Never Wanted This

By IcingDeath71

Chapter 3

Aragorn gave a weary sigh and raised a hand to his temple, placing the heel of his palm against his head to abate the dull throb that echoed throughout his entire body; a headache brought on by confusion, mortification, and emotions he was unable to control. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he paused, leaning against the stone wall as he attempted to regain some measure of control over his wayward emotions.

The effects of the drug in which he'd overindulged the night prior were just beginning to wear off and the gradual decline of the euphoric bliss was accompanied by a dull throb that radiated throughout his body and a sick, lightheaded feeling. The ranger rested his back against the cool stone and closed his eyes, his hand still pressed firmly against his temple.

He'd spend a long, sleepless night with Denethor, of which he could recall little save for the occasional passionate moment. Those few moments he could remember, however, were enough to tell him exactly how he'd behaved the night prior; memories of his shameful behavior before the entire court, Denethor pushing him forcefully up against a cool stone wall, tumbling to the floor after having spent himself into Denethor's warm mouth, and moaning eagerly into a leather gag as Denethor's hand caressed his body. He also bore physical evidence of fresh whip marks across his backside and red lines around each wrist from being restrained, and though he could not recall having received such wounds they left little room for doubt as to some of what occurred the night prior.

And then this morning, the memory already becoming hazy as the drug's effects continued to linger, he'd woken in the future stewards arms, his body immediately reacting to Denethor's presence and the Gondorian had woken to the feel of Aragorn's talented tongue on his semi hard arousal. After spilling his seed down Aragorn's throat the steward's son had dragged Aragorn up to his side and, watching him out of guilty eyes, had admitted to drugging the ranger the night prior, apologizing profusely. Aragorn's mind, however, was not on Denethor's confession, but rather focused on his body's demands while he waited for the Gondorian to finish speaking.

He had sated Aragorn's desire afterwards, much to the ranger's delight, and had sent the youth from his rooms soon afterwards. Almost immediately the drug's effects had begun to fade, stealing with them the majority of the memories of what had happened under its influence. Already the ranger could hardly remember speaking with Denethor only an hour before, and it was nearly guaranteed that he would have no recollection of the Gondorian's confession. He rested his back against the cold stone wall, shivering slightly as the chill seeped past the remainder of the flimsy tunic he bore and into his skin, before pushing reluctantly off from the wall and continuing the slow journey back to Daged's rooms, wary of the welcome he would receive.

He arrived at Daged's rooms far to quickly and stood outside the stone door for a moment, attempting to compose himself before venturing inside to face the pain and humiliation that was inevitable. Much to his surprise, however, Daged was absent from his chambers, allowing the young ranger a few more moments peace.

Aragorn stripped off his ruined tunic, tearing it a bit more in his haste to be rid of the offending garment, and tossed it carelessly across the room. He stretched, his aching body protesting, and moved towards the hearth, kneeling on the fur Daged had placed on the ground before it. If he state of the hearth was any indication, Daged had been absent for quite a while, for the untended fire had slowly been reduced to barely glowing coals.

He should have known, however, that his peace and solitude was to good to last. No more then half an hour since having returned, Aragorn heard the ominous sound of booted feet approaching down the hallway. He half turned to face the door and wrapped his arms protectively around his chest, the tremors beginning in his body having naught to do with the cold.

Daged swept into the room, looking possibly more imposing and impressive then Aragorn had ever seen him. His eyes were drawn automatically to the kneeling youth and within a heartbeat Aragorn knew that Daged was in no mood to be tempered with, for his eyes were alight with malice and anger and his very stance radiated his displeasure.

Aragorn rose quickly and moved to his master, though approaching the angry Gondorian was the last thing he wanted to do. Daged watched him from narrowed eyes, taking in his appearance. His sharp eyes darted along the ranger's bare torso, down his arms to the red abrasions circling his wrists and back up to his face, and then, without warning, Daged grabbed Aragorn and pulled him forcefully against the Gondorain, claiming his mouth possessively in such a hard kiss that Aragorn could taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips.

Aragorn staggered when he withdrew and only by clutching on to Daged's arms was he able to remain upright. At the kiss, no matter how violent it may have been, the last remainder of the drug in his system stirred and Aragorn felt a wave of desire wash over him, but to his fortune Daged didn't notice the lust induced shiver that passed through the youth's body.

