Since their creation, no Orc had surrendered to an Elf. That Morgoth achieved by simple lies. That any Elf was so much crueler than any Orc that death would be preferable to capture. Sometimes I was a bit afraid that in me those lies held a small grain of truth.
Changing into an Elf had not changed my nature.
Pain and humiliation, those things still made my heart race. I wished I could blame it on Kieri, but I knew better.
Not that I would torture defeated foes.
It was an ineffective way of gathering information and once you start doing that, people would no longer surrender.
Torture for me was a purely recreational activity.
"You making the same kind of face as an edgy teen who is about to write a poem about cutting and jerking off." Archer's voice was like a bucket of cold water, bringing me back to reality.
I needed. It was too easy for me to get lost in my own head. And he deserved my full attention.
"Was that poem about cutting and jerking off, or a poem about cutting, and jerking off?"
"Either! Both! Does it matter?" he replied, blinking rapidly, the n with an imperious glare ordered," Get back to work."
"Are you sure?" I really wanted to do this, yet I was also afraid. It was a curious mix of emotions, yet not wholly unpleasant.
"Asking once is considerate. Asking twice is just annoying," he said, sardonic even while naked and hanging by his arms in chains. But then again, he was quite literally asking for a whipping.
After a moment's pause, he added more gently, "Have you changed your mind? Do you dislike this?"
I too was naked. Well almost. The only thing I wore was my slime familiar. It crawled all over my skin like a living, glowing tattoo.
"I do like it," I confessed, my voice trembling slightly. "A little too much, perhaps. That's why I'm afraid. What if I go too far? With a whip, I could cause some real damage."
My right hand was sweaty, the same hand that gripped the leather whip I had crafted myself. Braiding it had been painstaking, but now it promised a worthy payoff – if only I could shed my hesitations.
I had to admit, this was a first for me – using a whip, that is, for these kinds of purposes. Sure, I knew a flame-whip spell, but that was hardly comparable to wielding an actual physical whip. In essence, I was a whipping virgin.
"You won't go too far. I trust you," he said, his voice steady. Trust – there was no word more arousing. It was the reason I preferred willing 'victims'. "You want to hurt me."
"Yes," I replied, my voice roughened by desire. My gaze roamed over his naked, pristine body, envisioning the marks my whip would leave. His skin seemed to call out for my touch, like a blank canvas awaiting the stroke of a brush. As Saruman might have put it, white pages were meant to be written upon.
"And I want to be hurt by you," he whispered, his voice a mixture of desire and surrender.
Slowly, I began to circle him, my gaze methodically tracing his naked, bound form. First, I took in his slender arms, stretched taut by the chains. Then, my eyes drifted over his chest and along his back, where his long, unbound hair cascaded down like a waterfall of fresh blood, its tips just grazing his firm behind – a testament to his rigorous sword practice.
"Yes," I murmured, affirming the unspoken promise in the air.
I moved back in front, my gaze settling on his proud member, transformed slightly by his change into an elf. All his hair was gone, leaving his skin perfectly smooth — a familiar, yet always captivating sight.
Memories of dripping hot wax on his shaft flashed through my mind.
What?
We didn't jump right from hand spanking to whipping. We have been exploring these games ever since regaining his living body and escaping such a judgemental God.
His voice dropped to a provocative purr. "Strike me." A challenging glint lit up his eyes as he tilted his head slightly, baring his neck in a silent dare. "What are you waiting for?" His lips curled into a half-smirk, "Or do you need me to beg?"
When in doubt, cheat.
With a silent command, my familiar slithered to my right hand and along the whip, its form glowing in lava-like lines. This granted me perfect mastery over the instrument.
With deliberate motions, I cracked the whip near his torso, careful not to make contact — not yet. I wanted him to feel the air shift, the anticipation build.
"Yes, beg," I commanded in a low voice, circling him. "Tell me again: why do you desire this?"
