Fic A Day, Day 11 - Seeing Red
Aug. 11th, 2019 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Seeing Red
Rating: FR18
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: The Buffy v Morgoth confrontation comes to a head.
Word Count: 1725
Warning: The rating is bumped up on this one for a reason - the story involves torture. I wouldn't consider it graphic, but there is both explicit physical and implied sexual abuse. If this is not something you are comfortable with, skip this one.
Anariel settled back into consciousness with a sensation of not-quite-thereness that warned her that both she and the Slayer were tiring. She couldn’t count on too many more ‘breaks’.
She had tagged out several times since Morgoth finally got her. He was in the driver’s seat now – she could control herself well enough to keep a few things secret, or she could control the scenery, but both was no longer possible.
She was unabashedly prioritizing keeping the long-term plan to herself above all else. She wasn’t entirely sure what would happen to her or what it would mean for the plan if he went too far and she died here – especially since the plan sort of relied on her still having the Slayer. But she had concluded that if he knew about the plan, it would be unworkable. And she didn’t have her Scooby siblings to help her with Plan B if she had to go back to the drawing board.
If she had to guess, she’d say the current scenery was something out of Angband. (Too much here was meant for use against elves for it to be Utumno.) It definitely had an ‘underground’ feel – which is so much funnier now that she knew he wasn’t completely comfortable underground, but went with it because it kept him out of Manwë’s sight. Plenty of torture implements, too, but she’d expected that. She’d also been pretty clear that they were all for her. She’d unfortunately had little choice but to grit her teeth for some of it, because she needed to reserve the Slayer for when she really couldn’t take it anymore.
Which was not to say that everything was running as Morgoth had expected. First and foremost, little victories: she’s refused to utter so much as a peep of pain. If she can’t talk coherently, she’s not making any sound at all. She’d damn near bitten her tongue or lip off a couple times, but seeing his frustration levels skyrocket because she wasn’t screaming her head off somewhat made up for it. (This is another form of fight, and she’s not into losing fights. And staying quiet, keeping control of this one little thing, gave her something to focus on other than the pain.)
Also, even aside from her secret Slayer double, Anariel had something going for her he hadn’t counted on: her utter and complete failure to recognize just about anyone who had died in the First Age, related to her or not.
Turned out that appearing in the form of the dead was his go-to now that he couldn’t assume any fair form of his own. For Tindomiel or Arwen, that would have been a problem. Their study of family history had included descriptions of people and even portraits. Anariel, on the other hand, had focused on what she considered the more salient points: strategies, tactics, logistics – the things that mattered for fighting Sauron and Morgoth. (Had she known who she was looking at, she could have given chapter and verse on all the ways they had been a pain in Morgoth’s ass. Which probably would have annoyed him in a different way.)
Morgoth’s temper tantrum when he’d switched in and out the faces of half a dozen of her dead ancestors and she failed to recognize any of them had been pretty funny. Her reaction to it hadn’t exactly helped his temper either.
“Laugh all you want, little girl!”
“Oh, believe me, I will. This is freaking hilarious. I mean, the whole ‘I look like dead people’ trick has zero surprise value, seeing as you already showed it off in Sunnydale. But it’s extra special that you’re sitting here switching though all these faces and all I know is ‘dark hair, probably Noldor’.”
He’d broken her nose for that, but it had been pretty worth it.
Not so funny had been him switching to ‘blonde hair, that’s gotta be an Arafinwion’. That was when she’d tapped out for the first time. She didn’t think it would do wonders for any relationship between her and her great-uncles if her ‘introduction’ to them was Morgoth slicing her up while wearing their faces.
She’d been in and out a couple times since then.
She had no real sense of how long she’d been ‘gone’ this time – where ‘gone’ mostly meant ‘finally putting all that mental discipline Giles and Grandmother insisted on me learning to good use’ but had ultimately concluded in unconsciousness. Who knew you could get knocked out in what was essentially a glorified dream?
She focused on her surroundings and noticed a few things.
First, it appeared that neither of her legs was in working condition at the moment. The right one appeared to have had most of the tendons methodically cut; the left one was just flat out broken in multiple places.
She was learning a lot about torture, really. But she was learning just as much about Morgoth – like that while he may come up with good plans, he’s temperamental and wouldn’t necessarily stick to them when he gets riled. Right leg, plan. Left leg, lost his temper.