'Come with me,' Daged ordered, turning on his heel and sweeping out of the room. Aragorn swayed for a moment, at a lost, then quickly regained his sensibilities and stumbled after his master, still fighting to overcome his emotions.

Daged lead Aragorn through the labyrinth of corridors, taking the young ranger deep into Minas Tirith until they were, beyond a doubt, below ground. There were no windows though which the sun could seep into the dark hallway and the only source of light was the torches, stationed at intervals along the stone walls. The very air in these corridors was damp and chill and Aragorn shivered, hugging his arms to his chest as he hurried to keep pace with his master.

Eventually, Daged stopped before a stone door and paused, his hand on the door's handle. Inexplicably, Aragorn felt a rush of foreboding; a sensation intensified tenfold when Daged cast him a look full of malice. Before he could come to terms with the emotion, Daged had grabbed him roughly by the upper arm, pulled open the door, and was steering the fearful ranger into the chamber's interior.

Even before seeing the elf, Aragorn knew his intuition had been correct. Tamarul lounged casually against the wall, a satisfied smile on his rugged face, and another man with whom Aragorn had never associated came forward immediately, clutching a bloody whip in one hand. It took a moment for Aragorn to draw his eyes away from the whip, cruel in a fashion he only believed possibly by orcs, and to break free of the terror that had momentarily paralyzed him. He cast his gaze around the room, his eyes falling upon a sight that made his knees buckle with sadness.

In the center of the room, his wrists chained above his head, knelt an elf. Even from the doorway Aragorn could hear the immortal's ragged breathing and could see the manner his body hitched with agony. The source of his pain was evident for his back had been brutally assaulted and his sides were stained with the blood that ran freely from his torn back, down his body to the floor on which he was forced to kneel. His eyes were closed and his face tense with pain, but in typical elven fashion no tears showed on his porcelain cheeks and when Tamarul pushed himself away from the wall and approached the elf, his eyes snapped open, directing at Tamarul a look of absolute hatred.

Tamarul, looking far happier then Aragorn had ever seen him, knelt in front of the elf and grasped his chin in one hand, tipping his face upwards. His knuckles were white and Aragorn had no doubt that the grip was designed to hurt, but the only emotion visible in the elf's steely eyes was anger.

'Perhaps we've found a way to loosen your tongue after all,' Tamarul said, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a sadistic smile. His gaze flickered towards Aragorn and the elf's eyes followed, giving the ranger the same look of hatred before returning to the man before him.

Daged, whom Aragorn had nearly forgotten about in his terror, shoved the young ranger forwards and Aragorn balked, turning back to his master with a look of pleading in his wide eyes. He opened his mouth, intent on begging to be released, but before he could even begin Daged struck him forcefully, dropping the youth to the ground.

Aragorn gasped in pain, his hand flying to his temple where he'd been hit.

'You've lived among elves, right?' Daged said, grabbing Aragorn's wrist and dragging the youth to his feet again. Aragorn nodded wordlessly. 'And you speak their language?'

Aragorn nodded again, his eyes wide in fear.

Daged smiled cruelly. 'Good. Then perhaps you can reason with him.' The Gondorian shoved Aragorn forwards, forcing him to his knees in Tamarul's recently vacated spot before the elf. Up close, Aragorn could tell that the abuse the elf had suffered went beyond the brutal whipping, for his lips were swollen and a bruise was beginning to set in on one side of his face.

Daged placed a strong hand at the base of Aragorn's neck, insuring the ranger would remain on his knees, and he took the cruel whip in his free hand, running the rough leather thong across the skin on Aragorn's back. Aragorn stiffened instantly, his hands balling into fists at his knees.

'He will be whipped,' Daged said, his comments now aimed at the immortal, 'if you will not speak. Perhaps you care more for the wellbeing of others then you do for your own.'

To demonstrate, Daged brought the whip down sharply on Aragorn's exposed shoulders, earning a quiet moan of pain from the ranger.

The elf's silver eyes met Aragorn's and the youth could see that Daged's words, and indeed his actions, had struck a nerve for there was an obvious hint of uncertainty in the immortal's gaze.

