He didn't rise when she entered, sweeping down the hall with all the grace of a queen, her eyes like chips of ice, chin raised. With her back ramrod straight, Aredhel was nearly the height of a man. Celegorm stretched his legs and left his chin in his hand, watching her from the high backed chair.
"It's good to see you, cousin," he said, more mildly than he felt.
"I'm afraid I can't say the same of you." If she'd been so cold before, he'd never noticed it. Celegorm smiled, as faintly as possible, and held his peace, watching as her weight shifted back on her heels, planting her feet. "Is your arrogance such that you will not even rise to meet me? Sister to the – your – High King?"
"As I am certain your brother feels no obligation toward me, I feel no obligation toward him."
"You bastard," she said, and it was a little difficult not to wince at her choice of language. Are you just going to sit there and tell me what amounts to treason and expect me to do nothing?"
"I expect that your brother would not be surprised." Celegorm moved his hand from under his chin to the arm of the chair, rubbed his fingers over the carven head of a lion. "These days, I try to expect little enough of anyone. And yet I am somehow still disappointed."
"I feel such agony for you," she said, and he could see her tremble with rage. Glancing at the guards flanking him, Celegorm let a smile flicker, just for a moment.
"I'm sure. Leave us, if you please. I'm sure I can manage one lady. Even this one."
They bowed and exited the room.
"If you are planning to slap me, I'd sooner you got it over with."
"You wouldn't be worth it," she said, derisively, and he watched the way she turned away from him, thoughtfully. "I won't give you the satisfaction."
"Such sweet words, cousin. You're not even relieved that I'm alive?"
"I'd rather you were dead," she retorted, and turned on him, her expression holding all the righteous anger of Nolofinwë's line. "You killed my brother. And you expect me to receive you with open arms?"
"Yes," Celegorm agreed. "I do."
Aredhel's eyes flashed and for a brief moment he thought she would strike him. "I should have expected no less. You idiot, I'm giving you a chance."
Celegorm tilted his head a bare bit to the side. "What makes you think I need a chance? I hardly know what you are even hoping to find, Ireth."
"You could apologize. You ought to be on your knees, begging my forgiveness."
"Why?" He allowed himself to smirk, and stood. "I didn't have to do anything to get you to come to me, did I?"
"What makes you think I came for you," Aredhel said, turning on him again. "What makes you so sure I am not here to speak to someone else on my brother's behalf? Or on my own? What makes you think I came here to reconcile, and not to punish?"
"You didn't ask for anyone else," Celegorm said, eyes gleaming a little, taking one step toward her. "You asked for me. I know you, Irissë. You wouldn't hurt me. You don't have it in you."
"How do you know what I have in me," she said. "How do you know what I will and won't do?" It took him a long moment to realize that there was a slender knife in her hand, steady even though the rest of her was shaking. Celegorm had seen her aim before. At this distance there wasn't even a chance she would miss.
His smile felt more like baring his teeth. "Well, look what you found. What does that make you, cousin?" He spread his hands. "You would kill me, unarmed and defenseless?"
"Certainly not defenseless," she said, sharply. "Don't think I'll believe that lie. I won't kill you, cousin. It's easier than that. Two fairly small cuts behind your knees and you won't walk out of this room."
Celegorm felt himself pale, warring with simultaneous fear and an awful sense of surprise.
"Do I have your attention now?" Aredhel shook a little harder. "Good. I will not forgive you for my brother's death. But you will ask anyway. And you will submit officially to my brother, swear fealty to him alone."
Celegorm swallowed, keeping his eyes on her knife. "And that's all?" He managed, in a cool voice that Curufin would have been proud of. If he could reach her at this moment, he thought, he would have gladly strangled her.
The knife lowered; an inch, two inches. For the first time, she looked a little uncertain. It was enough.
Her reflexes were good, but not quite as good as his. The knife still sliced his tunic open across the chest and left a thin red line on the skin, blood beading in it a moment behind. But by then he had the wrist holding the knife well away from both of them, and her other arm twisted up behind her back. She turned her head, straining, and snapped at his arm.
