He was not a beautiful man. Striking - with his long dark hair, sharp features, an old scar marring his left cheek, burning eyes, almost black, long limbs, wiry with well used muscles but a bit too thin from constant lack of food - striking, but not beautiful. His eyes were scanning the grounds, taking in the guards, the other slaves, searching for possible routes of escape, finding none.

I wondered where he came from, clothed in dirty rags, his shirt ripped, dirty and crusted with blood. His hair dirty as well and bloodied from a wound on his forehead that had just crusted over. Had they bought him? No, probably caught. There were still some free humans living in the wilderness, hiding like animals in the caves. Sometimes there were tales of them, of free-born humans, at the evening fires. Whispered in hushed voices, not to be overheard by the guards for the punishment could be terrible. One never knew with elves. Their cruelty came and went like the wind, never reliable but always cutting to the bone if awakened.

The guards took him over to the hut of Gimli, the dwarven smith. He was a slave, just like us humans, but he was treated better, for he could work fine metals and his lifespan would allow for a more extensive training. Who would go through the trouble of teaching a human anything useful? They did not live long enough to use it anyway.

I knew what was coming to him. They were going to fit him with one of their special collars, crafted with elvan magic and dwarven workmanship. A collar that would prevent him from ever running away. All the humans they caught were fitted with those, for they could not be trusted to be smart enough to stay out of fear. To realize there was no escape from the fields of Rivendell.

I never asked him why he started to struggle, when he realized what they were going to do. Maybe he knew what the collar would do to him, forcing first unbearable pain and then sleep on his body, should he try to leave the valley. Maybe it was his free spirit, fighting the concept of being collared and leashed in any way. But struggle he did, though bound and wounded as he was. Of course he had no chance. Elves are not the superior race of Middle-Earth for no reason. Any single elf can hold a human by the throat and choke him with no effort at all. There were two well trained elvan guards holding him, forcing him to kneel at the anvil, then grabbing his head by his hair, holding him still. He still tried to lash out at them, kick them at least, so one of the guards kicked him in the stomach hard, taking his breath out of him, then punched his head with his armored fist, taking his consciousness.

Gimli looked at the human, kneeling at his anvil with pity. He is a friendly creature and has more compassion in his heart than all the elves of Rivendell together. He hates what he has to do but his chances of escape are even slimmer than ours. He is chained with mithril to his hut, never allowed to go further than a couple of feet from it. And he will have to endure this life so much longer than us humans.

He put one of the collars around the new slave's neck, crafting the ends together carefully, not to hurt the man more than was absolutely necessary. Still there would be burn marks on his neck when he came back to his senses. He then took off the heavy chains, binding the mans arms tight behind his back, replacing them with looser ones that would allow him enough space to move his arms and work.

That is what we are all here for, after all. Why the elves even bother to keep us alive. To do the dirty work for them. A race for every task. Dwarves for crafting their homes, weapons, jewels and anything else they might desire. Halflings to serve them and worship them. And humans to do whatever might be left. I once heard a tale that there where other races as well, before the Dark Lady rose out of the golden woods. But there are no more. The elves have fashioned this world to their liking. And other races were not included.

Remembering these bitter facts, I looked down at my own task, dragging my eyes away from the still unconcious form, lying by the anvil now while one of the guards motioned for another slave to dowse him with water to wake him up again. I was lucky, for my duties were light. The reason for this weighted the heavier on my conscience, for my brother was paying the price.

---

Three years ago, one of the sons of the Lord of Rivendell had been in a especially funny mood. He had thought it would be interesting to test his new hunting dogs on a prey more challenging than deer. He had chosen me. I don't remember much of the actual hunt. Just running, stumbling, running, till my whole body burned, eventually falling, the dogs catching up to me, pain and then darkness.

What I recall clearly was waking up to searing pain in my left leg and left arm. I lay in the small hut me and my brother shared with several other slaves. I tried to sit up, but the old woman who had raised me and my brother after our mother's death, had pressed me back to the ground. I threw a quick glance at my arm and nearly fainted again. Where my left hand had been there was just a bloody, mangled mass now, obviously ripped my sharp dog teeth. My leg probably did not look better.

Then I heard my brother's voice from outside, pleading. Pleading for my life. For a crippled slave is useless and I knew for sure that my hand would never heal properly. I heard the voice of Legolas, the elvan overseer as well, telling my brother he would not feed a useless mouth. I resigned myself to dying then. There was no arguing with our elvan masters and especially not with Legolas, who was renowned and feared for his cruelty.

