FFNET is still playing up for me so I am having to post chapters in halves I'm afraid.

Part b of Chapter 12: Elrond.

In the cool shadows of his own room, Elrohir hid. He clasped his hands over his face, praying that Elrond had not seen the shameful images that were in his head, the terrible lust that swept over him, the desire for violence and….He had wanted that before…Haldir had awoken in him desire, and Haldir had drawn unspeakable pleasure from him in a perversion that was against all he had even been taught; not only for his own sex, but a violent lust, a demeaning and thrilling sexual experience that, young and inexperienced as he was, spoiled him forever in his own mind. Until now. Now he thought that Haldir had merely recognised in him the perversion that he was.

A cry broke from his lips and he sprang to his feet, paced about the room in agony. Angmar had known, he thought, had recognised that in him and was drawn to Elrohir because of it. He remembered how the WitchKing had leaned in close and whispered so his cold breath stroked Elrohir's cheek and he was frozen, cold seeping into his flesh, slowing his blood. …

You have felt the lust that comes from killing, from battle before Glorfindel ever spoke of it, already experienced it, fought its hold upon you. And you already knew the dark lust that raised its head like a predator when you crept silently down the tunnel and paused to listen.

He threw open the casement so that cold air flooded in, frosted his breath and he stood staring out over the Valley to the Mountains, the Nazgûl's spell so deeply entwined now in his own memory that he did not even know it was there and thought the images of lust and violence, of rape were his own. He had not noticed that the images released by Vilya were without the violent dark lust that Angmar's spell had slid between the edges of Elrohir's guilt and shame. Now it dug its claws into the memory and wrenched it from him, twisting it into a horror that was even worse than he had truly witnessed.

The Orc was panting, thrusting itself into the shapeless form which moved and protesting hands clawed at the Orc. Elrohir held his sword before him and paused…He had almost groaned when the Orc suddenly stiffened as it released and the stink of its release filled the cell, horrible and familiar.

Eru help me! he cried but the words died on his lips before he even spoke; how could he ask Eru for help. He was as bad as the Orc that had violated her. Worse! Worse than any Orc …

Angmar was right; he was as bad as they, full of wickedness and shadow. He should be punished.

Had he not secretly sought that for all these years? Haldir's perversion had merely recognised what was already in his blood and now his violent desire, his perverted lust had emerged again.

The sound of a lash against flesh cracked and a muffled cry made him jerk and pulse with desire.

'Your yôzaira.'

Already he was swollen and full of need. It drove all other thoughts from his mind and he sank to his knees beside his bed, hands clasped together and bowed his head, pressed his forehead against the cool linen sheets though his body was on fire.

He had been so young when first he went to Lothlorien. Haldir had seized upon his tenderness and feasted like one of the blood-sucking vampires his father had spoken of. And how was it that Galadriel had not known? How was it that she had not seen? But she had not. She had not see the corruption wreaked upon him or the tears he would not let fall.

'I see it in you, the desire for violence.' Haldir's finger had trailed over Elrohir's cheekbone and he stifled the small moan that wanted to burst from him. 'They will tell you it is a mannish perversion, that Elves are beings of light and there is no shadow upon us…but you, you are not an Elf. You are Peredhel. In your blood is the lust that makes Men kill for greed, to take, rape. And that, with Finwë's blood that you share with those Kinslayers is a heady mix is it not? How do you control it, sweet child? How do you purge it from your blood?

His fingers brushed Elrohir's lips, lips that had not kissed anything more than his own hand, his mother's cheek, but felt afire with sensation. In his groin was a tightening and bulging like nothing he had felt before and he half-closed his eyes as Haldir gave a knowing half-smile.

That had been only the start of the seduction, for it had gone no further than slight touches at first, brushes of the hand against his arm, his thigh, his belly. And then one day, there had been a rope and they were alone and deep in the forest hunting, for it had become expected that Galadriel's most trusted, most successful March Warden would take her grandson under his care. Elrohir had come upon Haldir emerging dripping wet from the river, naked, his long hair plastered over his head, shoulders, belly and the dark gold of his hair did nothing to hide the lustful erection at his groin. He had not even tried to hide it. Instead he stood face to face with Elrohir who was only just on the brink of age, and sank to his knees, looking up at Elrohir whose surge of desire took him completely by surprise.

