A/N: I've had a lot of complaints for this story, because no one seems to know who I'm talking about when I address the sons of Fëanor. The Silmarillion gave the altered names as such: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. This is listed from oldest to youngest. Amrod and Amras were twins, though Amras was apparently born last. These are Sindarin forms of their mother-names. Their father-names, which, in a sense, are their proper titles, are as follows: Nelyafinwë (equivalent to Finwë III), Kanafinwë, Morifinwë ("dark Finwë"), Kurufinwë ("son of Finwë"), Pityafinwë ("little Finwë"), and Telufinwë ("last Finwë"). No father name was given for Celegorm, it would seem. In this story, I have used neither of these forms of the brother's names, but their mother names were Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Atarinkë, Ambarusso, and Ambarusso. At Fëanor's urging, Nerdanel renamed the youngest twin Umbarto, meaning "fated". Fëanor promptly took matters into his own hands and changed the name to Ambarto, meaning "exalted". In an earlier version of the tale of Fëanor's kin, the name Umbarto came back into play, because his youngest son had been asleep on his ship when Feanor burnt the ships at Losgar, burning the aptly named son along with the ship. Other Quenya names are used, as well, in an attempt to preserve Tolkien's intention for each character's many names. The Noldor use only Quenya names, even in Middle-earth. Albeit, the language was outlawed, they are in their own territory, and my do as they please (Thingol in Doriath had been the one to outlaw Quenya). Therefore, Fëanor is changed to Fëanáro, Fingolfin remains unaltered and his wife is called Anairë (she was obscure), whereas Fingon is changed to Findekáno, Turgon to Turukáno, Aredhel to Irissë, and Argon (an obscure son of Fingolfin) to Arakáno. The Noldor observe Fëanor's wish and refuse to mention the name of Melkor, rather calling him Morgoth, but characters such as Sauron obviously do not observe this. Lastly, I was questioned on a point at which Morgoth calls Maedhros (Maitimo) by the name Russandol. This was an affectionate nickname given to him in Tirion by his family, presumably his mother in particular, meaning "copper-top." (Maitimo means "well-formed", and the Sindarin Maedhros was a blending of these two names, meaning "well-formed copper.") Please note that it's been a while since I read The Silmarillion or any of the supplementary material, so please feel free to drop me a line and correct me if you find any mistakes or inconsistencies. Special thanks to Matt Massey, my saviour, who inspired this love story between two strong men.

Chapter 2: The Breaking of Russandol

Maitimo barely noticed as the Orcs led him away. Lack of food and sleep had made him often despondent, and sometimes crazed and violent, and he was much feared by the guards, and those who tortured the prisoners. Maitimo could not walk sufficiently; his legs had not yet been healed of the wounds inflicted by some device about his shins, and to bend his ankles and knees was nearly impossible. After much whipping to motivate him into an upright pose failed, the guards simply dragged him along the rough stone, and continued to whip his chest, stomach, and thighs. The guards talked quietly amongst themselves, deciding where they would bring Maitimo, until finally they erupted in raucous laughter and dragged him faster down the unlit corridor, to a room near its end. Maitimo thought he might cry out when they flung open the door. In one corner was a tall tripod, upon which there was a cone wrought of iron with its sharpened tip facing upward. Suspended from chains which hung from the walls and ceiling was a young elf. Maitimo fell sick as he beheld her, the weight of her body supported between her legs. The top of the cone had been shoved deep into her body. Her wide, unseeing eyes followed Maitimo as he was shoved forward into the room. The door was shut and locked behind him, and a torch was set in the sconce near it. To Maitimo's surprise, the smiling guard unbound him completely. Flexing his long-bound wrists, he found that they had forgotten how to work properly.

"Get her down from there!' one of the guards shouted suddenly. Maitimo made no move, expecting that the order was meant for someone else. Then, the same guard jabbed the back of his thigh with his dull spear, pushing him towards the woman. "You 'eard! Now, get her down."

Without much thought to the excruciating pain in his shins, Maitimo surveyed the chains binding the woman. They led to three wheels on the wall, and one large wheel turned the other three. He went to the largest and, very slowly, raised all the chains. Nothing happened at first that Maitimo could hear, for he had looked away, unwilling to see what pain the woman would be in, but moments later there came a sickening squelch as the seal of drying blood was broken, and then the splatter of new blood on the stone floor. He continued to raise the chains until the woman was free of the cone and the weights on her ankles pulled her legs shut over her maimed womanhood, eliciting a weak scream from her ravaged throat. Maitimo ran to her, then, and put his weight beneath hers as he removed the pins from the four manacles and the weights from her ankles, freeing her. She rested lightly in his arms, but her bare chest moved with no breath that was visible. Still her pulse beat, though it was rapid and weak. He looked upon her tortured, humiliated form with greatest sorrow and intense, burning hate.