"Do you want me to break your wrist?" He snarled. "I will. And set it again just as quickly. Drop the damned knife." The knife clattered to the ground, and he loosened his grip, just barely. He waited a moment, in case she would ask, but she said nothing, even if her face was nearly white with rage. Celegorm heard his own voice deepen, almost a purr. "Are you done?"
Her breath came fast. "You heard my terms. Are you offering yours, now?"
He laughed on her shoulder, lightly. "Marry me."
"No."
"Let me put that another way." He brushed his lips against her shoulder. "Marry me, or else."
She shuddered. "Or else what? You can make me do nothing. My guard-"
"I can have them killed." Celegorm took a deep breath of the scent of her hair. "It would even look like an accident. You think I can do nothing? I am not so passive as that." Her arm must have been aching, but she did not ask for release. He could almost see how her mouth would be in a thin, flat line, refusing to confess any pain, any weakness.
"I will not. I will never marry you."
"Is that all you have to say?" The tip of her ear poked out of her sleek black hair, and he ran his tongue over it. "I want you."
"All our laws," she said, or started to say.
"And since when have you, Irissë, obeyed any law but your own?" He pulled her body back against his, heard her sharp intake of breath and didn't know if it was for the pain of her arm, still forced behind her back, or what she could feel for being pressed against him. "Go on. Tell me, then. Tell me you don't want me."
"I don't want you," she said, her body rigid, still staring straight ahead.
"Liar," he murmured, and released her right hand slowly so he could bring his hand up to her throat. "Marry me."
"No." She twisted free, with one arm released, turned toward him. "I am not yours. I belong to no one. And you will not make me anything but what I am."
"I would never imprison you," Celegorm said, and the way she bared her teeth, he almost thought Aredhel would hiss like a cat.
"Now you are the liar."
Celegorm took an advancing step toward her. "Whatever you wish-"
"You will give me? Now you are begging. For the basest of reasons. Lust. No. What I want, I will take, Tyelko, as I always have. I want nothing that your love would give me."
"I would give you the world," he said, and kissed her with anger. She stiffened, in surprise or anger he could not have said, and didn't give her the time, thrusting his tongue past her slightly parted lips, one hand in her hair, the other guiding her hips against his. "Let me prove it to you."
"You aren't the world," she said, panted, and he smothered her words in kissing her again, keeping his eyes open so he could look into hers, wide and defiant.
She turned and shoved Celegorm's back against the wall, one hand sliding down her body to her crotch, which she grabbed. "This is all you want," she said, huskily. "This doesn't mean anything. What will you give me? What will you give me?"
His eyes followed her hand downwards. "I promise you," he said, breathlessly.
"Promise me what?" Aredhel demanded.
He kissed her again and grabbed her other wrist, forced it to the bulge in his breeches and rubbed her hand over it. Her fingers shifted and tightened, and the sound from his throat wasn't quite of pain.
"What do you promise me," she demanded, and he pressed his mouth to hers, pulled apart the bodice of her dress and pressed his face to the tops of her breasts, licking, tasting for just a few moments before he shoved her down.
Her nails dug into his shoulders even through the cloth as he undid his breeches and lifted her hips to get the skirt rucked up around her waist. Her teeth scraped against the skin of his neck, and Celegorm waited no longer before thrusting into her, one hand wrapped around the slender column of her extended throat, hips pinning the princess of the House of Nolofinwë to the marble floor.
"Stop," Aredhel moaned, lips on his neck, and she bucked under him, and it was almost a thrill to be able to say, "No," and move again, powerfully. She moaned again, fingers kneading his shoulders, body moistening around him. Her slender, riding-hardened thighs wrapped around his waist and pulled him deeper into her, hands making fists and pounding them against his shoulders. "Move," She said, and so he did. She cried out, heels pressing into the base of his back, and then he was lost in the embrace of her body, the thick smell of sex everywhere, and he finally consummated the marriage he had held in his heart all these years.
Celegorm left the weight of his hips on her, one hand idly resting against Aredhel's cheek. She looked up at him, her eyes no softer than they had been before. "And if I get with child?" She asked.
He only smiled.
The next day, she was gone.