A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

Prologue

He could feel his lieutenant’s mingled excitement and anger as he looked down upon the writhing elf, walking in circles around the stone table on which he lay, naked and bound. Melkor had to admit that his servants had -for once- done his will well. Of course, he would have liked the set, but that fool of a dark-elf that had called himself king of his crude tree-monkeys had been far too bold, too careless to live. The orcs still cackled at what he and his men had called armour, and rightly so. Leaves might have given them better protection.

Ah well, Melkor thought, stupid little Greenelves were not the tool he had sought to possess anyway. The elf before him was far more interesting. And Sauron, he was please to find, still took the greatest pleasure in the torture of the Firstborn. The Ages of his exile had clearly not changed that.

“Tell me, kinsman…” Sauron’s voice was full of a malicious banter that made Melkor cackle. Oh, this would be very amusing indeed, with Sauron taking the acts of that whore personal. “…how is your dear wife doing? Was she worried when you rode to war?”

The elf snarled, struggling against his bonds.

“Don’t you dare! Insult her like that and call her your kin one more time and I swear I…”

“And you swear to do what, precisely? What will you do, Elf? Do you really think you are in any position to threaten me just now?” Sauron purred with relish, while the orcs snickered and cheered.

The elf still strained against his bonds in vain, a futile effort to escape a fate that was already laid in stone. If he continued like that, he would do all their work for them, for even now his exhaustion was evident. Sauron appeared to notice it as well, for he mockingly stroked the elf’s shoulder as if he were trying to soothe him, which in return made the elf squirm even more, his muscles and bones sharply defined beneath his skin as he fought to get out of Sauron’s reach. Melkor licked his lips in delight. It was for this very reason that he had chosen to watch. He always revelled in the beauty of the Eldar, especially when they were like playthings, totally at his mercy. Especially when he was the last to see them unmarred.

A slight smirk passed between him and his lieutenant as Sauron lazily snatched the red-hot glowing knife out of the fire and severed their captive’s thumb at the knuckle without so much as a warning. The elf’s scream mingled with the orcs' jeering, and Melkor's own booming laugh. Oh, this would be good fun indeed.
“This was for the impertinence of claiming the lands that belong to my master. I shall teach you manners. You will bow to the Lord of Arda.”

The elf still writhed in pain and fear, but spat at Sauron nonetheless.

“Never! I have bowed to the King of Arda, and shall do so again if such mercy is granted to me. But to the true lord, not him.”

Oh dear. So this one calls my idiotic brother his lord.

Melkor rolled his eyes theatrically. It was funny, really, how proud these beings could become, despite being subject to the many ailments of an incarnate thing. But apparently it was just so, and the fool had not yet realised that every time he would forget his position in his pride, he’d lose some part of his body, or be burned by the droplets of molten metal that Sauron was especially partial to using on the more stubborn captives like this one.

He could sense the elf’s Fëa struggling to escape its tormented body, but Melkor would not let him. He never let them. And sooner or later, they all gave up, and bowed to his will. So it had been since their awakening, and so it would still be now.

It took the orcs many hours to gradually get bored with just torturing and maiming the elf, who had annoyingly not yielded any information yet. Sauron was growing impatient too, his punishments getting ever crueler, and the elf was clearly showing the strain. He had ceased to struggle a while ago, his breath coming in sharp pants, blood dripping from the table onto the floor that was littered with his chopped up fingers. Poor Sauron always got so frustrated whenever something failed to work the way he had devised. And while he agreed that it was indeed an inconvenience, Melkor still felt he had to calm his lieutenant down a little. They needed their captive alive after all.
“Do not overdo it, Sauron. It seems that one will not bend his will. Be it. We have other uses to put him to, and we need him alive and recognisable enough for that shipwright behind his walls to swallow the bait. Elsewise we shall have to dirty our hands with him after all, and that would truly be very irksome. More irksome than not breaking this one’s will in any case.
Moreover, the orcs have their needs as well, and we cannot possibly deny them an elf if we have one.”

Sauron grew very still at his words, like a cat that had spotted a songbird. Then an expectant grin started to spread over his face, and he started fingering the blade of his knife again.

“As you wish, my lord. Should I… prepare him?”

“Would you like that? If so, it would be very hard for me to deny it. Let us see now…”

He took a step closer to the table, making the elf gasp in terror. Melkor drank his fear, his despair, feeling again their captive’s desperate struggle to shed his body. As if. As if he would let anyone escape. Instead, he reached lazily for the elf’s knees, forcing his legs apart with ease, ignoring the feeble struggles. The elf was utterly exhausted, and many of the bones in his legs had already been crushed during his interrogation. He did not even really scream as Melkor felt the satisfying crack of his joints. What a waste. He would have quite liked to hear him cry and wail some more. But no, this fool did nothing of the sort, he maintained his silence even now, and kept the defences of his mind up. It seemed that the elf truly made the effort to try and thwart him, the Lord of Arda, in his purpose. That little witch had taught him well.

But it mattered not. It mattered not if he cried or not, or if he talked or kept silent. After all, the broken hips were necessary for what next lay in store for him, not a simple act of torture. The injury would render him sufficiently immobile to allow them to unfasten the chains a little, just so as to add a bit of fun for the orcs. And then, surely, he would talk.
Melkor reached out to gently stroke the skin on the elf’s inner thigh, then let his hand wander on to his sex. It gave him a cosy shudder to touch one of the Children again, and to see and hear the elf sob and whimper. He wanted to hear him beg, but this that proud fool still would not do. He wondered, knowing well what Sauron was planning to do, if he would swallow his pride then? It would be delicious to see the elf’s reaction to being castrated, but, but it would be even better to have his body betray him, to not have him be too distracted by pain to feel the orcs appeasing their desire. What a dilemma.

“What do you think, Sauron? I fathom the orcs did a very good job with capturing him, and they surely would prefer us to keep him intact for their reward. If he thinks himself worthy of our kind, then we’ll see how he likes being the orcs’ little whore for a while. And he is supposed to properly feel that, is he not?”

“As you wish, Sire.”

“Good. Oh, and leave his hair, also. I have the feeling it will come in useful, and besides…” he reached out to let Sauron’s gleaming tresses flow through his fingers, shamelessly sensual “…it reminds me too much of yours.”

Sauron grinned openly, then waved to his orcs carelessly. Their grunting and delighted squeals that mingled with the elf’s terrified screams was music in Melkor’s ears.