She had never known who he truly was.
Had she? In the sparse idle moments before rest took hold in the evenings, though it rarely did, Idril replayed the startling short lived happening over and over in her mind. Still she could not believe he had kissed her in such a way. And not only his kiss, but the way he held her to him. As if he wanted to possess her, body and spirit. And what was all the more worrying, was that it had not felt decayed and vile. It had not brought on the pure revulsion and disdain which she thought it deserved.
It had felt good, and close, and filling.
It frightened her.
Frantically she had sought in her mind many of their past moments together. The lake, when he drew her to him, and the maid had followed him to the depths. How he followed her moving figure. As she mulled over her memories, a great deal more situations, along with his behavior, appeared in a different light.
Their dancing.
The lost look in his eyes when they met and stood in companionship in the gardens. His unusual manner at times, and even his recent estrangement. Idril belatedly recalled how she had gone to his chamber upon his arrival from the mines, and how tight his embrace had been then. How she never shied away from his touch.
How could he?
...How could she?
Her cousin was clearly attempting to stay clear of her presence now, and that meant he harbored at least some level of unease on his part for... for whatever led him to allow his impulse to rule. She bit her lip.
Cousin. The chiefest of lies, and yet the full truth.
And still, the maid worried no less than she pondered. Nothing bode well, and she had seen little rest in the past weeks. Idril prayed for him just as she prayed for her father, and for their people, for their goal to be fulfilled. Though she wondered if in their wrath the Valar would heed any of her pleas.
The night was still in Gondolin, and it was as if the shadow of war had woven a downcast mist over its usual brilliance.
Idril rose from her bed, her white nightgown spun about her, and went to gaze outside the window. Stars shone clear and sharp against the black canvas of the skies. Bright memories of the dawn of her kin.
A silky blackness covered the lands beyong Amon Gwareth. But another, impregnable foe she felt lurked about the realm, ominous and waiting. It was time.
Despite the forgiving weather, she shivered. It took the maid a few moments to discern it was the sound of trumpets that was shrilling in the still night.
Her chest in a sudden tumult, her limbs seized by haste, Idril dressed swiftly and headed towards the throne room.
Other members of the house of the king and council had also made their way through the high white pillared chamber, their faces grave.
Idril ran down the stairs and came before Turgon, who had just opened the doors himself and strode inside followed by his military leaders.
Her eyes widened and her chest swelled as Idril froze before the king. "Father," she whispered, in both joy and disbelief, before she flung her arms about him.
And behind him was Maeglin.
All left distraught and saddened after Turgon and his warriors imparted tidings of the outcome. And by their appearance alone those present could judge the deeds were true. Morgoth had won, though Gondolin still stood well hidden from his eyes.
But Idril ever feared the shadow unleashed upon the Ñoldor of their own making, and the Curse of Mandos still echoed in memory with this blight of a battle.
Once they had set what needed to be done following this disastrous defeat in replenishment and to mark the dead and aid their families, Idril turned to the one who had ever avoided her eyes. She left her father and hesistatingly approached her raven-haired cousin, who had just done a debrief of his own.
"Maeglin," she called softly. When she had seen him alive and well, an unnamed joy brimmed inside of her. And despite the strange and unsettling manner of their last meeting, she was relieved to see him home at last, well and in the flesh.
He turned to her then, and the maid immediately saw how bone weary he was.
His face expressionless, Maeglin merely nodded her way before turning on his heel and leaving the hall.
She stood dumbfounded, but it only lasted a moment.
Then she was following him.
"Maeglin!" she called in the wake of his hasty retreat, her feet taking after him through the wide empty corridor.
But the elf kept to his quick pace, paying her no heed.
Emboldened by the now stinging hurt of his demeanor and the burning wish to speak to him despite it all, the maid hastened until she saw her cousin reach his chamber and throw the door shut behind him.
Disheartened but driven, Idril looked about herself before pursuing, straight through the door and into his dwelling space.
Her mind and better sense howled at her, beckoning to retrace her steps. But then she faced surprised narrowing black depths and the maid knew it was too late. She closed the door behind her.
"You have no cause to be here," Maeglin said coldly as he proceeded to remove his cloak, which he then threw onto a large bed. His sword he placed aside. His sword belt followed, the movements clipped and hasty.
Taking no heed of this cold bearing Idril tried either way, speaking the words she had so wanted him to hear. "It so gladdens me to see you returned unharmed," she spoke in earnest, her hand to her chest.
He unclasped his breastplate, leaving him in his black tunic. He then sat on a nearby chair and removed his boots, not casting her a glance.