But my brother would not be my proud, strong brother, if he gave up that easily. I will never know why he has so much pride in him, being born a slave just like the rest of us. He may kneel and bow like the rest of us, but he always manages to keep his pride. So he promised our overseer to work my shifts as well, if he let me live. I could not believe my ears. Our work was hard, but just manageable. To do double shifts, though, was pure torment. My brother knew that and Legolas knew it as well. He must have thought it immensely amusing that one of his slaves would choose to torture himself like that. So he agreed.

---

They did find something to do for me. After my leg had healed enough, I could walk again, though I will always keep a limp. My hand never healed and I keep the stump wrapped now, for I can not bear to look at it myself, much less force others to do so. So now I carry water to the workers in the fields. That did not lessen the workload of my brother. But he survives. I don't know how, but he survives. I think Legolas hates him for that. He is still waiting for my brother to drop, so he can have me killed in front of his eyes. I doubt my brother will ever do that for him. In some things his will is as unbreakable as the will of that new slave, the one they had dragged to his feet again.

He stared at them, burning hatred in his eyes and posture and I realized that I was staring at him again. My thoughts were all muddled, showing me pictures of our bodies entwined in the dancing light of fire. I imagined those strong arms holding me, his mouth capturing mine, his hands tearing at my clothing... it was insane. I stood there in brood daylight, growing hot over a man I didn't even know and who would most likely never give me a second glance, crippled as I was. And that was without taking into account that my brother would rip his head off, if he ever touched me.

And still I could not help myself. I watched one of the guards look around for something, his eyes then settling on me. No, I screamed in my head, not now! Not when I am beside myself with stupid desire. But as ever, elves were the masters of casual cruelty. Even unintentionaly.

"Hey, cripple!" The guard called me. "Show this new slave how to work the fields!" And I had no choice but to limp over to them to obey. They were wise in their evil ways. They knew fully well that their new human slave would not listen to what they would tell him, maybe even try to fight again. But they also knew he would not attack a crippled member of his own race.

The guards shoved him in my direction, when I was almost there. He stumbled and lost his footing, for he was still dazed from pain and being knocked unconcious. I caught him with my good hand, but I almost recoiled when I touched his skin, warm, a bit sweaty. I prayed to any higher power there might be that he would not notice my slipping, would not notice how aroused I was just by touching him. What had gotten into my head? Sunstroke?!

But he let me help him regain his balance and than looked at me. That look cooled me down immediately: For it was not hatred, as he had had for the guards or a general non-expression but heartfelt pity. He pitied me for being what I was and that crushed any hopes my body might have entertained, though my mind had known better right from the start.

I let go of him rather abruptly. "I am Faramir." I introduced myself, just to say something. "I... will show you around." He nodded, at hint of surprise in his eyes at my sudden change of mood. I followed me out into the fields without saying anything. I explained to him how to work the fields. The work was neither hard nor dangerous at first glance, but it had it's own hidden hazards, just like the masters who made us do it.

The fields were beautiful to look at, for they were filled with flowers of deep blue and red. But these plants had sharp thorns with a poison that could drive a human insane, should his body be exposed to it to often. It were the thorns, that were carefully harvested by the slaves. The poison that endangered the humans was one of the most beloved drugs of the elves.

He was given a small knife to cut of the thorns without hurting the flowers themselves and a container to store them in. I could not show him how to do it, with only one hand, so I had to explain. He looked at me with those pitiful eyes again and I felt my heart grow smaller and smaller. How I wished I had never laid eyes on him...

After I had explained and had watched him work for a moment, I told him I had to get back to my own work now. He still hadn't said a word and I was beginning to wonder if he didn't want to or couldn't. At least he had started to work without complaining. I turned to leave, but he held me back by speaking at last. "Wait."

His dark voice went to my heart like an elvan arrow. I felt it shatter under the impact and looked at him again. Looked at him, kneeling right before me between the flowers and felt the heat rise inside my body again. This was just impossible. How could my own body betray me like this? "I thank you for your help." he said, not realizing at all what he was doing to me. "My name his Halbarad." I managed one nod and then fled.

---

I think I have never felt more stupid in my life and most likely I will never again. I wandered the fields, bringing water to those who wanted it, deeply wrapped in my own thoughts and feeling more foolish then I could bear. I noticed my brother's worried looks when I passed him, but I was neither in the mood nor really able to explain my behavior.