Then, as Maitimo lost himself in these thoughts, a guard grabbed the woman, dragging her to the corner by her matted, once-golden hair, where he threw her to the floor like an item ruined and unwanted. Two more of the Orcs were behind him now as he watched, and they fastened his neck into the device's largest manacle. He did not move. When he spoke his voice was a hoarse whisper. "She will soon be free. You'll hold her no more."

Faster than the Orcs could perceive, Maitimo turned and took hold of the nearest Orc's neck. It snapped a second later.

The other guards were so surprised by this burst of strength and emotion from their cold captive that they did nothing at first. Maitimo spat upon the Orc. The captain came forward then and laid into Maitimo with his whip. The Elf did not show any sign of feeling the blows, he only struggled against the next four guards it took to chain his wrists.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Sauron, the young lieutenant, strode in, his mood seeming good. He smirked to see Maitimo's plight, then turned to the captain at his side. "Shall our news wait an hour or so?" The captain nodded and grunted, then retrieved a chair for his master, who seated himself comfortably, as if to see a drama performed.

Once Maitimo's wrists were secure, the left him to hang by them as they lifted his feet and spread them to meet more manacles. With slight adjustments to the chains, they had positioned the cone's point so that it barely brushed the entrance to Maitimo's body. As the eyes of Sauron came alight at this, Maitimo felt the agony of humiliation sinking in. Never had he dared to imagine such a disgusting, sick form of torment. Then, as the guards began to lower him downward onto the point, Sauron held up his hand, a cruel smile upon his face.

"I should have each one of you cast into pits to rot," he said coolly. "Is this how we treat a lover?" He glided silently to stand beside Maitimo, and stroked gently upward from the Elf's swollen ankle to his spread thighs, and bestowed a light, gentle touch upon the tip of Maitimo's shaft. "Do you know who I am, Prince?"

"I do," Maitimo growled through clenched teeth, though, inwardly he was screaming with all his soul, sure that this would be the hour that they finally broke his spirit. "You're another of that thief's bitches, with wits enough only for thralldom…though I have you to thank for this correction. I am a King, now. Not a Prince. I have no master and I serve none."

Sauron laughed, though his cool nature had now culminated into amusement. "Precious. He's nearly as fiery as his father." He ran his fingertips enticingly over the sensitive skin of Maitimo's belly. To Maitimo's horror, his body betrayed him as a rush of heat pooled in his groin and his length began to stiffen uncontrollably. Brow creased, he turned away, wishing to see no more. "You see?" Sauron smiled. "Even Kings are slaves to their own flesh." In the corner, intrigued by the sight, several of the Orkish guards had taken to pleasuring themselves in the now deceased woman's torn, blood-slicked passage and throat. Maitimo would have wretched, had there been anything in his stomach.

Sauron laughed at the Elf's disgust and wrapped his slender fingers around Maitimo's arousal and pumped his fist several times until Maitimo groaned at the merciless grip. "Get me a brace," he ordered the captain, continuing to pleasure his captive. The captain returned with a small, open cuff, which he handed to his master. Sauron pumped harder still, his very touch sending waves of electricity surging through Maitimo, until, at last, Maitimo could dam the pleasure no longer. His body tensed, ready to release, but just as the first shudder of orgasm began, Sauron fastened the brace tightly over Maitimo's cock. Maitimo gasped at the excruciating ache of the clamp's pressure, but stilled his movement otherwise.

Smiling, Sauron surveyed the company gathered about. "This, my children," he began, and went to the wall opposite from which he took a well sharpened pear from a hook, "is how we treat our lovers."

Maitimo had heard rumours once of the pear's function. He had heard that its wide, tapered end was inserted into the mouth, where, at the pull of a trigger, the device would expand into three spiked leaves and maim its victim. Most did not survive its infliction, for it would mutilate the mouth and throat and poison its victims with their own blood. It was a dark whisper in Middle-earth, often dismissed as a sick fiction. He struggled violently, and it took five of the larger Orcs to restrain him as Sauron approached. After yet more struggle, Maitimo's mouth was held open and they had restricted his movement by holding tightly by his long red tresses. Yet, Maitimo calmed as the pear was inserted, and found himself praying to the Valar, repenting of many deeds, expecting his death, which he deemed was nigh at hand. Then, strangely, Sauron withdrew the device and motioned for the guards to step away. Maitimo's breathing quickened as he hung there, shocked to be alive.

Then, a greater horror turned his thoughts from praise of the Valar. Sauron's silken fingers slithered down his spine to the crevice between his spread legs and parted the well-formed buttocks, revealing the untouched entrance, where he positioned the head of the pear. Slicked by Maitimo's saliva, the wide apparatus was inserted with only a little discomfort, but the dread growing within Maitimo dwarfed his other ailments. The Orcs laughed to see their captive trembling. Snaking his hand around the Elf's fair body, Sauron brushed his thumb over the weeping head of Maitimo's cock, making the ache yet more unbearable, but then his hand moved to the clasp of the tight brace. He adjusted it so that the constriction was greater, until Maitimo thought his skin would tear and burst, and then lightened the pressure, only enough to provide significant contrast; not yet enough to allow Maitimo the terrible release for which he so longed. Swiftly then he repeated these motions, milking the Elf's shaft cruelly until Maitimo could not contain his cries of torturous pleasure.

