aka "Nerdanel's Necropants", by Detergent
Fingolfin looked down his nose at Nerdanel, his icy expression made all the more intimidating by his glittering armour and the fact that he had already mounted upon Rochallor. His mount tossed its head and stamped, matching its master's ire. Fingolfin reigned him in.
"After all this time you come to me and it is not to apologise for the pain you caused my brother but because you want a favour from me?"
"Yes," she was undeterred by his reaction. He had what she wanted- power- and she was going to get it. "Cease this nonsense about duelling Melkor," she made her voice sweet and sultry. "It will do the Ñoldor and yourself no good if you die... which you will. Instead, let us be wed. I can negotiate a peace between the Eldar and Melkor. I will be High Queen and in return, your people will live on."
"You forget yourself and Anairë," his voice was measured in its coldness. "And you still call that wretch 'Melkor'. I see where your allegiance lies, it is with yourself and yourself alone." He tightened his grip on the reins as Rochallor danced beneath him, eager to crush or escape the witch that stood at his head.
"Please, we all know what Anairë is to you and it's not a wife. Make her your honoured sister and free her from your farcical marriage. Let Eärwen be free of your shadow."
"I would rather you flayed my skin from my body and left me to die of shock rather than consort with you in such a manner. You are a vile, self-seeking traitor. Fëanor was well-rid of you even if you scarred his very soul. I will do myself the same favour. I hope your greed devours you; you are already rotten to the core." He gently pressed his knee into Rochallor's side and the stallion, recognising the signal he had been taught, reared up, churning the air with his forehooves, knocking Nerdanel to the ground. She flailed and skinned her palms, taking a faceful of dirt.
"You're a fucking righteous turd, Fingolfin," she gnashed, pushing herself into a sitting position and spitting out mud and small stones. "You will regret rejecting me even when you're in the Halls. Beyond the Halls as well."
-
"Do you have it?" Sauron inquired of his lover, Melkor, who was now called Morgoth Bauglir far and wide for his horrible deeds.
"I do," he crossed the room and put a finger to Sauron's cheek, tracing the plump flesh. "It is not something I will surrender to you for free," his deep voice was husky. Sauron grasped his breastplate and pulled him towards him, pulled the Corrupter's helmet off with one hand and covered his mouth with his own, plunging his tongue between the Ainur's lips. They kissed roughly for a moment before Sauron stepped back, his amber eyes glowing softly with fire.
"You know I will make it worth your while."
"And you know I will make you give me full value. You are the only one I would allow to convince me to give up such a prize. Why do you wish it?"
"It is a gift for my daughter. She has not finished with the House of Finwë. She has desires and it pleases me to make those desires a reality."
"I wish her the joy of it then. Do you care to see it?"
"Certainly, yes."
Morgoth, limping, led him into the next room where, upon a bare stone slab lay the body of Fingolfin, the head of the Eldar resting at an impossible angle on his broken neck.
"I had to fight an eagle for him and here he rests."
The thought of vengeance upon the Ñoldor heated the Corrupter and he grabbed Sauron by the shoulders and kissed him hard enough to bruise. Sauron winced but did not back away, instead, get began to rip at the armour Morgoth still wore. They tore at each other until they were well-exposed and then Morgoth took Sauron on the cold grey floor within full sight of the corpse.
-
Nerdanel looked down into the grey face of her deceased former brother-in-law and heaved an angry sigh. He must have had some piece upon him forged by Fëanor as she had never known a man who could resist her offers. No matter, there was work to be done and already she had moved on from the thought of the High Queenship to the strains of beautiful harp music. Nerdanel adored bards and one had caught her eye amongst all others, Maglor. By means of carefully-spread gossip, she had led her son to believe that her domain held the key to finding his father's silmarils. But first, she would need to soothe his grief over the uncle Maglor loved so well. He loved him too well, she reflected. So there was nothing to be done but to make herself more like Fingofin... minus the dead part. Her spies had told her that Maglor would arrive in her domain soon enough, so she had to get to work.
She had kept well away from all battles, researching. She knew what Maglor liked of Fingolfin and it was something Nerdanel didn't possess, well, not bodily. Maglor had sung enough ballads full of just enough innuendo for her to know that he wanted to fuck his uncle, maybe even had fucked his uncle... she grimaced at that but it was in the past and he would have bathed since then. So definitely what she lacked was Fingolfin's cock and she would soon remedy that. She had laid her instruments out on a table pulled up beside the corpse of the late High King along with the last copper bit she had flitched from a war-widow in the market square. She had taken pen and ink and inscribed a combination of runes upon a piece of paper. She had gone into the forest and taken a branch of mountain ash, sanded it silky-smooth, trimmed it to the proper length and rounded it, larger at one end than at the other with a groove to fit into a harness. She had everything. Everything, that is, except for Fingolfin's cock. Which she would remedy at once.
