Androg left the elf tied there on the tree for two days, resolving that he would ignore any begging for food or cries for help. They had been hounded, dogged, pursued without mercy by the worthless spy; he deserved some suffering in return.
The elf made no sound. Not a word they heard from him, not once in all the hours he remained tied there, not even as hunger and thirst must have wracked his body with pain. Androg slept close to the tree, spent hours close at hand, just waiting for any sound the elf might make; but there was nothing. The elf denied him even the satisfaction of revenge.
At the end of two days, they were all eager to move on. The captain must be dead, they said, how could he not be after all this time? No man could survive in the wild this long. They must move on, before they were spotted, before the homesteaders caught their trail.
It was with this in mind that Androg stood over the elf, looking down on him as he sat there, his feet and hands bound around the tree. He still had the cheek to look serene, even now. "Will you still not speak of your errand, elf?" he asked.
The elf tilted his head up, narrowing one cool grey eye at him. "You know when I will speak; it is as I have told you before."
Beside him, Faland shook his head. "No getting this one to talk. May as well kill him."
"I still say we should keep him alive," Algand argued, "If the captain returns and this is his friend-"
"The captain is dead," Logog snapped, "And this elf has given us no end of grief. Do you not remember how he hounded us, stalking us from the shadows, putting the fear of evil in our hearts? He deserves what he gets."
"I admit I am loath to let him go - either to freedom or death - without his revealing what he knows," Androg said. "I should like to know what Thingol thinks he will find of interest out here, in the lands beyond his borders."
"Very little, and nothing concerning you," the elf muttered.
"Is that so? I doubt it, judging by your sneaking around." Androg drove his boot into the elf's stomach, eliciting a satisfying grunt.
"There's a way to make him talk," Logog said. He sounded sneaky now, pleased with himself. "You know how elves are. Don't like to get close."
The elf had stilled; he clearly knew what Logog was talking about. Androg had an idea he did, too.
The others still looked confused, so Logog elaborated. "They have all this nonsense about chosen partners and the bonds of marriage. Don't like getting fucked outside of marriage."
Algand looked faintly ill, while Faland's brow pulled down in a skeptic frown. "I don't think that'll convince him to talk," the latter said.
"No," Logog admitted, "but it'll be fun."
"If the captain comes back-" Algand began.
Irritated, Androg cuffed him around the head. "Shut up with your 'if the captain comes back'," he snapped. "Go back to the fire and keep your miserable whining to yourself. You two, get things ready."
The elf, for his part, put up a fight - until Androg gave him such a cuff around the head that he fell back against the tree, dazed, and allowed them time to retie him, his chest to the tree and arms tightly bound around it. "You will regret this," he said, after he regained his senses; his voice did not waver, Androg had to give him that.
"Not more than you'll regret it," Androg snapped, before taking his knife to the elf's clothes.
He was wearing several layers of cloth and armour, and by the time Androg had cut most of it away, a crowd had gathered around the tree. He could see eagerness, delight, burning desire in the faces around him; they had not done this for a long time, not since Neithan had become their leader. The men were hungry for it.
Logog put into his hand a pouch full of animal fat, and Androg pulled out a wad of it on his finger. The crowd of outlaws gathered closer as he moved behind the elf, as he pulled his cheeks apart. Androg clearly saw his back stiffen, his shoulders tense, as the first probing, fat-slick finger went inside him, but the elf said nothing; still he made no sound. Androg was brief with the preparation, impatient to begin; still he could see some suspicious bulges in the pants around him when he was done. "Do not fret; you'll all have your turn," he said, then positioned himself behind the elf.
The elf was tense around him as he pushed in, and silent as ever, though Androg himself could not help but let out a soft moan. He was tight, incredibly tight, and hot as a furnace, and Androg had not had this in entirely too long. If he was not careful he would peak in moments, embarrassing himself in front of the entire company.
It did not come to that. He pushed in, out, in, burying himself to the hilt and pulling back out again in a rush, relishing the rough drag and slide around his cock. Still the elf made no sound, but Androg could see him biting his lip, his shoulders tense, his eyes screwed shut - and that was enough for him. He came, grunting, inside the elf's body, darkly satisfied.
He was by far to last to partake in that particular delight. There were near fifty men in the company, and while many abstained, sitting in silence by the fire, many more joined in - some more than once. Androg lost track of exactly how many times the elf was taken, but by the end his composure was finally rattled. He leant limp against the tree, his bounds seemingly the only thing holding him up; face haggard, skin grey, eyes glassy. Androg could feel the thrill of satisfaction, revenge in his stomach. See, elf? Not so high and mighty now.
Logog was the one taking his turn when it happened. He was lost in the rut, fucking deep into the elf, and no one was paying it much attention. Most of the company were satisfied now, at the end of their stamina, and Androg could tell only one or two more would want another turn before the end. He wanted to be first and last, to highlight to this proud, stupid elf how he was the one in power here; he lay back languidly on the grass, absently stroking himself, keeping himself half-hard in preparation for his final outing.
The mood was broken by the wheezing gasp of pain that came from Logog.
Androg started up in the same moment as everyone else. Logog was still half inside the elf, clinging onto his slim hips with both hands - with a sword blade poking out through the skin of his back.
No one moved; no one breathed. The sword slowly withdrew, and without it Logog collapsed to the ground with a pitiful moan.
Into the gap stepped their captain.
Androg had never seen him sport an expression more fiery, more full of rage. "Who did this?" he asked, his voice low and tight, but powerful enough to carry across the whole camp.
No one spoke. Androg could feel that everyone shared his terror, his helplessness; he would not be the one to step forward.
Neithan looked at Logog, dying at his feet, and then around the camp; and then he looked back to the elf. Androg saw a spasm of pain cross his face. "We will deal with punishment later," he snapped, and cut the bonds holding the elf to the tree. The elf fell, but Neithan was there to catch him. "We will be alone in the cave, unless I ask for anyone's presence," Neithan said, holding all their eyes with his burning stare. Then he hitched the elf over his shoulder and disappeared deep into the cave.
It took another moment before anyone moved. Then everyone moved at once, trying to get back into their clothes or surreptitiously get away.
"What do we do with Logog?" someone asked.
Androg felt his lip curl. He had shown the elf a lesson, but Neithan clearly did favour him. That would do him no good in the long run, Androg was sure.
Androg turned to the man who had spoken and snapped, "Put him out of his misery."