Huh. And look at that – there’s one person from the First Age she does recognize, albeit only by the gold in his braids. Probably just as well for her several time great-uncle that she didn’t remember any of what Morgoth had been doing while masquerading as him.
Uncle Fingon had one hell of a death glare. Or maybe that part was all Morgoth. Hard to say.
‘Fingon’ abruptly morphed into someone silver haired.
Anariel feigned recognition, although she really had no idea. As far as she was concerned, it could be any of her Lindarin relatives. But she felt like it was better to fake it for the time being.
If she didn’t, she suspected he would just switch again until he found someone she knew. (Good luck, really, given he seemed to have a hangup for the First Age, but she couldn’t risk it – she wasn’t sure how many more times she could duck out before the Slayer would be exhausted. Pain might not bother the Slayer, but keeping up the illusion of being ‘Buffy’ still took energy, and neither of them had a bottomless well of it. Given how fast her legs weren’t healing, she suspected the Slayer was close to tapped out.)
Morgoth seemed pleased to have finally found someone she recognized. Were it not for the whole torture business, she might have actually felt a little sorry for him. (Eventually she’s going to throw it in his face that he got this happy about her pretending his trick was working. She wasn’t sure when exactly, other than ‘not yet’.)
There was the usual blur of torture, and at some point he switched faces – this time back to dark hair, and she didn’t have a clue but faked it again. By now, she was in enough pain that the face didn’t much matter. She could barely see straight anyway. And what she could see wasn’t entirely trustworthy – for one, she’s pretty sure there are not actually shiny butterflies all over the room. (She was unclear whether this was an instance of Morgoth undermining his own tactics by trying to do physical torture and mind-bendy stuff at the same time, or if her mind was just going strange places all on its own as a coping mechanism. Or possibly from lack of sleep. She’d read once that sleep was necessary for proper brain function, and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t had enough of it lately. She’s not even sure how long ‘lately’ was.)
The next face switch, though, had her reaching for the Slayer. Turned out there was one dead relative from the First Age she knew - even she couldn’t fail to recognize a ridiculously tall redhead with only one hand.
The only real surprise here was that Morgoth went for Maedhros before Makalaurë. Either way, not something she wanted to stick around for.
Her frantic appeal to the Slayer met with a combination of disgruntlement and a note of warning. This was probably the last out she was going to get. But Morgoth’s slicing what’s left of her clothes off, and there is just no way she wants to have to remember whatever’s coming next forever, so she’ll take it.
---
The next time she surfaced, it was with the awareness that she had no more ‘outs’. The Slayer escape valve is done. It was just her and him now.
And boy howdy was he ever in a snit. The lack of reaction to anything ‘Maedhros’ had done had really gotten to him. The part of her mind that isn’t going crazy from all the new hurts layered on top of pre-existing pain found it equal parts hilarious and fascinating. (Unfortunately, that part of her mind was significantly smaller than it had been up to now.)
But given the new damage, and the parts of her body hurting now that hadn’t before, she still felt like it was a good call to have let the Slayer deal with Morgoth-Maedhros. She was also perfectly happy to let him smash up things that weren’t her to deal with his frustration.
It was when he got quiet and calm again that she felt her stomach drop. That couldn’t be a good sign. Calm meant thinking, and when he actually stopped to think, he was insanely dangerous. She preferred him off-balance and petulant.
The grin on ‘his’ face was quite worrying.
He shifted form again – and Anariel Elrondiel saw red. Turned out she did still have something left after all. Because that evil bastard was coming at her in her father’s face.
The restraints holding her snapped like they were made of tissue paper. Had she not been a mass of pure concentrated rage, she probably would have enjoyed the sight of Morgoth looking like he was about to pee himself in fear. But she was way, way beyond that.
Morgoth discovered that his current form could suffer pain and broken bones just as much as hers could when she smashed into him everything first, fury singing through her veins and a war cry on her lips.
AURË ENTULUVA, MOTHERFUCKER!
It was possible there might be pain again in the future, but for the moment, Morgoth was the one who would hurt.
Rating: FR18
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: The Buffy v Morgoth confrontation comes to a head.
Word Count: 1725
Warning: The rating is bumped up on this one for a reason - the story involves torture. I wouldn't consider it graphic, but there is both explicit physical and implied sexual abuse. If this is not something you are comfortable with, skip this one.
Anariel settled back into consciousness with a sensation of not-quite-thereness that warned her that both she and the Slayer were tiring. She couldn’t count on too many more ‘breaks’.