"Because I want—" His words broke into a grunt as the whip struck just under his left nipple. He caught his breath and continued, "No, I need to know…" The whip kissed the thigh above his right knee. "...that I am alive." A swift lash landed under his navel, then another flicked at his right armpit. "Life is pain," he gasped as the whip cut across his ass. "I don't really remember being a Counter Guardian." The next hit was above his right nipple. "Nothing mortal can. Just glimpses but they were enough." The whip then caressed the calf of his left leg. "Hell isn't pain. Not the kind inflicted by others, anyway."
The more he spoke, the less I listened to his words and more to his voice's tone, the rhythmic tensing of his muscles. He wasn't truly speaking to me; my role was different – to gauge the precise moments to strike or to pause. It was a delicate dance, finding the balance between overwhelming him and ensuring the pain was just enough to transport his mind to that transcendent space.
Managing the guiding whip demanded more attention than I had anticipated.
Moreover, he was lying, but not to me – to himself. At times, I wondered if he had forgotten how well I knew his younger self or if he had convinced himself he was now an entirely different being.
The whip cracked against the sole of his left foot, the chains ensuring he stood on tiptoes.
We had reached a point where his reactions became involuntary — a testament to his high pain tolerance. In combat, this was a boon, but in our games, it meant more effort on my part. Not that I minded; the cause was well worth the extra exertion. Or, should I say, the extra HARD work.
Feeling the strain in my arm, I paused and smoothly transitioned the whip to my left hand — a benefit of elven natural ambidexterity.
He remained silent, his body a canvas of thin red lines, except for the groin area. My confidence in my whip skills had its limits; maybe a miniature whip would be more manageable in such delicate regions.
His cock was hard, a drop of precum dripping from it. And so was mine.
I shifted my position to his back.
"I love your hair, but it's in the way," I murmured, gently kissing his neck as I parted the hair to reveal his unmarked back. "There, that's better."
The first strike was harder, confident that his back could withstand it.
One.
Two.
Three – a drop of blood appeared.
Hesitation crept in for a moment.
"More," he urged, and I continued.
His back soon became a tapestry of red, flecked with blood. My breathing was heavy, my arousal nearly overwhelming. Without further delay, I pushed into him, pulling back his hair, my teeth grazing his neck. The edge was near for both of us. A few deep thrusts were all it took for him to climax, and I followed closely behind.
His seed spilled onto the floor. Briefly, I contemplated having Archer lick it off, but my sated state led me to allow my familiar to do the task, completing its meal.
Afterward, I released him from the chains and drew him into my arms, my hands tracing the whip's marks on his elven skin, warm and textured. A pity they wouldn't last.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled the heady mix of sex, sweat, and blood. A fear lingered in me, the possibility of taking things too far, a topic I never broached, not even with Archer.
I didn't want his assurances that I would never go too far. Part of me feared there wouldn't be any – or worse, they would be insincere.
That he actually liked that bit of danger.
I had gotten in the habit of making cheap quartz Magic Codes in the previous World. Imbuing quartz with magical energy, especially the rock crystals, tended to aspects it towards healing. I had gotten better with healing magecraft with all the practice I had, but I was much with using gems, even cheap gems like quartz.
I took one and softly murmured an aria as I crushed it in my hand. The piece of quartz turned to glowing liquid that dropped on Archer, returning his marked skin to a pristine state.
"I wish you could have left them.."
"Me too, but we have a lesson with Glorfindel tomorrow. What excuse would you have for whip marks then?"
"I wanted to have practice fighting while whipped in case I ran into Balrog."
"I would almost leave them to just see his face if you told him that. But jokes aside, I think we are as ready as we can be. So I will give our excuses to him tomorrow."
"So, tomorrow," he said. I grunted in affirmation.
Because finally, we were getting to it.
It was about time.
No, it was overdue.
Neglecting such a potential threat for so long was a gamble. We had been fortunate thus far.
I was talking about the small Otherworld that lay beyond the police box bound to the key that had followed for two Worlds already. Despite its initial appearance, it was rather small. We found that out once we had time to properly map and measure it. The space distortions just made it look much bigger.