That evening I sat apart from the fire, watching the never changing stars over the valley. There is no pity in them, I think, but sometimes they seem to twinkle with mirth. Do they laugh at our foolish hopes and dreams? Laugh at humans and elves and dwarves alike? I hope they do. It would be nice to know that there is something out there, that can find happiness in this dark world.

I did not look up, when I heard footsteps approaching, for I was sure it would be my brother, coming to find out what was wrong with me. Only when I heard his voice again, asking me if he could have a word with me, my heart stopped beating again. "Sure." I answered. Not trusting my voice with any more words. Not moving, for I would have tried to run away again had I even twitched. And one should not run without a working heart.

He sat down next to me, his body radiating heat in the cool spring evening. He did not say anything for a while and I was wondering, if this was some weird dream and if I should turn to him, kiss him and take anything my fantasy would grant me. I had just decided on doing just that, when he asked: "Have I offended you in any way? You just ran away and if I did I would like to apologize."

Oh heavens, how can you be so cruel? How could he apologize for his pity in me? How could I tell him what had hurt me so much? How could I say anything with my voice stuck in my still heart? He waited for an answer patiently, but I was not able to find any words. And then he said the one thing that broke any resistance I had build up.

"Faramir?" I looked at him then, all I was feeling clearly written on my face, waiting for he reactions. Surprise, disgust, more pity if I was very lucky? There were none of those. He just looked at me with the strangest expression in his eyes, then suddenly took my face in his hands, drawing me towards him, kissing me gently. I closed my eyes and my thoughts receded to leave only a blue-white haze of pleasure.

I had been kissed before. Many times, by many different people. After the hunt I had started to give my body to anybody who would take it. I needed the feeling of being good at least for something. Most of the other slaves were to decent to take me up on the offer. But there were enough who were not, taking any willing body they could get. Afterwards I always felt dirty and used. But at least there was still one use for me. Had my brother known, I think he would have killed anyone who had ever touched me, so everybody made sure he didn't know. He would never have understood. I didn't even understand myself.

But this was different. So incredibly different, I realized. I had never been kissed like it should be done. First gently, then more demanding. I don't know if he watched me. I kept my eyes tightly shut, not to see what he felt. I wanted to keep this memory as my treasure, for it could not last. But it did. His fingers ran through my hair, loosening it from it's ponytail, caressing it, then drawing me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around him as well, trying not to cling to him and failing.

I slowly let myself sink back, drawing him with me, half on top of me. I expected him to pull away any moment, but he didn't, instead cushioning my head on one of his arms, caressing my neck with his free hand, never breaking our kiss. My mind was frantic, racing this way and that. I was not able to grasp any clear thought whatsoever. So I just lay there, waiting for him to go on or leave as he pleased.

And when he pushed his body against mine, hot, with his arousal obvious through his ragged pants, I knew he would not leave. His hand wandered lower, finding an entrance into my own faded shirt, caressing my chest, then tugging the shirt out of my own pants with his fingers, trembling of desire. I knew what he wanted and I was more than willing to give, although I still could not believe this was really happening.

I pulled at his shirt, not managing to get it over his head, for he would not stop kissing me, put tearing it instead, ragged as it was anyway. A very small voice in my head started to question me sternly where he was supposed to get a new one and I was sure I was really going crazy now.

His hand finding it's way inside my pants brought me back to what I still considered a dream. His hand closed around my erection and I arched against his body, wanting to feel more of him, pulling him painfully close to me. For a moment we lay like that, crushed to each other, kissing frantically, him not being able to move his hand that was trapped between us.

Then I let go a little and he started to caress me again, making my whole world tilt. I have no idea how long he pleasured me like that. It seemed like eons. But he did not let me come. When I came back to my sensed enough to wonder why he had stopped, he was still kissing me and trying to get his own pants off, without breaking that never-ending kiss. Like he feared I would disappear if he let go of my mouth. With fingers still shaky I helped him to get out of the rest of his clothing, then let him help me to get rid of mine.

I let my good hand wander over his body now, encountering all his various wounds and cuts and barely healed scars on my way down to his own erection. He moaned into my mouth and I took hold of him, squeezing him, then starting to pump him. That was when he broke our kiss at last, gulping for air like a man drowning. I could not see his face, hidden in darkness, for it was truly night now and the fire was far away. But I felt his whole body tremble and that was enough to assure me that he was mine.

He came down for another kiss and his hand started to search for a way into my body. So there was still some coherent thought left in him... I changed my grip on his erection, making him gasp again and nearly falling down on top of me. This was something I was good at, as I only needed one hand to do it. I felt him tense more and more, his body shaking, small sounds of pleasure escaping his throat. And then I pulled him down, guiding his erection to my entrance.

