used to speak with them. Yet that is not the extent of my knowledge," he said, holding up a hand to pause Elrond. "I remind you that I met E�l, in the days when Gondolin stood hidden from the eyes of evil. I also witnessed the tapestries of Vair�, and saw of the sundering of our kind, long before you or I were born. The Elf's language is one derived from an early form of Quenya, the language I spoke in my youth. It is naturally easier for me to understand him, as it is simpler for you to understand the ways of our woodland cousins than for I. You would do well to study some of the older books in your library, for you should have easily been able to recognise this."
Glorfindel left the room, and Elrond saw through the open door that he had returned to the Elf. He watched as Glorfindel stroked the sleeping Elf's hair, also black. Such a contrast! Glorfindel, the golden Balrog-slayer, who had witnessed the Kinslayings and traversed the Halls of Waiting, nursing the lithe darkling, of whom no legends were sung, and who knew no pain but that which led him here.
It was as if the two belonged together, Elrond mused, as he left Glorfindel's chambers and busied himself by delegating his responsibilities to his advisors and assistant healers. Something had guided Glorfindel to the Elf's side, and allowed Glorfindel to speak with him, something that lay beyond Elrond's abilities. The intoxicating vision of the Elf's eyes haunted him, as if drawing him back to the room where the Avari lay in Glorfindel's arms, willing him back under the stranger's spell.
But why bring an Avari to him? Glorfindel had been closer to Lothl�rien, and Galadriel would have been able to deal with a f�a-wounded Elf much easier than he.
It was a thought that sent Elrond walking back to Glorfindel's rooms. It wasn't stately for him to run, nor was it possible in his heavy robes, though he did jog when he thought nobody could see him.
He had seen it, then. It was the spell the Elf seemed to cast... an openness caused by not ever having met any strange Elves, nor any that could read his thoughts. Elrond had felt the Elf's bleak sorrow, and thought it nothing. Yet cloaking his mind seemed to not have occurred to the Elf, and Elrond was certain that the pull he'd felt was not that of family, but a binding-mate.
Hence the Elf pulling away from Glorfindel, only to seek comfort while asleep... hence the desperate need to cover himself, though Glorfindel appeared to have been considerate and given the Elf a nightshirt of his own...
He followed his train of thought as easily as he followed the corridors to Glorfindel's chambers. Finally, he began to run, however it was because his mind failed to process anything further that he made up for it in speed.
The Elf would not be so broken if he wanted to be bound, and he wouldn't be so far from his binding-mate at all.
Elrond hoped he was incorrect.
3. GLORFINDEL
The warrior tried to imagine what Elrond was thinking when he returned to the room, looking rather out of breath, as if he had been... running?
However it had happened, it didn't look innocent. Glorfindel hadn't minded until he saw Elrond's expression. That in itself was enough for Glorfindel to think that the moment was worth it - not much seemed to faze Elrond, yet there he was, mouth open like a fish from the stream, except accompanied by blinking eyes and a perfectly blanched face.
But this, having an Elf in his arms, peacefully resting, and the feeling of absolute contentment he got from being able to sense that he had some part in that...
He was still stroking the Elf's hair, but now the Elf lay over his stomach, an arm loosely thrown over him. The Elf had rolled onto him and started to cry, wetting Glorfindel's already soiled undershirt... yet strangely enough, the Elf had quietened when Glorfindel had found the wet material uncomfortable and removed his shirt, leaving him naked to the waist. He now rested peacefully, taking comfort from Glorfindel's warmth and presence, no doubt.
Yet what would Elrond have thought if Glorfindel followed his impulse and crept under the blanket to hold the Elf to him, rocking the tears away? Or if he had walked in to find Glorfindel still singing a ballad he had learned in his youth?
He would not be creeping to Glorfindel's side, nor whispering in Glorfindel's ear the horrors he had learned from the Elf's unguarded mind.