She leaned briefly over the body and whispered into its ear. "Tut tut, you never should have given me permission to take your hide. This could have been prevented."
And then Nerdanel took her sharpest knife of obsidian flake and attended to her work flaying the skin from the dead elf's thighs and groin, slowly, slowly, so as to prevent damage to the precious raw leather. She freed his balls from his pouch; teased his member from its skin. The work took her most of the day. She preserved the leather carefully, she wished this piece to last a lifetime. Then with stitches grown a little sloppy from impatience, she stitched a harness from the skin. She placed the paper and the stolen coin in the now-flaccid scrotum and stitched it shut. Then she padded the dildo of mountain ash with a layer of hide and stitched it into the sheathe of the penis. She sewed it all together, just her size, and then admired her handiwork. The harness looked very lifelike, just like a real cock and balls but for the ghastly purple-grey of the skin. Why did it hold that colour? No matter, she could dye it later if the colour remained fast.
Nerdanel summoned servants. "Take this thing and leave it in the forest for the scavengers." Fearing her wrath, the servants did as they were told. As they bore Fingolfin away naked without even a shroud, Nerdanel gave the body a little wave. "Bye-bye," she cooed. She then ordered a hot bath and went to bed, taking her creation with her so that no one else could lay a hand on it.
She fell asleep and dreamt of fucking Maglor, his hands all over her body; they both came exquisitely, ripping the bed apart with their sport until she woke, feeling as if her cunt were starving, her thighs aching. She turned over in her rucked covers and saw the harness. She grabbed it and put it on. She would reenact her dreams and then attend to herself. As she buckled the tanned elf-skin around her waist and upper thighs, a strange thing happened- The already-erect penis she had created grew limp at her crotch as if the mountain ash inside had melted but then, an eye-blink later, the member began to grow turgid like a real cock. She felt the root of something grow into her and it was as if this was her cock and the balls were her balls. She touched the head of her new erection and felt a streak of pleasure. Something adhered to her hand. It was two small beads of gold. Strange, she thought but dismissed it and began to stroke her prick.
As she fondled her member, Nerdanel noticed that the beads of gold were dripping from her instead of pre-cum. The more she stroked, the larger the beads became until she was dripping gold coins, feeling no pain from their issue, only an intense pleasure. She spat in her hand and applied it to herself as the coins dripped from her cock and mounted on the bed, clashing into each other like tiny cymbals. Finally, when she could take it no longer and her passion gathered into one white-hot point, she came, screaming and chains of gold jetted out of her, spraying across the room in the place of seed. Panting, she rested for a moment, confused but well and happily spent. When she was ready, she slid out of bed and went to see what had happened.
Ropes and chains of gold lay scattered on her bedroom floor. All manner of weaves and designs were represented. Simple chains and elaborately-woven ropes lay scattered as if someone had flung a treasure chest all over one portion of the room. She hefted one and then another. She had never seen anything more lovely. "Ha, Fëanor, who is laughing now? You never gave me enough jewellery; you never made me enough jewellery. Your brother's dead cock smiths better than you ever could."
-
"Great Lady," one of her spies was bowing before her. "Your son, Maglor, has been spotted in the town at the base of the mountain. He stays at the Sign of the Lark."
"Excellent news! Bring me a quill and paper. I must see him," she waved a hand at him, barely able to raise her arm from the chair rest, draped with gold chains as it was.
A lap desk, quill, and a broad sheet of cream-coloured paper were brought to the High Lady. She dipped her quill and wrote to Maglor, summoning him to her stronghold on the mountain.
I long to see you again, may we not be reconciled and start afresh? she added at the end of her command. She took some perfume from the crystal vial she kept in her bosom and scented the paper with it. Her servants brought her a candle, her sealing wax and her stamp of her face in profile and she sealed her letter and bade it be delivered to the Sign of the Lark. The mere thought of Maglor here, his golden voice, the prospect of his fingers, calloused from plucking harp strings, stirred her considerably but she did not don her creation. Instead, she resolved to bide her time and to hoard all of her desire for him, for surely he desired her now and would allow her conquest.