And more precisely about its anchor point. One of the five doors right after entering it. Even if the terms that the so-called Central Command used were somewhat different from what I had been taught, I could understand them from context. Mostly.
So if I was not wrong, the door representing the Anchor led to the singular place which bound that Otherworld to Ea. Hopefully with the bounds of Arda.
The main problem was that all doors can be opened from two sides. So we either needed to abandon a very interesting mystery or we needed to know what was on the other side.
Of course, there were problems with that. One was that once we began to explore beyond the door we could just provoke the danger. We could not do so while the other exit from Otherworld lay with Imladris.
Imagine if the other side of Anchor Door was in Moria. That would just be like inviting Balrog for tea.
Well if tea Archer made…
Of course, the situation could be even grimmer. I hoped fervently that the other side of the door was still within Arda's bounds. But if it opened beyond the Gates of Night? In that case, abandoning the Otherworld would be our only recourse, at least in this world.
Hosting a Balrog for tea might be a manageable disaster, especially with Glorfindel nearby. But inviting Morgoth to dinner? That would be, in the only fitting word, apocalyptic — likely even in the literal sense, given the prophecies.
And that would indeed be regrettable.
I'm referring, of course, to the prospect of abandoning Otherworld – not triggering the apocalypse.
Despite the side effects of spending time there, the Otherworld had proven itself useful to both of us.
As long as we limited our exposure to under an hour a day, the side effects remained tolerable - just headaches, minor hallucinations, and peculiar dreams. Yet, with increased exposure, either we were becoming acclimated to the Otherworld or, possibly, inching towards insanity. After all, sanity, like intelligence, is something most people confidently believe they possess in abundance, often disregarding contrary evidence.
Archer, for instance, had taken to farming, or more specifically, utilizing the greenhouse within the Otherworld.
It wasn't my idea of enjoyment, but it led to some enlightening discoveries. The Otherworld had its own sources of water, electricity, and mana. Initially, I suspected independent mana generators, but upon inquiry, Central Command clarified it was merely converting one form of energy into another. This wasn't entirely surprising; I was aware of Galvanism as a magecraft branch, though my knowledge was limited. The concept of converting magical energy into electrical energy wasn't foreign to me.
Furthermore, studying the Otherworld's twisted space had significantly advanced my Sorcery, bringing me close to devising a new spell.
Therefore, I preferred to continue utilizing the Otherworld, but first, its dangers needed to be thoroughly assessed.
For this, we required a starting point where potential collateral damage would be inconsequential.
Ideally, this point should be at least a day's, if not two days', journey on foot from Imladris. Additionally, we had to consider the time it might take to secure the other side of the Anchor point.
Organizing this excursion took time, but in our defense, we were juggling numerous other obligations. Moreover, with the mystery of what lay on the other side, thorough preparation – mostly on my part – was essential.
Our regular sword training with Glorfindel was one such commitment. Having agreed to train under him, it would have been discourteous to abruptly cease. In hindsight, postponing training until after addressing the Otherworld issue might have been wiser, but that opportunity had passed.
Then there was my craft as an Elven-smith. Fortunately, being self-employed, I had the luxury of taking time off as needed, and finances weren't a concern.
During today's lesson, Glorfindel was as awe-inspiring as ever – a blend of beauty and ferocity, his golden hair streaming behind him as he effortlessly bested Archer and me. But his allure left me unmoved, whereas a mere glance at Archer's blood-red hair sent my pulse racing.
Being an Elf was annoying.
I had carefully chosen time after lessons to talk to Glorfindel, just after he finished giving us pointers. Actually, I tried to fob that job to Archer, but he was a bit quicker in doing the same to me. At least he had our usual after-lesson snack a bit more lavish.
"We have been training for about a season," I started with that. Really, we had delayed dealing with Otherworld's Anchor a little too much. I suppose as nothing had happened, we grew complacent. Each day we would leave for it tomorrow, and so while delayed spring turned to summer.
"Yes, and you've both shown remarkable progress in such a short time," Glorfindel, the golden-haired elf, responded. A single season must indeed seem brief to an ancient Elf.
