Twice He Answered by Adoraincerta

1

They are tied together, if it could be counted as a comfort. Leather leashes and cuffs are abundant here, enough to fix their elbows and knees tightly, though their other legs are shivering on the other end of this punishment table, or whatever Annatar may call it.

Blindfolds on their eyes aren’t blessings. Freezing wind rushes through their naked legs and hips, while other parts of their now tainted bodies are carefully anointed, shining under the dim light. Burnt and exposed, their skins are covered with older and newer scars and wounds, a draft waiting to be perfected by Annatar.

Fear of uncertainty has already overwhelmed them when Annatar finally finishes his preparations, like he wholeheartedly enjoys putting his most noble but fallen prisoners in silence.

Some noise came from the corner of this room that they don’t even know how it looks like. Noise of fidgeting a basket and punishing tools it contains. Whip or cane, paddle or birch?

None of them will escape, for that Maedhros and Maglor know for sure.

Even with vigilance and tension growing inside them, the first strike Annatar takes seems too sudden to cope - correctly - with calm. An elaborately polished whip slides the thick-scented air open, like pouring alcohol on a newly-gained sword wound. Maglor clenches his teeth and prays it will be him to withstand such humiliation and vengeance in that millisecond, but only the sharp end of the whip crosses his right thigh. Maitimo, his only family left who didn’t even cry out when dealing with his worst wounds, sobs and gasps and quivers with obvious pain.

“Does it hurt?”

Smooth voice echoes in the almost empty room, and Maglor’s fear expands further. What does Annatar expect their answers to be, or is it just a vicious question to strengthen his ill enjoyment?
Maedhros replied with silence and bited lips.

“If you refuse to answer, then I shall torture someone who will, Maitimo.”

Maglor’s muscle tightens and collides with the wooden table top. He dares not glance at Maedhros but wants to scream that Annatar could try as many torments on him as possible, only if he leaves Maitimo alone.

But Maedhros breathes out, as every time he overcomes a barrier in the throat to speak, and Maglor’s hope is gone.

“Yes.”

It’s a shattered voice, still stable but edgy.

Annatar continued.

“With your memory, how could you forget the proper title, Maitimo? Answer again before my patience drains.”

Some lump in his mouth stops him from shouting, as Maedhros spits out the words.

“Yes, it hurts… my lord.”

Annatar bursts into a laugh so hysterical that Maglor’s low cry goes without Maedhros noticing.