There was not enough wits left in him to protest. I knew I would be a little sore come morning, but I wanted him lost in passion, not thinking of my comfort. And lost he was. He thrust into me and I bit my lower lip so hard I drew blood not to cry out in pain. He must have noticed, even in his hazy pleasure, for he halted then, buried deep inside me, trembling like a horse ready to run. Waited till I drew in one sharp lungful of air, pulling him against me again.

And then he moved. Long, gliding moves, pulling out almost all the way, then plunging all the way back in. And I dug my fingers into his back, holding on for dear life, for I felt my consciousness slipping more and more every time he hit that special spot, somewhere deep inside of me. There was a strange gentleness to his love-making, in the way he kissed me again and again, the way one of his hands roamed my body, caressing me here and there.

I was so painfully hard, I thought I would come if he just touched me and when he did, my world turned first red, than blue-white again and then dark, so intense was my pleasure. He must have come as well, for he was lying on top of me, bonelessly, his face buried in my hair, when I realized that I was still alive. I raised my hand, caressing his head gently, still trembling myself, realising with a weird kind of pleasure that he still was inside of me, slowly growing softer.

He raised himself, looking down at me, his eyes shining in the darkness like the eyes of a cat. I could still not see his face well, so I just imagined what I wanted to see. Not love, that would be to much to hope for, but at least a friendly smile. He looked at me a long time and I wondered what he saw, then slowly grew afraid.

When he rolled of me at last I was very close to just running away from him, but he wrapped his arms around me, hiding his face in my hair again. I could not believe what he whispered to me: "I am sorry, so sorry... I did not want to hurt you... forgive me, oh please, forgive me... I'll make it up to you somehow..." Nobody I had ever been with had worried about that.

I turned, so I faced him. "There is nothing to forgive." I said. "I wanted this just as much as you did." "But I hurt you..." He whispered, a shudder running through his body. I almost laughed. "Yes, a bit. But that is really nothing compared to what came afterwards." Now that he was lying beside me, the stars showed me the expression on his face. It was joyous disbelief.

"So you do not mind?" he asked, still unsure. "If you were wondering if I would mind, why did you start?" I asked back, dreading his answer. And again he said the only perfect thing there was to say. "Because you looked so very beautiful, with the starlight on your face. I just had to kiss you..." I snuggled close to him, hiding my own smile on his chest.

Maybe I live in a world of darkness and pain. But this night was perfect and the elves could not take that from me.

---

It couldn't last, of course. We were granted that one night, no more.

---

We stayed with each other almost till dawn, then he left and I did not see him again till they brought him back from the fields, bloodied and beaten and smiling. The guards were in an uproar and it was not difficult to find out, why. Another one of Lord Elronds sons had come wandering across the fields, searching for amusement, preferably a human to pick on. He had settled on the new slave and he could not haven chosen worse. For the collar might have kept him from escaping, but it did not keep him from attacking his masters.

The Lords son must have been pretty sure of himself to let a slave get so close to him. He probably just couldn't imagine anybody would dare to harm him. He did not know this one was not tamed and the guards were too late to warn him. Nobody was really sure how he had managed, but Halbarad had taken the elf's knife and cut his throat. They did not know if the Lords son would live, but had rushed him to the high house so his father could work his healing magic.

Till they knew, everything was on hold, the elvan guards in shock, Legolas angered beyond words, for the slaves actions would be seen has his failings. I am sure he would have loved to take his anger out on Halbarad right then and there but he had to wait and that just added to his fury, giving him time to make up crueler punishments to inflict on the troublemaker.

I watched, completely dazed and not able to frame one coherent thought in my mind, as they dragged him to the tall post right in front of Gimli's hut and chained him to it. There was no regret in his face. He must have known that they would not let him live and how painful his death would be, but he still smiled. Then his eyes caught me watching him and I saw the shadow descend on him. Saw how he realized that he would die without ever being close to me again.

There was so much sadness in his dark eyes and I realized it was not for himself but for me. Again he felt sorry for having hurt me, not for hurting himself. How could he be so gentle towards me and so unforgiving with himself? How could he look at me as if he had known me all his life, as if I was the only reason he might have had to stay alive, when we had only spent one night together? But I knew the answer to my questions, for I felt as close to him as he felt to me and I damned him for throwing his life away so carelessly, leaving me alone again when I had just found him.