Maglor held the paper between thumb and forefinger after he had read it as if it were a pair of shit-soiled smalls. The scent of musk, rich and costly, rolled off the letter. He looked nauseated. So Nerdanel was here in this mountain country. Then perhaps the rumours of the silmarils residing here rang true after all. He did not put it past her to either have them in her possession or to know of their whereabouts. After she had destroyed his father's forge, after she had cut up his manuscripts and patched the vellums with gibberish, she had rooted through everything that had been in the workshop, seeking something before abandoning Fëanor and disappearing. She had always looked upon the silmarils with covetous eyes, it was possible she had tracked down one or more and if she did not, her fancy for bards ensured that she would hear every rumour and whisper of news from every corner of the world. Yes, it was possible she had his father's highest creations or she knew of where they might be found. If he wanted her knowledge, he would need to be careful, he would have to be accommodating but not that accommodating, he held his breath and threw Nerdanel's letter into the fire that burnt on the grates and then opened a window and let the cold breeze cleanse the room of her perfume.
Maglor went for a walk to clear his head, passing through the town and into the countryside. He passed over several bridges that spanned steep ravines, stopping many times to hear the sweetness of the region's many streams foaming and purling over the stones below. He picked a stalk of grass and first chewed the stem, then worried it apart with his hands, considering how he would deal with his mother. He had never forgiven her for how she had fairly destroyed Fëanor, though he kept his feelings buried deep within him, only releasing them through his art and then rarely. He wished for the council and the strong arms of his uncle, Fingolfin, and again mourned his death in single combat against Morgoth, then more deeply mourned that his uncle's remains had not been recovered from the field, even though the King of Eagles had tried to retrieve them. He came to a place bordered on three sides by ravines, sweet thyme and wild sage growing on the sides all the way down to the white water that sang over the stones. The plants flowered even during this time of year. The place was rough and wild but still very pretty. Maglor bent and picked a sprig of thyme and put it in his mouth. The hot, sharp taste cleared his mind and helped him formulate a plan.
Treasured One, he wrote back to Nerdanel on the reverse of a sheet of musical notation he had written for a love ballad. Allow me to meet you in a setting worthy of your wildness and beauty. Meet me the day after tomorrow. Come to me alone, I beg you. I cannot wait to see you... Macalaurë. He signed himself with his mother-name and went to begin arrangements for what he had in mind.
-
Nerdanel dressed in her finest but without as many golden chains as had become her wont. She donned a very low-cut gown in midnight blue and had her lady's maid thread her red braids through with some finer chains and had her decorate her coffiure with a few white chrysanthemums. Then she chased the servant out of the room and hoisted her skirts and buckled on her secret weapon. It would not do to have to stop in the middle of her tryst with her son to slip into it. She did not bother with smalls. She felt the now-familiar sensation of something rooting inside of her and again, the endowment that had once been Fingolfin's became like her own. She was vaguely upset that it had not lost its ghastly colour, but no matter. She dropped her skirts and swished down the hall and out to the stables. She took out Maglor's letter once more and peered at the drawing he had included of the route to their trysting place and allowed one of the stablehands to boost her into her saddle. She rode eagerly to the place bordered by the stream.
From a distance, she could see a pavilion had been set up and the inside had been lit by banks of candles. Maglor had always known how to do to things elegantly, she reflected, feeling her loins tighten a little in anticipation. Outside the pavilion, a table had been set up and spread with a very generous supper, more candles, and as she rode closer, she could see the gleam of wine glasses and several bottles of wine. Maglor was seated in a chair beside the table, his back to the stream, his harp resting against his shoulder. When he spotted her, he smiled but did not rise. Instead, he touched the harp-strings and began to bring forth a lush melody that she felt caress her body like a lover's hand. She could not wait to see what else he had in store for her. Perhaps the endowment she wore did more than bring forth wealth, it had finally brought her a mutual desire from her son. When she halted her mount, Maglor played a final tremolo and then leaned his harp against his seat and helped her dismount.
"It has been far too long," his eyes were smouldering coals.
"It has."
"Are you hungry?"
"For more than you have there," she sighed, unable to help herself.
"Ah, let us not rush. Had I known you were dwelling here, I would have made all haste," his gaze burnt her and she felt herself blushing. Yes, her talisman had caused this. Her power had grown and now Maglor would be hers. She could practically feel him beneath her, yielding.
"Come, sit. I have all of your favourite dishes and this wine, I know how you love it. You disappeared so suddenly and I could not catch you. There are so many things I wanted to tell you," Maglor's voice vibrated with promise, seeping into the dip between her breasts, she felt her thighs part and fidgeted in her chair.
She allowed him to pour her a glass of wine and drank deeply of its sweetness. She noticed he was drinking only water but it was his custom, he often claimed that alcohol roughened his voice. The sacrifices he made for his art were why he was peerless amongst bards. She reached across the table and poured herself another glass of wine and another as he recited poems for her, his father, the silmarils seemingly forgotten.
