In the Darkness Bind Them

by Henrika

Rating: NC-17

Pairing:Gandalf/Sauron, Gandalf/various uruk-hai (for now).

Summary: AU; Sauron has regained the One Ring and won the war. Gandalf is trapped. Will the Istar be able to resist the Dark Lord's attempts to break him?

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. They belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I make no money of this.

Website: Lord of the Rings - my Gandalf slash fiction and art

A/N and warnings: This story is very dark and deals with disturbing matters like graphic violence, graphic rape, torture, humiliation and much more. If this is not your cup of tea, now is probably the time to turn back. You have been warned!

Dedicated to: Nefertiti, for so kindly helping me with beta and suggestions. Without you this story would probably still be in a file somewhere in my PC. Many hugs to you, my dear!


Chapter One

Gandalf awoke slowly and waited for his eyes to adjust to the almost non-existent light. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and shivered, trying to wrap his torn, white robe closer around his body. His cloak had been taken away from him when he was captured, and the air in the cell was cold and piercing. He could almost see his own breath coming out as white puffs.

The man, formerly a powerful wizard, curled up in a corner and wrapped his arms around his knees. His joints had begun to ache, but there wasn't much he could do about that right now. The stone floor he was lying on was hard and cold, and there was no kind of bedding at all. In his present state he'd even welcomed a heap of dirty and worm-eaten straw.

Gandalf glanced at his only piece of food and drink; a piece of maggoty, black bread and a battered bowl of water. A couple of orcs had come by many hours ago to deliver it, and even though Gandalf was hungry, he was not yet desperate enough to try it. When he had examined the bowl of water, he'd noticed that one of the orcs - or maybe all of them - had probably spat in it. It could also be their spunk, and he was sure he'd throw the water back up even if he somehow managed to swallow it.

Not yet, he thought. Only if necessary.

He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been in this rotten, cold cell, but he figured it had to be days. Two? Three? Four? No, not four. Maybe two or three. It really didn't matter, because time meant nothing down here.

Gandalf tried to figure out why he'd been captured and not killed, like his comrades. He could think of no valid reason. They had broken his staff, torn his clothes, and brutally slaughtered everyone around him, and yet been very careful not to kill him. His eyes had been bound, so he could not see where he was taken, but he assumed that no place but Barad-dûr could be as foul as this dungeon.

It is over, he thought. Middle-earth, the world of the free peoples, has fallen, and Sauron has won the war of the Ring. And Frodo and Sam...

Tears came to his eyes when he thought of the little hobbit, who so bravely had offered to do what no one else dared. Where was Frodo now? Was he still out there, somewhere, or had they captured him as well and thrown him into a dungeon like this? Or had they...?

If that were so, Gandalf realized, everything was lost. There was no hope left. Yet, he then thought, as long as there is life, there is hope. And I will not give up.

He didn't know what they would do to him after this, but right now he wasn't worried for himself. His thoughts were elsewhere. They had captured him, not killed him, and that had to mean there was some reason for him to continue existing. What that reason might be, though, he did not know.

Cold and aching, he lay down again, curling up in a foetal position, using his own upper arms as a pillow. It was highly uncomfortable, but it was still the best position he could assume at the moment. Closing his eyes, he tried to go back to sleep, and thus forget the damp dark cell and its cold stone floor, at least for a while.


Gandalf awoke with a jerk when the heavy door to his cell suddenly opened. An orc - an uruk-hai, to be more precise - entered and grinned lewdly at the tense white-robed figure in the corner. Gandalf had no idea what it was doing here, but he bravely met its gaze, staring back at it with a dogged expression.

The uruk grunted something unintelligible, and then stepped aside to let another man in through the door. It took a while before Gandalf's eyes could adjust to the sudden light, and he could only see the outlines of something large filling the doorway. The man who entered next was so tall he had to bend his head to get through the doorway.

Gandalf blinked twice, trying to sharpen his gaze and focus on the face of his new visitor. He was no orc; that could be told by his stature and carriage. The man slowly lifted his head and Gandalf was now able to have a good look at him.

"Sauron!" he gasped in terror and recoiled automatically, pressing his body harder against the walls.

Sauron, once again embodied, turned his head in the direction of his prisoner. He was wearing thick armour and a mask that concealed his true face, and yet there was no doubt that it was he. When he tilted his head, Gandalf imagined seeing a brief red flash behind the eye holes of his mask.

When he passed his gaze downward, he could not avoid noticing the One Ring had found its way back to its true location: Sauron's talon hand.

An involuntary shriek escaped the former white wizard's throat. "No! Frodo..." he whispered, realizing that his beloved little hobbit had been defeated. He couldn't help wondering what Sauron had done to him, and simultaneously he did not want to know.

"Olórin," Sauron said in an icy voice. "I have been waiting for this moment."

Another two figures entered the cell, and Gandalf could see that they were both Ringwraiths. They, or at least one of them, the Witchking, looked almost as imposing and menacing as the Dark Lord himself, and Gandalf could see that he was carrying a sack.

"My Lord," the Nazgûl said, handing the sack with its contents to Sauron himself.

Gandalf stared anxiously at the sack, now dreading to see what was in it.

