Never Wanted This

By IcingDeath71

A/N : Just a heads up that this may become how often I post. I know my chapters aren't excessively long or anything, but I do require time to write, and I do try to write everyday. Often, I'll rewrite parts up to four times before I'm satisfied with them, and sometime I'll get to the end of the chapter, decide I don't like it, and redo it completely. Either way, I do ensure the chapters you receive are the best they can be considering that I'm not an author by profession.

I do want everyone know that once I begin a story, I do not give up on it. Which means that NWT will be written from start to finish and I will not stop it half way through. I cannot, however, give a guarantee as to how fast that finish may arrive. I've actually decided to respond to all my reviewers, seeing as how you're the reason this story is alive, and responses will be posted at the end of the chapters.

Chapter 1

Aragorn surveyed his reflection in the mirror. Physically, he reflected, he'd returned to nearly perfect health. A body that had once been gaunt from starvation and physical mutilation had filled out and muscles that had once been slack from atrophy had begun to tone again. Even the scars upon his back, a daily reminder of his time as a captive of orcs, had begun to fade, and within years they would vanish completely.

If only his soul could heal as easily as his body. Aragorn gave a deep sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration, and cursed his Numenorien descendent for without the contribution of elvish ancestry he would never have survived his time as a captive of orcs. He often reflected back on those days and found himself frequently wishing he'd died. He'd tried to take his own life on occasion, but the fear of attempting and failing always stopped him. If Daged even knew what thoughts he pondered he would be certainly be punished, and Aragorn would do anything to avoid Daged's punishments.

Disgusted with the reflection that watched him out of dark, sorrowful eyes, Aragorn turned away, snarling in hopeless frustration. In Daged's sleeping quarters Aragorn found the clothing Daged had selected for him to wear, and he couldn't suppress the sigh of melancholy that escaped his lips at the discovery.

The leggings Daged had chosen were uncomfortably tight, shaping every contour of his lower body, and the waistband rested obscenely low on his hips, barring the swell of his backside. The buttons down the front of the shirt he was to wear had been torn off, an obvious indication to the ranger that the shirt was to be worn open, exposing his chest and belly. Every movement he made, the leggings stretching to accentuate his muscled body and the shirt fluttering around his sides to display his naked chest, made him acutely aware of how others perceived him. It was no wonder he was called a whore, he thought bitterly, a small tremor running through his body.

The most frightening relevation, however, was the fact that it no longer felt wrong. He'd once rebelled against Daged's treatment of him, and there had been a time when his stomach would curl at the mere thought of presenting himself thusly clad. Now, however, he no longer balked against appearing as so, for there was little the civilians of Minas Tirith had not witnessed. They'd come to learn that there was no limit to the ranger's submission, and had witnessed him at his most degrading moments. Aragorn had been beaten into slavery before the court, they had watched his gradual descent from a proud, kingly ranger to Daged's whore. And, though he hated his life, it no longer felt wrong.

The trembling of his body was beyond his control, and Aragorn could tell he was a breath away from tears. He crossed his arms before his chest, hugging his shaking body protectively, trying to get derive what warmth he could from the thin shirt. His body, emotional beyond his control, betrayed him and within minutes he was weeping silently, hating himself with every ounce of his being.

xxxxx

Arriving late at dinner had both it's advantages and downfalls. Though it granted the young ranger a few minutes of solitude away from his cruel master, the majority of the court was already present when Aragorn entered, watching him move towards the table where Daged sat with his men. Aragorn tried to disregard the looks aimed at him, but was incapable of ignoring the lewd comments aimed his way and he could feel the men's lusty gazes as they ran their eyes appreciatively down his body.

Aragorn kept his gaze on the floor, watching his booted feet, for he knew his eyes were still red from tears and refused to humiliate himself further by displaying that fact to the entire court.

When the youth reached the table where Daged was seated, he murmured his apologies at his delay before taking his seat at his master's side. Daged raised one hand, cupping Aragorn's chin and turning the ranger's face upwards, and his eyes glittered in amusement as he surveyed the ranger's bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks.

'Why were you delayed?' Daged asked, his sharp tone causing Aragorn to flinch.

'I... I lost track of time, sir,' Aragorn said quietly, resisting the urge to wince as Daged's fingers tightened cruelly. 'It won't happened again.' His eyes flicked downwards in what he hoped was a gesture of submission while he waited for Daged to either release him or to respond.