She felt her desire grow until she was shaking in her chair. Beneath her skirts, she had hardened until she thought her cock would burst. While Maglor's back was turned as he went to fetch more wine, she casually moved her hems aside to see a pile of gold beads and coin piling up beneath her on the grass. She couldn't help but pant for the want of him.
When he returned, he noticed her grinding her behind against her chair and, strangely, it seemed she had emptied her purse onto the ground. Perhaps the additional wine would not be required. He took stock of her face and noticed the small beads of sweat on her brow. Good. He placed the bottle on the table and instead of opening it and pouring her more, he reached out a hand to her.
"My darling, how high your colour is," he spoke caressingly. "I have a very special song I wish to dedicate to you before I give you all I should."
His voice undid the last of her control. Nerdanel rose swiftly to her feet, her stolen cock standing out against her skirts like a tent peg. Maglor's seductive demeanour broke but she did not notice. "No, I want you and I'm going to have you." He watched in disbelief as she hiked up her skirts to display a ghastly blackish-purple erection that continuously dripped gold coins. She lunged and grabbed him by the shoulders and forced her mouth onto his.
He tore his mouth free.
"Augh! Not if yours was the last cock in all of Arda!" Maglor grasped her in return as she began to paw at him in mindless lust and swung her around. She clawed his neck. "
You. will. fuck. me."
"The Hells I will! You destroyed my father's soul. You filthy piece of shit!" He brought up his knee and connected squarely with her stolen bag. The necrotic skin burst and gold coin began to pour from the split scrotum. She howled in pain as if the blow had been dealt to her instead of whatever that was. "You will not mention him here!" She wailed in pain as she reached for her dagger. They were both slipping on the piles of coin now. She lunged at Maglor and he dealt her such a blow across the face that she slid on the coins that continued to dump from the dead man's scrotum that remained attached to her. Her arms went up as she fell in a shower of coin and skirts and went tumbling down into the ravine. She landed on her back with an agonizing jolt. Maglor heard a crack so loud that he knew she had broken her back on the stones below.
He carefully stepped to the edge of the ravine and looked down. Gold coin was now fountaining from her groin and had begun to bury her in wealth from knee to mid-chest.
"You must help me," he heard her moan weakly beneath the chiming of the coins.
"Fuck you. Buy yourself out, since you have so much wealth. Father would have paid more than you're worth for you. I know what you're worth. And it isn't my hand out of this ravine. "
Maglor fetched his chair and his harp and sat plucking the strings as he watched the pile of coin slowly bury Nerdanel. Her moans ceased once the pile grew large enough. He sat and watched as the coin covered even her face and nary a tear did he shed once he could no longer see her. When the coin had nearly filled the ravine over her body, the pile finally ceased to grow.
He got up then and packed up his harp. He grabbed the reins of her horse and mounted up on his own. He reached into the pack hanging from his horse's saddle and pulled out a small bottle. 'Lust Potion' was graven into the green glass. He put his fingers to the deep scratches on his neck. Perhaps he shouldn't have used the entire bottle. He shrugged and threw it on top of the gold coins in the ravine. He turned his back on the costly pavilion he had paid for instead of leasing. He began to ride away from Nerdanel's domain. It was clear to him the silmarils were not here. It was time to search in a different direction. He left all of the gold in his wake, certain the locals here would be glad of it.
-
Some days after Nerdanel had been crushed beneath the pile of coin, a lone figure came walking out of the distance. It wore a cloak trimmed in black fur with a deep hood. It stepped over the coins as if the wealth was nothing to it and stopped at the edge of the ravine.
"My daughter, he will rue the day he harmed you," it said in a deep voice. It threw back its hood to reveal a man with burning amber eyes.
"Come forth, Rise!" Sauron commanded the crushed body beneath the tons of gold. The ground shook and the pile of coin parted as if it were made of liquid. "Be whole. Come to me. Be whole. RISE!"
The body of Nerdanel floated up from the ravine surrounded by twin spirals of dark fire. Her body was perfect again, no evidence of her ordeal left upon it. Her eyes open and she gasped a breath. As she floated there, something ghastly dangled from her thighs. Her skirts were mangled. Sauron ripped the gown off of her and shrouded her in his cloak.
"What am I to do with you, my daughter?" He tore leather from her thighs. Whatever it was disintegrated instantly. "You will come home with me and recover." He hefted her in his arms.
A glowing rune appeared on the ground. Sauron stepped onto it and the pair of them disappeared.