"Olórin," Sauron repeated, and started to advance toward Gandalf's huddled frame. He looked even huger more frightening the closer he came, and Gandalf would have recoiled from him, if he had not run out of room. His back was already pressing against the walls of the cell, and there was no escape.

"Did you think we had forgotten about you?" Sauron continued. "Not at all, Olórin. I have brought you a gift."

He offered the sack to Gandalf, but the wizard shook his head and refused to accept it.

"Take it," Sauron hissed, but Gandalf was still shaking his head firmly. He did not want to know what was in it, and unless he was forced he would not look. The object sent shivers of fear down his spine.

"No," Gandalf said and this time he boldly looked up at the hulking frame of the Dark Lord, looming over him.

"Fine. I will show you," Sauron replied coldly, opening the sack and turning it upside down, so the contents fell out and landed close to Gandalf's feet. What he saw almost made his heart stop in his chest, and this time there was no way to hold back the cry that escaped his throat. The sack, his "gift", had contained the severed head of Frodo Baggins.

"Nooo....!" Gandalf cried out and turned his head away in shock, terror, disgust and grief. "No...no...no..." he continued to chant, burying his face in his hands, not wanting to look at the hideous object - once the head of someone he loved dearly - that lay by his feet.

"Look at it," Sauron ordered.

Gandalf paid no attention to him, being too deep in his own body-racking grief to think of anything other than that Frodo was dead, and with him most of Middle Earth. This was the end. He almost wished they had killed him alongside his companions, right there and then. That would have been a much milder fate.

"Look at it, I said!" Sauron snarled and suddenly seized Gandalf's long white hair, jerking his head painfully toward Frodo's severed head. Pain shot like fire through his scalp, but still he refused to look, pinching his eyes shut, with tears still streaming down his face.

"Look at it, Olórin, or I will consider an even crueller punishment for you," Sauron stated matter-of-factly. "It is your choice."

Slowly Gandalf opened his eyes. He forced himself to look at the object, not averting his eyes once. Frodo's normally beautiful face was distorted in a hideous grimace, clearly showing the pain he'd suffered just before he was killed. His large blue eyes were wide open and were already covered by a milky sheen. Frodo had been dead for a couple of days, maybe more. There was no way to know exactly.

"Why?" he asked Sauron, who was still holding him by the hair.

"I need not to explain myself to you, Olórin," Sauron replied. "I only wanted you to see it. Do you now see that there can be no victory against the powers of Mordor?"

Gandalf knew that his behaviour and body language had probably indicated that he was broken, so therefore it came as quite a surprise when he suddenly bounced up and threw himself at Sauron's much larger shape.

"Sauron, you spineless coward!" he exclaimed before Sauron's hand seized him by the throat and drove him back up against the wall. The back of his head hit the stone wall roughly, stunning him for a moment, but Sauron's iron fist that gripped his throat revived him quickly. The Dark Lord pressed him upwards, slowly but relentlessly, until Gandalf's feet were no longer touching the ground but dangling helplessly at least five inches above.

Choking, the wizard closed both hands around Sauron's forearm, trying to break his grip, but in vain. It was like squeezing a marble statue.

"Why, Sauron...?" he coughed. "He was just a...hobbit..."

Sauron cocked his head, and once again Gandalf saw the red, fiery flash behind the black orbits of his facial mask. Of course he knew it was silly to expect Sauron to have any kind of feelings except the will to dominate and distort everything and everyone. He enjoyed being a monster, and pointing this out to him would not help.

"Just a hobbit!" Sauron snarled. "Let me tell you something, you fool. It was madness to even think you could defeat me. You sent the Halfling, and everyone else to their death! Aren't you curious to know why I chose to spare you, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf struggled weakly, knowing he could not get out of this grip unless Sauron released him, and that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.

Receiving no reply from his prisoner, Sauron continued, "You are here because I have something special in store for you. What it is, I will show you - shortly."

After finishing the sentence, Sauron released his hold of Gandalf's throat, and the white wizard sank into a heap on the stone floor, gasping for air and clutching his sore throat. It hurt, like his head, and he could also feel something warm and wet trickling down his neck on both sides. He knew what it was. Maybe it was unintentional, maybe not, but Sauron's sharp, claw-like nails had punctured his skin and drawn blood.

Sauron motioned at the uruk to pick up Frodo Baggins' severed head and put it back into the sack, and when it was done, he turned to Gandalf again.

"I will take this back now, as it has a special place in my collection. Unless you want to keep it, Olórin?"

Gandalf wrapped his arms around his knees again, and gave Sauron a grieved look, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"Why not kill me at once?" he asked. "It would save us both a lot of trouble. I don't see why..."

"You will, Gandalf," Sauron interrupted, pronouncing the wizard's favourite name contemptuously. "Not now. Soon."

Sauron turned around without giving Gandalf another look and strode out of the cell, shortly followed by his servants. The uruk was the last to leave, and before he closed the door, he gave Gandalf a toothy, smug grin, as if he knew what was awaiting the wizard.

Gandalf returned it with a venomous look, but the uruk simply laughed and spat in his direction before closing the door and finally leaving. Gandalf lay down again, cold and pained, and used his hand to wipe off the wetness that had come to his eyes. Seeing what they had done to poor Frodo had left him devastated, but there was more to come. He knew that. A lot more, and he was not the least curious to know what the Dark Lord had in store for him.