'I am a sinner,' Haldir had said in a low voice. 'I have thoughts that pervert the Laws of the Elves, I want to break every custom Pelegodh ever wrote. Help me purge it from my blood.' He had handed Elrohir the rope that lay coiled on the grass and that Elrohir, in his dazed infatuation had not even noticed. 'Bind me.' He turned so his back was to Elrohir, who bent and tied his wrists. 'Tighter. I need to be punished for my transgressions.' Elrohir bit his lip and pulled the rope tight enough that he saw the skin redden. 'Take off your belt.'

'I…'

'Take off your belt.'

He did as he was told and his tunic fell loosely about his body, hiding his own bulging desire. He wanted to lie down with Haldir, to stroke his long golden hair, to press his mouth onto the full lips and kiss him. He wanted hands to cup him softly. That was not what Haldir had wanted.

'Wrap the buckle about your fist. Hit me with the other end…No. Harder.'

He flicked the end lightly, wincing for the quiet slap of the leather against skin.

Suddenly Haldir turned his head and his eyes burned. 'Hard!' he barked. 'Do you wish for me to go into the Dark for desiring you? Punish me!'

And so he had been commanded and he found he could not disobey until his arm ached and there were red welts over Haldir's back and thighs and he had shamefully, exploded into his own breeches.

'You see?' Haldir had said later, tenderly washing the stains from Elrohir's own thighs, rinsing his breeches the river. 'You are like me. We must punish each other to purge ourselves of these shameful urges.'

Months then years went by and the perversion continued, worsened. 'You have ruined me,' Elrohir had said, hating Haldir for he had been robbed of any sweetness or innocence. He had been corrupted and perverted so he wanted, needed violence.

He shook his head, disgust like bile in his throat and he wanted to be sick….

There were the tunnels again, the cloying, stinking dark that clung to him like need. A distant, raw cry from somewhere down there in the darkness…where it stank of urine and shit and blood…And then there was a tangle of hair, so matted and bloody he did not know her…

He hurled himself from his room, hating himself, hating the thoughts that drove him, the lust that he kept so tightly leashed that he dared not love for he knew he would only violate it.

0o0o

In the cold night, he cast his clothes from his body and plunged into the icy water of the Bruinen and only when his body was so cold that it was on the brink of shock did he emerge and clothe himself again.

He wrenched his lust under control. Crushed his desire and perversion into a fist of hate, revenge, of killing Orcs that made him like this. His hair was wet and he braided it quickly knowing that none would question him. Then he went looking for his captains, wanting news, wanting a patrol, for there was no Elladan to soothe him, gentle and tame him so he could be civil.

He needed to ride out and destroy everything that was tainted as he. He wanted to impale Orcs and leave them bleeding and in agony, to drench Aícanaro in blood. Striding along the smooth paths over lawns silvered in the moonlight, he overheard a servant girl speak to another that Glorfindel was returned.

He veered sharply from his route and stopped the maid to ask where Glorfindel could be found and though he tried to be gentle and courteous, her eyes round and frightened. She answered shyly and with a small curtsy, which he hated but did not say for the girl would only be more frightened. 'He is in the Great hall, my lord.'

Only when he heard the chatter and noise did he realise it was evening and the main meal was being served. Had he not been so intent he would have avoided the Hall and its gossipy chatter. He did not enter straight away but stood at the entrance and cast his gaze around the elves who were sitting or standing within. It was fortunate then that he almost immediately saw that Glorfindel was there, his back to Elrohir but the broad shoulders and tall, elegant stature was unmistakable as was the air of deference from all who were around him. Even better, Tindómion too was there, standing at a slight angle to Elrohir but beside him.

But no Erestor.

His breath caught and he strode quickly through the great door and at that moment, both Tindómion and Glorfindel turned to see him. Tindómion stepped towards him, a smile of welcome on his sculpted lips and concern in those silver-grey eyes. Elrohir hurried towards him for Tindómion was his dear friend and perhaps of all others, understood him most. Perhaps even more in the ways that mattered right now, more evan than Elladan.

A Man was looking up at Tindómion, annoyed, as he had been speaking and Tindómion ignored him, which he might well, Elrohir knew. The Dwarf, Gimli Gloinsson was sitting at the table and it was he to whom Glorfindel spoke. Elrohir's face darkened for Gimli had been complicit in the killing of the Orc and he had not forgiven that. Then Glorfindel moved also and he saw who else was there: Legolas Thranduillion.