'Ask him who he is, where he's from, and what he's doing in Gondor,' Daged ordered, removing his hand from the base of Aragorn's neck and stepping back so he had a better angle from which to whip the unfortunate ranger.

Aragorn closed his eyes and at his knees his hands tightened into white knuckled fists. He was acutely aware of the pangs of discomfort rising up his legs as his knees pressed into the unyielding stone floor and the rustle of cloth behind him as Daged readied himself, shaking the kinks out of the cruel whip. Before him, the chains that held the immortal on his knees rattled as the elf shifted.

Drawing a shaky breath, Aragorn opened his eyes, but kept his gaze fixed firmly on the blood spattered ground between his own knees, unable to look at the elf's face. He felt hot tears of fear and injustice prick at the corners of his eyes and fought the sob welling in his chest.

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked in Sindarin, the words falling easily from his lips despite the length of time that had passed since he'd last spoken an elven tongue. The elf gave a small gasp of surprise that involuntarily drew the ranger's gaze from the stone to his face, allowing Aragorn a brief moment to fully acknowledge the turmoil of emotions raging beneath the surface of the immortal's fey face. For the merest of breaths the ranger locked eyes with the elf before hastily forcing his gaze back to the ground, his heartbeat racing to comprehend all that had just passed between them. Within that moment Aragorn had seen realization dawning in the immortal's silver eyes; realization that Aragorn was a captive to these men and was, by no means, in support of them. He knew, simply by the surprised expression, that his words had revealed his elven upbringing. By the time their gazes had broken he knew that he'd found, at the very least, an ally.

There was a pause in which Daged waited for the merest of moments before brining the cruel whip down sharply across Aragorn's back, the jagged edges of the leather catching his skin as it descended, and the ranger was hard pressed to avoid crying out.

He exhaled deeply, releasing the breath he'd been holding, and repeated the question. This time, Daged struck him the moment the words had left his lips, catching him unaware with the suddenness of the attack. Aragorn cried in pain, his body jerking and his back arching in agony. He gasped, attempting to regain his sensibilities before being struck again, and hung his head, allowing his loose hair to fall across his face, hiding his pained expression from the elf before him.

The ranger repeated the question, the words spoken quietly from behind clenched teeth, and Daged struck him twice simultaneously, leaving the youth reeling. He gasped for breath, his muscles trembling, and shook his head slightly to rid himself of the pain induced haze of red spreading across his vision. The chains attached to the elf's manacles rattled as the immortal tugged helplessly on his bound wrists, his wide eyes now displaying his inner anguish.

'Who are you?' Aragorn asked again, stuttering over the words, and flinched immediately as Daged brought the cruel whip across his exposed back with enough strength to draw a cry of pain to the ranger's lips. He bit his lip, stifling a second cry as his master struck him again, leaving him no time to continue questioning the elf. There was, however, no need for Aragorn to continue trying to establish the elf's identity, for by now the immortal inevitably understood what was wanted of him.

Daged set a quick pace, working the skin on the ranger's back with all the malicious cruelly Aragorn knew he possessed, and the youth could do naught but clench his fists until his nails dug deep enough into his palms to draw blood and arch his back to minimize the pain as his master landed blow after blow on the ranger's skin. After half a dozen strikes Daged paused, giving Aragorn a moment to catch his breath as he switched the whip from his right arm to his left, and Aragorn dropped his head between his shoulders, panting heavily from the suppressed pain. He opened his eyes and it came as no surprise to note that his leggings were already dark and the floor on which he knelt was wet with freshly spilt blood. This was quickly becoming the worst beating that Aragorn had endured at Daged's hands and he suspected that it hadn't taken more then a handful of lashes before the skin on his back, already marred from his night with Denethor, had broken.

Pain was making Aragorn shaky and lightheaded and he gasped as the beating was resumed. Daged delivered a series of strong blows that laid stripes from his shoulders to his waist, forcing the ranger's eyes closed again. His arms were trembling badly, threatening to collapse on him, and Aragorn had no doubt that they would long before his master would cease the whipping. He knew he was crying, for he could taste the salty tears that trailed down his face and between his parted lips, and his only comfort was in the fact that he had not yet lost complete control, even though his body was shaking with his suppressed sobs. He bit his lower lip, lost between his teeth, until the telltale taste blood filled his mouth.