'See that it doesn't.' Daged dropped his hand, but not before the rest of the table had directed their attention at them, smirking as they noticed the ranger's tear stained face.

Even after Daged had released him, Aragorn was acutely aware of another set of eyes that continued to watch him. He didn't need to raise his head to identify their owner, for he knew they belonged to Tamarul, the man who both hated and lusted for Aragorn more then any in Minas Tirith. Tamarul was, if possible, even crueler then Daged and made no attempt to disguise his hatred for the unfortunate ranger.

'After dinner you shall join me, there is to be a celebration in honor of Denethor's return.' Daged watched Aragorn as he spoke, well aware of how the news would affect his young slave.

'Denethor has returned?' Aragorn paled and leaned backwards against the back of his chair, requiring the extra support. Daged, possessive of his whore, did not allow his men the nights they longed for with Aragorn, but he could not deny the wishes of his ruler's son. Whenever Denethor was in Minas Tirith he sought out the ranger's companionship and though he was undoubtedly kinder then Daged, the abusiveness of the situation was did not go unnoticed by Aragorn.

The evening meal was served almost immediately by workers who bore large dishes filled with food to the tables. Aragorn selected only a small portion to eat, but when Daged saw the amount of food he had taken, he frowned.

'Aragorn,' his master said, and the ranger turned to face him. 'You need to eat more.'

Aragorn, who silently argued that he was putting on weight at a reasonable pace, kept silent as Daged slipped a hand inside the ranger's shirt, feeling the soft skin below his fingertips. He ran his hand down the youth's bare side assessingly, and stopped when his palm rested on Aragorn's hip.

'You need to eat more,' he reiterated, and the young ranger nodded obediently.

By the time Aragorn was finished eating, Daged was already deep in conversation with an advisor at his side. Aragorn sighed and leaned back in his chair, allowing his gaze to wander around the room. Incidentally, he caught the eye of Tamarul, seated opposite him across the table. The man beckoned for him to lean forwards. After a brief moment of hesitation, for nothing Tamarul would say could be good, he obliged.

'Sore, Aragorn?' Tamarul began, instantly confirming the ranger's suspicions that the conversation would be pleasant in the least.

Why lie? he thought. It wasn't as thought Tamarul was oblivious of what passed between Daged and his slave. Besides, if he thought Aragorn was being untruthful, he would probably tell Daged of the rangers dishonesty, bringing forth yet another bout punishment for the unfortunate ranger.

'Yes,' he admitted.

Tamarul flashed a sadistic smile, running his eyes down Aragorn's exposed chest. 'Did he whip you?'

'No, I did nothing to warrant punishment.' Aragorn shifted, uncomfortable with more then just the conversation.

The man opposite him smiled knowingly. 'Used you hard, did he? Did you beg? One day, Aragorn, I'll have you, and I'll make you beg.'

'It doesn't take much,' Aragorn replied, ashamed of his submission.

Tamarul laughed at the remark, his eyes shinning in enjoyment.

'I would, however, give you a say in how I took you. Would you prefer being spread over my desk or pressed up against the wall?'

Thankfully Aragorn was spared from replying, not that he could have provided an answer to such a degrading question, by Daged who had at last finished his conversation. He rested a warning hand on the ranger's shoulder and Aragorn sat up, wondering if he would be punished for speaking to Tamarul without first consenting with Daged.

'Pleasant conversation?' Daged asked and the ranger nearly sighed in relief, for no anger lined his master's words.

'I suppose so.' He cast a sideways glance towards Tamarul, sickened by the satisfied smirk painted across his face. Suppressing the shudder he felt, he bowed his head, pressing his lips quickly to Daged's wrist.

Daged seemed pleased by the action, for he smiled and stood, stretching his tall frame.

'Come Aragorn, we have places to be and people to grace with our company.'

The young ranger quickly stood, purposefully keeping his gaze away from Tamarul, who watched as the ranger's shirt fluttered to bare his body. Daged set off across the hall and Aragorn obediently fell into place behind him, his gaze trained on the floor.