Still I could not walk away, could not even look away. His eyes were pleading for my forgiveness and what could I do but grant it? It was all I could give him now. I could not even dare to walk over to him, to tend to his bleeding wounds, unless I wanted to risk death as well. And I am sure he would have hated me for throwing my own life away as well. And how ever much I loved him, I could not abandon my brother.

So I sat down in front of our hut and watched him drifting in and out of consciousness, always searching for me when he was awake enough, his eyes settling on my face as if it was his anchor holding him on this side of life. I stayed there all day, as none of the guards cared if I worked or not, still in shock as they were. I stayed there until my brother came back from work. He noticed how I watched and sat down next to me.

"You should have stayed away from him." he told me very quietly, his voice full of sadness for my loss. So he knew, most probably had heard us the night before. Had it really only been last night I had lain with him? It seemed as if he had always been in my life.

My brother did not say anything more, just drew me into his arms, offering silent comfort. And I mourned my lovers death though he was still alive.

I stayed outside our hut all night, watching him, sometimes dozing of but mostly staying awake, drinking in every detail of his face, his body to commit it to my memory forever. In the morning, news came from the high house. The Lord's son had survived. Which meant that it would be left to Legolas to deal out punishment, not to the Lord himself. Something to be grateful for, I suppose, for it is said that Lord Elrond has made death last for month for those who have awakened his wrath.

It did not take long for our overseer to act. The slaves were told that every single one of them would have to attend the execution that would take place in the afternoon. We all knew it would last well into the night.

---

Oh heavens, how I wished I could just hide somewhere and not watch him being tortured. How I wished not to hear him scream. How I wished to be anywhere, anything but here and me. But I went with my brother to stand in the first row, leaning on him only slightly. Not because I feared punishment, but to be there for him to cling to while his body was taken apart. To be his comfort till he could not see me anymore, till he died.

And it started so very slowly. Legolas is a master with his knifes. None of the slaves I have seen him kill has ever died before he intended him to. And he revels in his work, enjoying it thoroughly. Even more now, as he had a really good reason to.

One of the guards announced, how this slave had attacked one of his masters and that he would now die for all of us to see, to show us what happened to those who dared to defy their superiors. He then asked Halbarad if he wished to plead with Legolas to make it quick. I knew it would have been to no avail and hoped he wouldn't. Halbarad looked at our overseer with so much contempt in his eyes that for a moment I thought Legolas would kill him with a single angered stroke. But he kept his calm and Halbarad slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving Legolas'.

And so it started. One careful cut here and there, first only drawing blood, then going for the nerves underneath the skin, drawing a first whimper from his victim. He knew exactly how to do this. Halbarad kept his eyes to the ground for a long time, struggling against his pain, giving Legolas no sound but a whimper now and then.

But when the knife cut deeply the first time, a moan escaped him and his eyes lifted, searching the crowd, finding me and locking with mine. His eyes were still clear, his lips bitten raw from suppressed screams. He held on to me with his eyes and I tried to give him as much comfort as I possibly could, my heart breaking inside of me.

The hours wore on and there was blood everywhere now. Everywhere except on Legolas, who was as clean as when he started. Halbarad had given up on his braveness at last and now he screamed whenever Legolas cut. And still he sought my eyes when Legolas gave him a moment to recover. Still there was enough of him left to recognize me despite the incredible pain he must have been in. And I wondered what we could have been in a different world, where our love would have had a chance to grow.

I did not see the other slaves anymore, I did not see the guards or Legolas or all that blood, my world had shrunken to his face and his beautiful eyes, holding me, loving me.

And still it went on. Next to none of his skin was left and Legolas started taking pieces out of him, cutting him to bits. He left his head intact. He new exactly how to frighten the other slaves the most. For this was not only his revenge, it also was a lesson for the rest of us and we all learned it well: Hate your masters.

It was near dawn when it ended. His eyes had closed hours ago. He had just been to weak to look at me anymore. It didn't matter. He knew I was still there and I knew, his memory would always be with me. In the end Legolas just cut his throat, not interested in going on, as his victim was not really feeling what he was doing to him anymore.

I looked at his destroyed body for a long time, while the other slaves slowly dispersed. They would leave him hanging for at least a day, I knew. And still I could not take my eyes of him. Had it not been for my brother pulling me away, I would have stood there till they killed me, as well.

---

So my world is dark again. His light extinguished, his eyes forever closed, his touch lost to me. But I will keep him in my memory. Short as a human life may be, as long as I live, he will live with me. And in the dark of night, I remember him, remember our one night together and this memory shines for me in the never ending dark.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll

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