Then, in the midst of Maitimo's awful rapture, the pear bloomed in one quick, brutal second. As Maitimo became aware of the indescribable fire spreading through him and his pale face turned to white; just as his mouth opened to let forth a scream to herald his anguish, Sauron tore the brace from his cock. Amidst the long, broken cry of pain, Maitimo moaned as his seed, spotted with dark blood, shot strongly from him, and his body tensed with uncontrollable orgasm, letting the pear's inner razors rip him further. The agony of it all took his breath from him, and bile spilled from his lips as Sauron withdrew the cruel instrument from his body, still opened. As his passage was opened briefly, blood spilled from his defiled entrance, pooling on the floor so quickly that it may have flooded the room had it be let to flow. He struggled to gain his breath, but could only weep. He uttered the name of Nerdanel like a prayer, as if it was the last sacred thing he knew that hour.

Sauron finished wiping his hands clean of his victim's blood and took Maitimo's chin gently. "Mother is not here, Maitimo," he said apologetically, using the Elf's mother-name. He turned back to the host of Orcs. "Oh, but what would she think if she could see her eldest boy, now, spilling his seed for Melkor's thrall?" The Orcs laughed and cheered for their lieutenant, who seated himself once again, and motioned for the show to proceed.

For yet another hour, the company tortured Maitimo, dropping him time and time again on the point of the iron cone, until his genitalia was maimed beyond repair. However, Maitimo felt little after so long, and had little left of the fire that drove him to fight and withhold his cries. Then, Sauron rose and bade his servants to cease their jeering. He approached Maitimo and released his limbs from the cruel bonds. Maitimo's weight was put upon the cone for a moment, before his limp form fell to the side. Sauron stepped fluidly aside as Maitimo ravaged body crumpled on the floor before him. The Elf seemed utterly lifeless. His strength was gone. When they cauterized his wounds he only moaned frantically.

"And now that we have our little game, I suppose I should impart my message. As your brother's have forsaken you, child, my Lord has found mercy in his heart for you." Sauron smirked as Maitimo raised his head to look upon him, eyes filled with tears that only the strongest of men live to shed. "Today, young Prince, we shall release you from Angband."

The Orcs fell silent, staring at their master, who bent and tenderly, lifted Maitimo from the rough-hewn floor. Maitimo seemed no longer aware of who it was that held him, and leaned heavily into the dark one's arms. He took steps automatically, most of his weight resting on Sauron, who smiled at his prisoner's compliance. Up the endless flight of stairs he led him, until, through many long and winding corridors, they came to the Nethermost Hall, where Morgoth sat enthroned in all his terrible might. The burning light of the Silmarils alone lit the hall. With honey-sweet promises of freedom, Sauron lured him into the great hall, and Morgoth took to himself a guise yet fairer than Sauron's. He seemed an Elf of high birth, though his eyes were purely black without natural whiteness, and they shone with an eerie glow in the shadow cast by the Silmarils' radiance. Sauron left them then, and stood aside in the doorway, allowing none to enter, and Maitimo was left upon the floor, naked and bleeding before Morgoth.

"Your brothers wish not for me to release you, Nelyafinwe," said Morgoth, his voice beautiful but terrible and unbearable to hear. He rose from his great throne and stroked Maitimo's matted, copper locks. "They fear that I have twisted your mind...perverted you to my service, and so they will not take you back." He put one finger under Maitimo's chin and raised it until their eyes met. His touch was like fire, and yet faint, contained within an earthly form. "But we both know that I have done no such thing. In fact, I am going to set you free, Curufëanáro. And, since your kin have made you an outcast, I shall give you a new home...for it is my knowledge that your kind long for the beauty of the lands. Come, Russandol."

Maitimo remembered only shutting his eyes for a moment, and then a strong wind rose up beneath him, and lifted him. He thought for a moment that his spirit and indeed passed into the eternal darkness, and that he was free of his torment. Then, something clamped about his right wrist, cold, sharp, and brutally tight. At this, he opened his eyes, and sent a silent prayer to the Valar, for he was suspended by a great, chill wind upon the face of a precipice, somewhere in the labyrinth of Thangorodrim. Then, the wind ceased, and he fell into the manacle about his wrist. It cut him deeply, and he saw the blood run from his wrist down his arm to his bare chest. His scream of rage and torment echoed through the black mountains. He screamed a single word, a thousand times it seemed, until his voice left him, and he could only whisper. That word that Maitimo spoke in his darkest hour held all the hatred and anger that he had ever known. Once more, he whispered it before falling into oblivion.

"Fëanáro."