Unreasonable, unfair fury seized him but he knew what it was now and knew why the burgeoning lust swelled in his groin. It was his desire for perversion. For violence and punishment. Legolas was everything he needed to fight, to evade and so crush the corruption in his heart, his dark lust.

He saw Legolas turn to see where Glorfindel and Tindómion looked and his long green eyes met Elrohir's. A thrill went through Elrohir then and an image of long pale-gold hair twisted around his fist, pulling Legolas' head back so his pulsing throat was exposed…his strong, lithe body stretched in pain…Unbearable lust pumped through Elrohir. The spell twisted and dug; lust, uncontrollable lust pierced him, wrenched his control and he wanted, oh he wanted to shove that lean body against the stone wall, floor, anything and pound him into submission.

He found his fists clenched and knuckles whitened, nails digging into his own flesh, lips pressed tightly and the straining, pulsing of his cock pressing against his breeches. Long green eyes slid away from his, provocative, sensuous, as if Legolas knew and sought Elrohir's seduction.

See how your yôzaira watches. He knows. He wants this too.

No! He would not think it. He would not. Elladan had almost died and all he could do was think of was his lust? Ruthlessly he crushed it, shoved the lecherous images away, pushed them deep into the darkness of his mind for even now, Glorfindel was coming to meet him, and Tindómion was taking him by the elbow. Legolas' face was tight, closed and he had looked away but the light caught on his wintergrass hair, stroked it to fire and Elrohir's lust was undiminished.

See how your perversion lingers, how you stare at him. He is yours if you but command it. He would come to you with but a glance. Take him. Punish him. He would take it as your right to command. Bring him, bring It and you will have everything.

He hardly heard Glorfindel's words, hardly felt Tindómion gently steer him away from the bustle. 'Ah my dear friend, how is Elladan? We were not allowed to come to your side and I feared the worst.'

And suddenly cold air hit him and he felt the rush of wind, clean air fill his lungs. He breathed deeply, feeling light headed and faint suddenly. Tindómion held him and steered him towards a stone wall where he could lean against it and maintain at least a semblance of propriety. He wondered if Tindómion had seen his arousal, if he knew. But the longer tunics that were worn in Imladris had hidden that at least, he hoped. Shame heated his skin, flushed his cheeks and neck and back.

'Erestor says that Elladan is out of danger now at least,' Glorfindel was saying and suddenly Elrohir found that he could breathe, he could think. Words came from his mouth as if he had thought about them before speaking. 'Erestor is returned too then? I feared…'

'No. All are here. Only Rhawion is lost…' Glorfindel said and there was a weight of sadness in his voice. 'I have seen his wife. I will take care that she is provided for of course but…'

Elrohir covered his face with his hands; he was deeply affected by Rhawion's dreadful fate, but he could not help but think how close Elladan had come to the same. He felt suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed.

Glorfindel called to a servant, Berensul, who was hurrying past.

'Bring warmed wine and something for Elrohir to eat.' Glorfindel gave the man a smile to soften the imperious command. Elrohir lifted his hand to protest but Glorfindel moved so that he stood close to him. He fixed him with his piercing blue eyes that were so full of kindness and fearless joy even now. 'You need to eat. And sleep. You cannot do Elladan any good at all if you are not strong enough yourself.'

'Glorfindel is right as usual,' Tindómion's rich voice agreed.

Elrohir turned his head in resignation at his old friend. 'It seems you are in cahoots and I cannot gainsay you,' he conceded. 'And I am tired but I do not think I will sleep.'

'Then I will sing you a lullaby,' Tindómion smiled. He flashed a smile at Glorfindel. 'Ask Berensul to bring the food to Elrohir's rooms. I will see he gets there and leave him sleeping like a babe.'

Glorfindel looked down and smoothed his breeches over his thighs. His long hair fell forwards and for a moment his face was hidden. 'I have to see Elrond, tell him what happened.' When he looked up, there was an expression of concern and pity on his face but Elrohir was suddenly exhausted.

'I have to speak to him also. I have not given him the messages yet from my grandmother…and a warning nonetheless,' he said thinking he would rather not have to go back and speak to Elrond; the moments of truce had opened a door but his own terrible deeds had slammed it firmly shut. He could not let his father in, could not let him even attempt healing, for to do that would mean Elrond would see what it was that destroyed him: the terrible memory of his mother. And he would never, ever let anyone see that.

o0o0o

tbc