Within minutes they had reached the hall in which the celebration was being held. Aragorn, to his disappointment, spotted Denethor within moments of entering the hall. The steward's son was lounging against the wall, a drink in one hand, conversing with a man standing before him. His eyes flickered towards Aragorn and Daged at once and a sincere smile broke out upon his lips, the expression in his eyes silently bidding them to wait.

Denethor excused himself away from the man with whom he was talking before making his way towards Daged and his slave, his eyes glowing in joy and slight intoxication.

'Daged! Well met.' Denethor clapped Daged on his shoulder and Daged smiled in response, returning the amiable gesture.

'It's wonderful to see you returned, my lord.'

Denethor laughed, dismissing the retort. 'Nay. I doubt you even noticed my absence.'

Daged shook his head. 'Of course I did. Minas Tirith is much quieter without you present.' He grinned to show the comment had been made in jest.

Aragorn, standing silently behind his master, raised his gaze to watch Denethor, for though he hated the man as passionately as any other in Minas Tirith, he could not help but admire him. His handsome face, slightly scarred from the battles he'd seen, was framed by dark waves, blacker then Aragorn's own. His sapphire eyes shone with vivacity and the smile upon his lips was genuine. His stance was tall and proud and his dark cloak framed his muscled body; the sword at his hip was worn with pride. His hands were callused from the work he did and, much like his face, chaffed from the weather he'd suffered. He radiated confidence and enthusiasm and Aragorn couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, for within the regal man he saw a glimpse of who he used to be.

Denethor's gaze moved to the ranger and their gazes met for the briefest of breaths before Aragorn dropped his eyes, closing them momentarily to contain the emotion he'd felt stirring within.

'Aragorn, step forwards so I can see you.'

The ranger sighed and moved ahead, meeting Denethor's gaze yet again. The man smiled kindly and raised a hand, running his finger's down the youth's face.

'You look wonderful,' he said, his voice gentle, 'if slightly underdressed.'

Aragorn smiled in gratitude, touched by the remark.

'Nonsense!' Daged laughed. 'He's a sex slave, not a soldier. In my opinion, he's wearing far too much for such a station.'

Had his hand not still been touching the ranger's face, Denethor would not have noticed Aragorn flinch at the crude comment. For a moment, his eyes reflected pity before he turned his gaze on Daged.

'You're too hard on him Daged, he tries to please you.' Denethor's voice was light and friendly again, his smile so sincere Aragorn honestly wondered if he'd imagined the look Denethor had given him.

'He tries with the hopes of avoiding punishment.' Daged's callused remark stung the young ranger, who shivered as his master stepped up behind him.

'There are alternative methods that warrant the same results. Were you mine, Aragorn, you would not suffer in fear of the whip.'

Daged was quick in his reposte. 'Were he not so rebellious, I would hardly find reason to whip him.'

Denethor's argument died as his eyes dropped to watch Daged's hands, which slipped around Aragorn's waist and pulled his shirt open, baring his body. Daged's hands caressed him, running up and down the ranger's slim sides before dropping to the waistband of his leggings, his fingers darting underneath.

Aragorn's body, trained to respond to such caresses, trembled beneath his hands. Denethor watched in rapt fascination as Aragorn's breathing quickened against his will, his breath coming as quick pants as his body reacted as it had been taught. The ranger felt his face redden in mortification, aware that other's watched him as well, and could do naught but submit as Daged ran his hands possessively over is body.

'Do you doubt the effectiveness of my training?' Daged asked quietly, and Denethor gave him only a quick glance before Aragorn's gasp stole his attention as Daged dropped a hand to brush against the bulge in his leggings in such a gentle fashion the ranger nearly groaned in frustration, and only by biting his lower lips was he able to stop the sound. Daged's breathy chuckle sounded in Aragorn's ear before he upped the attack by bowing his head to nip and lick at the ranger's neck.

Daged's free hand continued to caress his young slave's body as his second hand continued tormenting the ranger, gliding between his legs with so little friction Aragorn's had to cling to every ounce of self control to keep his hips from bucking forwards into Daged's palm. He closed his eyes, ashamed of his wanton submission and his body's instant response to his master's touch.

Daged's hands stopped and the man raised his mouth from the ranger's neck to watch Denethor, who was watching the pair with eyes aflame with desire.

'Do you want him for the night, my lord?' Daged asked.

Denethor's gaze rose to meet Daged's, and their eyes met over Aragorn's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was rough with desire.

'Yes.'