"You didn't learn anything useful, like his name, did you?" Glorfindel asked, already knowing the answer would be no. A sad shake of Elrond's head confirmed that.
"I only felt emotions, no words."
Glorfindel did not need to question what Elrond meant, for he felt a wave of pain, closely followed by exultation and confusion. He did not know how he could understand these emotions, but he knew that they were like his own. The sensation was unlike anything in his experience; he could not remember feeling something so vividly without cause or reason. He supposed his reason would be that the Elf was feeling them, but he could not know why the Elf felt like this, let alone how he understood it.
Elrond sat on the edge of the bed, abruptly, startling the Elf from his sleep. Glorfindel heard the beginnings of a whimper and began whispering to the Elf, something he hoped was calming. Elrond was the one with experience, and Glorfindel couldn't help but think that Elrond would be the better one to be holding the Elf now. Yet Elrond seemed to be focused on something else, distant...
"The one he is bound to... is dying. Killed..." Elrond said, after a fashion.
The Elf straightened, and began to shiver. No longer did Glorfindel hesitate - he barely gave Elrond a glance as he gently lifted the Elf from his body and slipped under the blanket. He let the Elf's grasp of his torso tighten, and the Elf lie against him. He, in turn, put an arm around the Elf.
"He touched me and now he dies. But I die too, because he didn't let me deny him, and he didn't know that he was claiming both my soul and my body."
Glorfindel put a finger over the Elf's lips and made what he hoped was a gently soothing sound. He was a warrior, not a healer, and definitely not a lover, so how could he know? How could he not admit he felt inadequate, and it was this Elf that made him so, the Elf he had saved only to hold through death.
"I am Erestor. Please remember me, golden one."
The Elf shuddered and went still. Elrond moved, suddenly, confusing Glorfindel. Surely healers were supposed to be slow and sedate? But before Glorfindel was ready to let his Elf go, Elrond had untangled them and lain the Elf - Erestor, he had given his name as Erestor - gently, face-up.
"He still breathes. Glorfindel, give me your hand."
Glorfindel held out his favoured hand, the one he knew healers always liked to take blood from, though he had never had it done to him before. Elrond produced a knife, one that he always carried in his robes, because, as Glorfindel knew, it would have many uses, in defence and in the pursuit of good.
He felt the sting of the blade across his palm, and Elrond joined Glorfindel's palm with that of Erestor, a similar cut being made. Glorfindel closed his eyes, and felt the binding-call strengthen, willing Erestor to accept him, even without ceremony or tradition.
"How is this possible?"
"I can only surmise that the one who did this was mortal - the f�a will not be able to bond irrevocably, due to the inevitable sundering of mortal and immortal. He was held to the world, unwillingly, by the bond, but now that it no longer exists he begins to fade, grief and pain being too much for him to bear alone. Yet now that the f�a of the mortal has crossed the Outer Sea, he may bind again."
"And this is... necessary?"
Yet how could it not be? For even as Glorfindel asked the question, he understood that Erestor was to be his, to guard and cherish, for his alone was the responsibility of saving the Elf. It had fallen to him to enter the stone castle, flushing it of the remainder of the men out of the building. He had found the Elf and taken him away from the building, wrapped in Glorfindel's own cloak. He had seen the Elf's condition and decided to ride ahead, trusting his deputy to lead the rest of the party home in time.
They must have chased down the rest of the men, and slain them, but not without sadness, for even the darkest of the servants of Sauron were once good.
Erestor woke in Glorfindel's arms, and all Glorfindel could do was look down into dark eyes, marked with silver, and smile.
"I am Glorfindel," he said, fearing that Erestor would feel betrayed by the hasty binding, as if it was another violation of the Elf's abused f�a. Yet Erestor smiled at him, actually smiled, eyes lit with silver flecks.
"Glorfindel? I have been waiting for you."
4. ERESTOR
"I was waiting for you too, wild one."