"Your glee is duly noted," he all but muttered while he finished his task.
But Idril would not be deterred. "Cousin,-"
A derisive laughter filled her ears as this time Maeglin did look at her, his features twisted by a cutting smile.
The elf rose and unfastened his vambraces, throwing them carelessly onto a table, and then stepped towards her. As he did so he undid his black tunic, opening the high collar at the front.
Slightly apprehensive though her eyes were caught by the movement, Idril paced back. The glint in his dark eyes made her wary but she stood fast. She knew him, truly knew him, his heart. He would never harm her.
Still the elf neared her, his words an echo of the darkest night. "Cousin. Will you stubbornly keep to this farce, knowing what you know?"
Idril swallowed and lowered her eyes. That kiss, the utterly confusing feelings she had for him. She knew not herself what to make of it all, even after so much time alone to think. It was simply too preposterous.
And yet.
His features hardened further. "I have seen things deeper and darker than this, where I have been," he said, and Idril nearly gasped at the haunted veil cast over his eyes. "But, if you think to hide the foul truth behind feigned pretense, and that it is of no consequence, then you are more of a fool than I thought."
The maid stilled in disbelief at the words, at how crude he was being. "Maeglin, it happened but once, I hold you at no fault, nor do I wish to cast blame, on the contrary-"
Her words died on her lips as more scornful laughter resounded through the room.
"Tell me, sweet cousin, do you think that was a mere moment's fancy?" He had sworn himself to silence with regards to it all, but her insistence together with his bone weariness left him bare, his self control waning rapidly. "Can you even imagine what I have been through,-" he paused, the smile leaving his face, "all this time?"
Her eyes widened.
So it is true.
"Aye, Idril. You have no inkling of what is in my heart, my mind, do not presume that you do. Though, in a way I pray you never will," he added, now standing before her. A strong pale hand reached, gently caressing the side of her face.
The touch burned through her skin, but she dared not move.
"And that you can come to me in hopes of all being as it once was, by hedging me like a child ... Well, that is a fantasy of your own making, and one you must shed. Now leave me."
"How can you be so cruel?" the maid whispered.
He nearly laughed again at that. He was the cruel one. So be it. Looking back to Idril, he saw her eyes filling, her lip quavering, and in that moment he wavered.
All be damned, he wanted nothing more than to nestle her against him in an embrace, to feel her again, to beg her to hear his truth. But instead he swallowed the urge to soothe the pain he was causing and barred his heart. "Trust me, Idril, loss and death make good masters," he looked away from her. "Now go, lest you come to regret it."
Shaking at the unfairness of it all, Idril hesitated. But then his hand was on her arm, and he led her forcefully to the door though she did not struggle. He caught but a glimpse of her shattered features before throwing the door open and unceremoniously pushing the maid outside. He shut the door into her face before pressing his back against the heavy oak. He breathed deeply to regain his peace.
The elf regarded his surroundings, the echoes of battle still ringing in his ears. He looked to his dirty discarded armor.
He had been callous and cruel to the person who least deserved it. To the one he...
You love her.
Valar knew how many times he had dreamt of telling her. How the memory of her face and gentle voice alone kept him sane throughout this depleting war.
Despite it all, his resolve was still to steer clear of her now and forever. If only she knew, poor soul, how close he had been to taking her by the shoulders and throwing her onto his bed, to kiss her senseless for how much he had missed her.
Has she truly forgotten? He knew he would never forget her frightened eyes upon feeling his lips on hers, nor the shameful sting of her palm. Maeglin cursed in his mind as he proceeded to undress, removing his tunic and shirt altogether.
Lying onto his bed, the elf heaved a sigh. Callous. He had acted unfairly towards her. For innumerable moments he wallowed in regret. A few long hours passed when, still remorseful and unable to rest, he went to the bath chamber to refresh his body.
Once there he took an ewer and filled it with previously heated water before pouring it over himself. Eyes closing, he allowed the calming warmth to seep in. But as water trickled over his skin his mind betrayed him yet again. An image of her swam into vision, dancing before him in one of their wanderings. Where they spoke of all and nothing, simply content to be in each other's presence. All was still well between them.
Maeglin cursed. He had erred. He could have, nay, should have been kinder in his refusal of her presence. She was worthy of such. His manner had been truly orcish and now regret stung more than even the fresh bruises on his body.
I cannot let this stand.
And so before he had a change of heart Maeglin hastily dressed, and soon the sound of his booted feet echoed through the palace corridors.