She had tagged out several times since Morgoth finally got her. He was in the driver’s seat now – she could control herself well enough to keep a few things secret, or she could control the scenery, but both was no longer possible.
She was unabashedly prioritizing keeping the long-term plan to herself above all else. She wasn’t entirely sure what would happen to her or what it would mean for the plan if he went too far and she died here – especially since the plan sort of relied on her still having the Slayer. But she had concluded that if he knew about the plan, it would be unworkable. And she didn’t have her Scooby siblings to help her with Plan B if she had to go back to the drawing board.
If she had to guess, she’d say the current scenery was something out of Angband. (Too much here was meant for use against elves for it to be Utumno.) It definitely had an ‘underground’ feel – which is so much funnier now that she knew he wasn’t completely comfortable underground, but went with it because it kept him out of Manwë’s sight. Plenty of torture implements, too, but she’d expected that. She’d also been pretty clear that they were all for her. She’d unfortunately had little choice but to grit her teeth for some of it, because she needed to reserve the Slayer for when she really couldn’t take it anymore.
Which was not to say that everything was running as Morgoth had expected. First and foremost, little victories: she’s refused to utter so much as a peep of pain. If she can’t talk coherently, she’s not making any sound at all. She’d damn near bitten her tongue or lip off a couple times, but seeing his frustration levels skyrocket because she wasn’t screaming her head off somewhat made up for it. (This is another form of fight, and she’s not into losing fights. And staying quiet, keeping control of this one little thing, gave her something to focus on other than the pain.)
Also, even aside from her secret Slayer double, Anariel had something going for her he hadn’t counted on: her utter and complete failure to recognize just about anyone who had died in the First Age, related to her or not.
Turned out that appearing in the form of the dead was his go-to now that he couldn’t assume any fair form of his own. For Tindomiel or Arwen, that would have been a problem. Their study of family history had included descriptions of people and even portraits. Anariel, on the other hand, had focused on what she considered the more salient points: strategies, tactics, logistics – the things that mattered for fighting Sauron and Morgoth. (Had she known who she was looking at, she could have given chapter and verse on all the ways they had been a pain in Morgoth’s ass. Which probably would have annoyed him in a different way.)
Morgoth’s temper tantrum when he’d switched in and out the faces of half a dozen of her dead ancestors and she failed to recognize any of them had been pretty funny. Her reaction to it hadn’t exactly helped his temper either.
“Laugh all you want, little girl!”
“Oh, believe me, I will. This is freaking hilarious. I mean, the whole ‘I look like dead people’ trick has zero surprise value, seeing as you already showed it off in Sunnydale. But it’s extra special that you’re sitting here switching though all these faces and all I know is ‘dark hair, probably Noldor’.”
He’d broken her nose for that, but it had been pretty worth it.
Not so funny had been him switching to ‘blonde hair, that’s gotta be an Arafinwion’. That was when she’d tapped out for the first time. She didn’t think it would do wonders for any relationship between her and her great-uncles if her ‘introduction’ to them was Morgoth slicing her up while wearing their faces.
She’d been in and out a couple times since then.
She had no real sense of how long she’d been ‘gone’ this time – where ‘gone’ mostly meant ‘finally putting all that mental discipline Giles and Grandmother insisted on me learning to good use’ but had ultimately concluded in unconsciousness. Who knew you could get knocked out in what was essentially a glorified dream?
She focused on her surroundings and noticed a few things.
First, it appeared that neither of her legs was in working condition at the moment. The right one appeared to have had most of the tendons methodically cut; the left one was just flat out broken in multiple places.
She was learning a lot about torture, really. But she was learning just as much about Morgoth – like that while he may come up with good plans, he’s temperamental and wouldn’t necessarily stick to them when he gets riled. Right leg, plan. Left leg, lost his temper.
Huh. And look at that – there’s one person from the First Age she does recognize, albeit only by the gold in his braids. Probably just as well for her several time great-uncle that she didn’t remember any of what Morgoth had been doing while masquerading as him.
Uncle Fingon had one hell of a death glare. Or maybe that part was all Morgoth. Hard to say.
‘Fingon’ abruptly morphed into someone silver haired.
Anariel feigned recognition, although she really had no idea. As far as she was concerned, it could be any of her Lindarin relatives. But she felt like it was better to fake it for the time being.