Erestor pulled his hand from Glorfindel's loose grip and inspected it. He was amazed that touching the faint pink line that crossed his palm caused him no pain. Every other mark on his body was aching, those left by the chains that had bound him and the touch of the man who had wounded him.
Erestor held his hand out to Glorfindel.
"What is this? Why does it not cause pain?"
"You were dying, Erestor. I had to save you, and it was the only way I knew how."
Erestor blinked, sudden tears forming. He had wanted to die, needed the release from his pain and the bond he didn't want, but he had woken up here, alive, and with Glorfindel, who looked so strong but treated him gently.
"I am bound to you?"
He felt it, a presence around him, warming his f�a. It didn't try to wound him, or take from him. It comforted, kissing away the wounds with a single touch as it enveloped him.
"I am sorry," Glorfindel whispered, as Erestor found himself being gathered into a hug. The golden Elf was part naked, and Erestor wondered that he was trusted enough for the other Elf to hold him this close while so vulnerable.
He touched Glorfindel's skin, then, tracing the lines of the golden Elf's chest while his head rested on the offered shoulder. It was a position that caused him some pain, the stinging between his legs making him fidgety. Yet to touch Glorfindel was to be distracted from the pain, as if the smooth skin was magical. To Erestor, it seemed so, for the soft luminescence entranced him.
Glorfindel seemed content to let him explore. It was wonder that drove him to do so - wonder that such an Elf was real, an Elf with that inner power he had seen only in the Elders of his clan, those who had survived long enough to remember the times when Arda was young, and the shadows had not yet arrived. Wonder that this Elf was holding him, had saved him, taken him away from the stone castle and given his own f�a to keep him alive...
Glorfindel spoke, then, as if knowing Erestor's thoughts.
"Our binding ceremonies include binding of both the blood and the heart, wild one. I have but bound to you in blood, yet I will free you if you seek another for the bond of heart."
Tears began to fall, then. Erestor was horrified to mar Glorfindel's chest with his tears, yet he felt Glorfindel's moisten his own hair.
"I am dishonoured yet you do so much for me, you even offer me my freedom when you have given yours. I am not worthy of you, golden one."
"It is because you are worthy of me that I was drawn to you, Erestor, and even if you would have another, I would have no other but you. But quiet now, we have many long years ahead to talk. Allow me to distract you while Elrond tends your wounds..."
Erestor tensed when Glorfindel's lips touched his forehead, and Glorfindel's hand moved through his hair, gently untangling the black strands. Yet he did not move, not even to shy away. This felt different... this was what it was supposed to be. Glorfindel cared for him, had offered him the choice of being free now that he was alive. Each touch worked to seal his rent f�a, rather than tear it more.
Erestor began to relax, and allowed Glorfindel to lift him.
"Work with me, wild one, this will soon be over."
And then, as if he was reading it from Glorfindel's mind, he understood what was to happen to him now. Yet Glorfindel comforted him, whispering apologies as he removed the cloak that still covered Erestor's form. It was Glorfindel himself who took salve from Elrond's hands, warmed it in his own, and spread it over the scrapes on Erestor's back; Glorfindel himself who slipped underneath Erestor, rubbing the same salve over bruises on his torso, letting it seep into the cuts that the man's rings had made.
Then it was Glorfindel himself who captured Erestor's mouth in a kiss as the first touch of salve anointed the deepest wound. Erestor allowed himself to be held in Glorfindel's embrace, seeking to learn more of his golden Elf through taste and touch, as a cool cloth wiped the blood from between his legs.
It was Erestor who allowed Glorfindel to hold him as he cried out in pain, Elrond spreading salve inside him, where only the man had been before. His cries were absorbed by Glorfindel's mouth, and his tremors eased by Glorfindel's body.
Then, when it was all over, Erestor thanked Glorfindel, and managed to smile at Elrond, before falling into a peaceful sleep, through which he knew he was held by the golden Elf and watched over by the Peredhel.
The darkness lifted from his f�a, and his fate was changed.
The End
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