Daged had attained a new level of cruelty, and continued beating the young ranger without regard for his physical wellbeing, and even when his arms refused to support him and he tumbled to his elbows, pressing his tear stained face into his forearms, did his master continued to beat him with the cruel whip, tearing deeper lacerations into his torn back.

Only when he was weeping openly, his body shaking with his sobs did Daged pause at last, kneeling at the ranger's side. He knotted one hand in Aragorn's sweat soaked hair and pulled his head up, earning another moan of agony from the beaten youth.

Aragorn's eyes were hazy with pain, and his face wet with tears, and he took his weight upon arms that were shaking so badly they would hardly support him.

'Please,' he begged, abandoning his pride, 'please, make it stop.'

Daged turned his gaze onto the elf and Aragorn's eyes followed. The elf was pale and trembling and his eyes were closed, his face half turned away. It was obvious, to the ranger at least, that having Aragorn's blood on his hands weighed heavily with the immortal, but that the elf was not yet ready to abandon his pride, even to stop the cruel beating happing before him.

Daged made a disgusted sound and stood, his fist tightening painfully in Aragorn's hair. The ranger's gaze followed his master upward, fearful and speculative. Daged watched him, his eyes thoughtful, and began to trace Aragorn's mouth with his forefinger, his eyes shining with pleasure as the ranger's lips parted, allowing his master's digit to slide along his tongue. The elf was watching him, for he could feel the immortal's gaze boring into him, and though his stomach curled with sickness his position reflected nothing save complete and utter subservience. Daged's finger withdrew slowly from his mouth and lingered on his lips, running possessively over and around them before disappearing from his face all together.

'Is it true that elves die if they are taken against their will?' Daged asked Aragorn. The ranger nodded weakly, and his vision blurred at the action.

'Well, Aragorn won't fade if we rape him,' Daged said, and though his gaze as still on the youth, his comment was now aimed at the elf, 'but he'll wish he would.' Daged motioned for Tamarul and the Gondorian approached. Moments later Aragorn felt a heavy hand descend at the base of his neck and the pressure was enough to push him to the floor, his trembling arms folding to cushion his head.

The elf hesitated. He was willing to undergo many forms of torture before complying with the men that held him captive, but being forced to witness a brutal rape was not one of them, and obviously not an option he had considered. He had come to know Daged well enough, however, to know that Daged's threat had not been empty, and when his resolution broke it was a visible change that overcame the immortal. His shoulders slumped and his body sagged, heavily supported by the manacles that kept his wrists above his head. His head dropped, spilling his golden hair over his shoulders and around his face.

'Legolas,' he said quietly, and Aragorn had never heard anyone save himself sound quite so wretched and broken. 'My name is Legolas.'

Daged smiled, a triumphant gesture that held no warmth whatsoever, and moved away from Aragorn and towards the elf. He cupped Legolas' face in one hand and tipped the immortal's head upwards. Legolas kept his eyes down, unwilling to meet Daged's gaze, but there was no hint of rebellion visible throughout his body, and Daged was satisfied by what he saw.

Tamarul was behind Aragorn then, pulling him to his feet with both hands under his arms. Aragorn swayed precariously and nearly fell until Tamarul wrapped one arm around his waist, heedless of the youth's torn back, and pulled him close to the Gondorian's strong body. Aragorn leant heavily against him, his eyes closed tightly to stop the nausea that overcame him. He moaned quietly, his body trembling from head to toe, and Tamarul tightened his grip, keeping the ranger upright when his shaky legs would have refused to support him. Teetering between consciousness and oblivion, Aragorn dropped his head onto Tamarul's shoulder, sick from the pain that was coursing throughout his entire body.

'Come on, whore,' Tamarul said, adjusting the ranger with the help of the room's fifth occupant, who had simply watched the proceedings, until he was able to drag the ranger away unhindered by Aragorn's lack of coherency. Tamarul turned him away from the sight of the broken elf and guided him from the room, Legolas' voice ringing in the ranger's ears.