If she didn’t, she suspected he would just switch again until he found someone she knew. (Good luck, really, given he seemed to have a hangup for the First Age, but she couldn’t risk it – she wasn’t sure how many more times she could duck out before the Slayer would be exhausted. Pain might not bother the Slayer, but keeping up the illusion of being ‘Buffy’ still took energy, and neither of them had a bottomless well of it. Given how fast her legs weren’t healing, she suspected the Slayer was close to tapped out.)
Morgoth seemed pleased to have finally found someone she recognized. Were it not for the whole torture business, she might have actually felt a little sorry for him. (Eventually she’s going to throw it in his face that he got this happy about her pretending his trick was working. She wasn’t sure when exactly, other than ‘not yet’.)
There was the usual blur of torture, and at some point he switched faces – this time back to dark hair, and she didn’t have a clue but faked it again. By now, she was in enough pain that the face didn’t much matter. She could barely see straight anyway. And what she could see wasn’t entirely trustworthy – for one, she’s pretty sure there are not actually shiny butterflies all over the room. (She was unclear whether this was an instance of Morgoth undermining his own tactics by trying to do physical torture and mind-bendy stuff at the same time, or if her mind was just going strange places all on its own as a coping mechanism. Or possibly from lack of sleep. She’d read once that sleep was necessary for proper brain function, and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t had enough of it lately. She’s not even sure how long ‘lately’ was.)
The next face switch, though, had her reaching for the Slayer. Turned out there was one dead relative from the First Age she knew - even she couldn’t fail to recognize a ridiculously tall redhead with only one hand.
The only real surprise here was that Morgoth went for Maedhros before Makalaurë. Either way, not something she wanted to stick around for.
Her frantic appeal to the Slayer met with a combination of disgruntlement and a note of warning. This was probably the last out she was going to get. But Morgoth’s slicing what’s left of her clothes off, and there is just no way she wants to have to remember whatever’s coming next forever, so she’ll take it.
The next time she surfaced, it was with the awareness that she had no more ‘outs’. The Slayer escape valve is done. It was just her and him now.
And boy howdy was he ever in a snit. The lack of reaction to anything ‘Maedhros’ had done had really gotten to him. The part of her mind that isn’t going crazy from all the new hurts layered on top of pre-existing pain found it equal parts hilarious and fascinating. (Unfortunately, that part of her mind was significantly smaller than it had been up to now.)
But given the new damage, and the parts of her body hurting now that hadn’t before, she still felt like it was a good call to have let the Slayer deal with Morgoth-Maedhros. She was also perfectly happy to let him smash up things that weren’t her to deal with his frustration.
It was when he got quiet and calm again that she felt her stomach drop. That couldn’t be a good sign. Calm meant thinking, and when he actually stopped to think, he was insanely dangerous. She preferred him off-balance and petulant.
The grin on ‘his’ face was quite worrying.
He shifted form again – and Anariel Elrondiel saw red. Turned out she did still have something left after all. Because that evil bastard was coming at her in her father’s face.
The restraints holding her snapped like they were made of tissue paper. Had she not been a mass of pure concentrated rage, she probably would have enjoyed the sight of Morgoth looking like he was about to pee himself in fear. But she was way, way beyond that.
Morgoth discovered that his current form could suffer pain and broken bones just as much as hers could when she smashed into him everything first, fury singing through her veins and a war cry on her lips.
AURË ENTULUVA, MOTHERFUCKER!
It was possible there might be pain again in the future, but for the moment, Morgoth was the one who would hurt.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-12 03:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-08-12 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-08-12 01:43 pm (UTC)Minor note - recognizing Maedhros' form would be a second person from the First Age, since she recognized Fingon earlier. That was a really creepy sequence & very effective.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-12 11:47 pm (UTC)She's almost there, she just needs to hang on a little bit longer.
True, but she's not exactly thinking straight - there was quite a bit of unpleasantness between 'oh, hey, gold in his braids, I know that guy' and 'that is definitely Maedhros'.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-12 01:54 pm (UTC)Thank you for the heads up, I truly do appreciate it, and thank you as well for not going into explicit 'on screen' detail of either the torture or the assaults. You gave us the gist without going into the lurid, nearly pornographic detail that too many people like to put into such things these days (it has gotten to the point that I search out spoilers and trigger warnings for everything I read or watch, I've been blindsided too many times).
no subject
Date: 2019-08-12 11:50 pm (UTC)You're quite welcome. I wasn't too sure you'd read this one, given the warnings. (There was no way I was going into graphic detail.)
no subject
Date: 2019-08-13 12:35 am (UTC)