Dark Judgement
Part 26 - Whipping Erestor
Posted: October 3, 2008
*****
I entered Erestor’s rooms and partially removed the enchantment that kept him immobile. “Stand,” I said to him and watched as he wearily dragged himself off the bed; I was surprised that he complied so readily. “Your weakness will persist until after your punishment as I will not have you attacking my staff.”
“Fuck you, Sauron,” he spat at me. “Do your worst; I am not scared of you.”
“Then you are not very wise, are you?” I said and chuckled. I saw him trying and not shake and found it most gratifying. The next hour would be one of extreme enjoyment.
The elves handcuffed him and walked him out to the post. His nervousness increased the nearer he approached, although his face remained impassive. However, when he saw the audience he looked at them as if betrayed. Erestor seems to be a classic case of being able to give pain but not liking it done to him.
His arms were pulled above his head and fastened by a locking chain to a metal ring embedded in the post. A chain threaded through an iron bar, with cuffs on the end to separate his ankles, to keep his legs in place. I waved my hand and the all in one jumpsuit that was impossible for him to remove, disappeared so that he was totally naked. The thick braid of hair, hanging down his back to his waist, was moved over his shoulder so it hung down his front.
Manwë appeared and stood in front of Erestor. “You understand why we are doing this?” he asked Erestor.
Erestor turned his head and looked away. Manwë shook his head and walked over to me. “Master,” I said. “Would you prefer to be the one who delivers punishment?” I was hoping that he would refuse, but it looked good that I would forego this particular piece of enjoyment.
“I think not,” Manwë replied. “Proceed.”
Maglor read out the list of crimes that Erestor had committed the previous day upon the elves looking after him and how many lashed he would receive for each one. My sweet one was to keep count so that Manwë could not accuse me of overdoing it.
“One.” The leather whip lashed across his shoulders leaving a thin line of red. Erestor gasped as his body went rigid for a moment in his agony and then released.
“Two.”
“Three...” So it went on and in the end Erestor cried out in anguish at the sudden shocks of pain. In the end he slumped forward.
“He has fainted,” I said as I observed a thin line of yellow trickling down his leg onto the sand. “We should finish now, even though sentence has not been fully carried out.”
“Wake him up and continue,” Manwë said looking flushed. “It is what he would have done to Glorfindel. It is not only your staff who need justice.” He then looked at the unconscious elf and remarked that he thought that Erestor would have been made of stronger stuff.
“Nothing I do here to Erestor will give Glorfindel the justice he needs,” I said softly to him, trying not to be overheard lest any present think I have become newly compassionate. In all practicality, overdoing a punishment beyond what an elf can take, teaches them nothing but their own limits. The ideal punishment stops or takes a break before the elf can slip into the refuge of unconsciousness or proceeds at such a slow pace that it is impossible to remain anything but alert. I know this; I am a master at it. However, it seems that Manwë is not. How useful that I have found this out. I wonder if he knows that the application of punishment does not always deliver justice.
“Do as I say,” Manwë ordered.
A bucket of sea water was thrown over Erestor and the whipping continued. On the last one he passed out again. I put the whip down and waved my hand. The cuffs on his hands and feet disintegrated and he fell to the sand. The whole of his back, his buttocks and his thighs ran with blood where the whip had streaked across them. I motioned to two elves to pick Erestor up and take him back to his rooms. He stirred but was in no position to struggle and hung limply between them.
“You did well,” Manwë said to me, stating the obvious.
“Thank you, Master,” I replied.
“I thought you might become carried away and sneak in an extra strike,” he teased.
“I had Maglor count the strikes as I like to be very precise when giving punishment.” I smiled. “The correct application is somewhat of an art form.”
“How interesting,” Manwë said as if suddenly bored. “Well, I am off now. Thank you for the diversion and I will see you in two days time. Hopefully Erestor will be much better by then?”
“I would imagine so,” I said and smiled again. Oh Manwë, you have revealed yourself; you love watching and giving punishment as much as I do, which is why you would not whip Erestor in case you gave yourself away. We are not that different, you and I.
Maglor walked up to me and took my arm. “Let us go inside and you can tell me what sudden illumination has made you so happy,” he said. How perceptive is the one I love; there is nothing that he misses about me.
Later that day, I went to observe Erestor in his rooms. The four guard elves were peeping through the spy holes and making quarter-hourly notes accordingly. “Has he moved?” I asked as the enchantment restricting his energy had now been removed.
“My Lord, he has stayed face down on the bed since we brought him back,” Lissësúl said and turned his attention back to the spy hole.
I unlocked the door and walked in. Erestor lay still; his eyes were open. “Erestor, how are you feeling?” I asked. Not that I cared if he answered; I could see with my own eyes how he must feel.
He said nothing.
“I think that I will bring Glorfindel here to look at your injuries. He will feel vindicated for all the times you did far worse to him.” I looked at the crusted blood and ran my finger through a deep slash that was still oozing and noted that my victim winced. I licked my finger and tasted the salty metal tang. I wondered for a fleeting moment what his flesh must taste like.
“Glorfindel would kill you if he saw me in this state,” Erestor hissed.
“I am a Maia and so it would be very difficult for Glorfindel to do anything to me,” I replied and smirked. “Glorfindel does love you, that is true; however, part of him hates you too and needs justice for all you put him through. There are two parts at war in your lover and until he unites them he will not be a whole elf. At one point I will be treating him too.”
“Glorfindel will never need you,” Erestor scorned.
I took hold of his hair and held his face close. “He will need me because I will be the one to show him how to unite his fractured fëa; the fëa that you tried your utmost to destroy.”
“I love Glorfindel and he loves me. We can work through our problems ourselves. What can the once mighty, bumbling fool, Sauron do?” Erestor sneered. “You do not even know what love is.”
“You cannot bait me,” I laughed. “Love measured by your standards does not exist in my life. However, love measured by the standards of Eru himself and all the races of Middle-earth and Valinor, does exist in my life. One day, it might exist in yours too. Won’t that be nice for Glorfindel not to have to feel terror with every sweet kiss from your poisonous lips?”
I left the room at that point, knowing that I had given Erestor much to think about.
*****
| Home | OEAM News | Recent Story Updates | Stories by Author | Stories by Pairing and Character | Stories by Title | Works In Progress |
| Author Profiles | Story Submission Guidelines | Beta Listing | Awards/Achievements | Links |