And in truth, we had both made some progress. Archer with his swordsmanship, especially in fighting with just one blade. Also, his style had changed a bit. Less depended on feints.
My skills with swords increased too, although much of that increase was due to better integration of skills with a sword I gained with the transfer, with combat skills I had before. The main gain was that I was getting much better at sensing the Unseen. Whether it was my Sorcery or my new Elven body or even both, or even my study of Deep Lore I can't say. But using my sword, and tool superimposed over it, in presence of some who had borne witness to the light of such profound spiritual quality really helped.
"You have begun to truly see," Glorfindel had commented a week or so ago, after we finished for that day, "Strange for someone so young."
That also helped with enchantments, seeing the effects of what I was doing in Unseen, made it easier to refine or alter them.
But reminiscing aside, there was something I needed to address. Yet, as the moment to speak arrived, my mind went blank. What tumbled out was, "Fano and I won't be here for the next few weeks. We're visiting Bree. Sorry to miss our lessons. It's the closest settlement, and it's just an easy stroll through the forest..."
"Perhaps I should accompany you to continue your training?" Glorfindel suggested.
I exchanged a mildly panicked glance with Archer, who returned a blank stare.
"Well…"
"You see…"
Glorfindel's laughter rang out, reminiscent of melodious bells. "I was young once, you know. It's been ages, but I haven't completely forgotten. Go, have fun. Your lessons can resume when you return."
I had a growing suspicion that Glorfindel was becoming more fond of us. I suspect Archer's snacks were largely to thank for that.
With all the necessary preparation done the next step was to move the police box out of Imladris. That turned out to be much easier to do than I thought.
One lucky discovery was that we found out that we could dematerialize the police box. It just took a simple command. Once we found out that we agreed to the policy, unless one of us was using Otherworld we would keep the police box dematerialized, as a security measure.
Next was actually leaving Imladris.
But before leaving there was one final check to see if we had taken all we needed.
"Rations?"
"Check."
We have brought enough lembas for a few weeks with us. As well as some dried fruits and smoked meat. For drink, we each had enchanted water flasks that never leaked. Archer made them. I didn't know at the time why he had spent time learning how to make perfectly sealed containers.
Also, tea leaves.
"Rope?"
"Check."
We had brought enough elven rope. I hoped. There were also two hooks, just in case we needed to climb over a cliff, wall, bridge, or something like that. That Archer bought. Mostly with my money.
"Letter?"
"Check."
I didn't forget that letter. It was an unexpected consequence of my fleshing out the excuse for leaving the Imladris. In the last three months, I had spent a lot of my free time in Elrond's library, not that I had an abundance of free time. Mostly I had been researching lore concerning light and gems. But I had done some recreational reading too.
I met a lot of regulars there, Salabdúr who spent time in the library when he had no patients, Atharovor who studied everything and anything, but his lack of focus left his knowledge rather shallow, Forgamthan who had read every book in the library, and most importantly remembered where everything was, Elrond was also often there, although his sons almost never, a former Ringbearer was also there studying old stories and poems, and others I knew less than they deserved.
We, I meant Archer and I, already had a bit of a reputation, because of Archer's and mine "elopement", so I tried to better sell this excuse for leaving Imladris.
I more or less asked about the route to Bree and the village itself. I gave the reason since we, Archer and I, never left Imladris as adults. We were interested in traveling somewhere near at first to see if I liked traveling. And perhaps in spending some time alone. Just us.
So, when Bilbo found out that I was planning a quick trip to Bree, he gave me a letter for his nephew. It seems that Bree was in close enough contact with the Shire that he supposed that I could letter from there to his former house. I could find no reason to refuse, which was a bit unfortunate since I didn't really plan to go to Bree.
Archer was quite amused. But he said it was better this way since we could build a better alibi. So, it seemed that we would be going to Bree after we finished securing the Otherworld.
"Weapons."
"Check."
We bought Niquis and Larmo. Oh, I did name the swords as Glorfindel suggested. Niquis was the name I gave to Archer's sword. It could mean snowflake, but what it literally means was a chill feather, an amusing pun to both angel; plushie, and terror that wooden practice sword created. I inscribed on the blade of the sword in Tengwar. On the other side, I placed these words: Or Hríve úva véna. Yes, I had written, "Winter is coming," on his sword. Well, actually it was "Winter is drawing near to us." But it was the thought that mattered. Pity that I was the only one to get that little joke since as far as I know Archer never read the books or watched the series.
Larmo was the name I had chosen for my sword. Literally, it meant listener but colloquially used both spies and scouts. Considering how I used that sword I thought it was appropriate. For words of wisdom, I had chosen something simple: Lá karita i hamil mára alasaila ná. Which meant: "Do what you deem wise." Like with the other sword I placed engravings on the blade in Tengwar.
The effect of doing so seemed to strengthen all of the enchantment of the swords and create some unique effects. From what I saw, Archer's sword grew cold on touch. While the effect on mine was more subtle, it just seemed to become more responsive, more attuned to the Unseen.
I had also made scabbards for both swords. They were enchanted, so the swords would be cleaned, polished, sharpened (not that they needed it), and repaired every time they were placed in scabbards. It wasn't Avalon, but they were practical.
Archer already had a bow. Mine I had bought from Calenhen, a fellow maker of weapons. I could have made one, but I was busy enough, and not short on money. Also, a bundle of arrows, although that was mostly for show.
And of course, four jewels. The most deadly weapon I had. Now that Archer was a source rather than a drain of magical energy, I managed to make four in three months.
One by standard means, and three were experiments in combining jewel magecraft and elven enchantment.
Yet now that I had them I was loath to use them. To use them was to destroy them. And I had gotten a bit attached.
As I said, being an Elf was annoying.
"Healing supplies?"
"Check."
Bandages, various dried herbs with healing properties, and a small bag of rock crystals infused with magical energy.
"Camping supplies?"
"Check."
Having verified that we brought all that we needed, we took off in the general direction of Bree. We traveled for about a day encountering two different packs of wolves, which we dispatched easily. I didn't expect to find any so near Imladris, but they didn't prove much of the problem.
Once we felt we were far enough from the refuge, we began to search for a proper place to start. The proper place should be out of the way, dry, and in some way conceal the police box once we summoned it.
How did we find such a place in the forest that was unfamiliar to us?
We were Elves. We just asked the trees. They didn't move much, but they were terrible gossips.
What we settled for was a small dry cave under a large tree. It was just big enough for our purposes, with roots protruding from its walls and ceiling.
I secured the cave with a bounded field and then summoned the police box.
Sometimes getting where I wanted in this place was easy. Now was not one of those times, by the time we managed to get to the anchor door we had passed by the central podium four times and one of those times it was on the ceiling from our perspective.
"It's airtight," I said as we were standing before the anchor door. I had used my familiar to test the door to see if it could slip through it without us opening it. "We need to risk it."
"Ready?"
"Ready."
He opened the door just enough for my familiar to slip by, and then swiftly closed it.
"Air is breathable. The floor is some sort of bare, unworked rock. No loud noises," I reported what I was sensing through slime, and then concluded, "We can go in."
We opened the door. The light from the Otherworld illuminated the natural cave, with a small brook flowing through the middle.
"Look," Archer said, pointing upward.
"A bridge? So not natural caves after all."
"Good thing we have rope."
"So we go left or right?" I asked once we climbed. We were standing on a sturdy bridge made of some kind of white stone. On each end of the bridge, there was a door. Larger on left, and smaller on right.
Archer kneeled on a stone bridge and placed his left hand on it. I could feel him using magical energy. It always felt like pressure to me, like the air before a massive storm. Perhaps that was why I was so bad at sensing it.
"Left," he decided. He marched towards the double doors to the left and I followed.
The doors opened soundlessly. Beyond was a huge chamber with nine massive columns illuminated by a beautiful clear light. The first thing I saw are several trees, lush with foliage, growing in the light.