A/N: *M rating peeks out to greet everyone* Hi, and this is where the AU nature of this spirals out of control. Warning, incest themes and all that.
Reaching the door to her own chambers, the elf hesitated. Make your peace, then leave. He knocked twice. No sound could be heard from within and nothing stirred. Just as he was about to retrace his steps, the door slowly opened to reveal a tear streaked face. Idril was gaping at him, her face questioning.
"May we speak?" the dark haired elf tried, his face remorseful at her state.
Wordlessly she bid him enter. Maeglin heard her bolt the door behind them.
Once inside, he wavered. He turned to the maid, both facing each other for a time in the ensuing quietude. Then Idril turned her back on him and went to sit on the edge of her bed, her arms folded in her lap, her eyes lowered.
He sighed. "So much death, Idril." He went to her window and more silence fell between them.
"I worried for you," said the maid, her eyes unfocused.
Of course she would. "It seems all I do is ask for forgiveness these days," the elf said as to himself, his gaze lost to the stars. The same stars which now shone over the lifeless remnants of their kin on the field of Anfauglith. He tried not to dwell on it all any longer, as he surely would either way, for the rest of his days. "You were not mistaken, in your first impression of me," he broke the silence anew.
Idril looked to him in askance.
"Long ago," he supplied at her questioning glance. "There is indeed a darkness within me. Endlessly devouring my sense, my spirit. Leading me to ever desire that which... which I can never, should never have." He approached then in slow steps and knelt before the maid, who sat still and followed his gaze. "You." And as he said the word a deep guilt and shame shone through his eyes.
Idril started when he bowed his head into her lap.
"A wicked need," the dark haired elf repeated endlessly, both a plea and prayer to his shattered sense. "I tried to keep you away, hurt you as I did. I regret it, though there is nothing to redeem me, and nothing I can do to change the way I feel."
Idril regarded him, the raven haired prince so humbly strung at her feet. Defeated he stood with his head resting on her knees, his hair flowing in nightly waves about him, his arms come wrapped around her legs.
"I never asked for this," he whispered into her lap, his eyes tightly shut, lost in the closeness of her. One he thought he would never feel again until they had at last seen the first gate.
And she felt it all. His heartbeat against her and the smothered desire, burning bright and menacing. Hesitatingly she placed her hands on him, running them soothingly through a curtain of night.
He held her tighter, reveling in the caress of her fingers as they continued their gentle motion.
"Believe me, Idril, please believe me I never wanted to... how could I? But then the more I saw of you, knew of you, the more it gripped me. And I tried to do away with it all. I tried looking to another."
Idril stiffened. "Caniel, " the maid whispered.
He nodded reluctantly. "But I could not... and I hurt her as well. This, is strong. Idril, forgive me..." he repeated, half expecting her to draw away, perhaps in renewed anger or disgust.
But she did neither. "Please do not torment yourself so. I am beyond relieved you are here, safe," she said instead, and still smoothed his hair, so soft under her fingertips.
The maid said this as she knew how much he needed her now, and she could not be cruel. And would she not be a liar to turn from him, when she so craved his closeness more than any time she recalled? The maid closed her eyes at the desperate entreaty of his fingers digging into the sides of her hips.
And they stood so for many moments, she tortured by his nearness, he drowning in his longing.
Maeglin opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head, regarding her through coal black depths.
So weary and hopeless he appeared, and Idril saw the reflection of all that she felt in those eyes, the unspoken confession amidst turbulent seas of guilt. It scared her. But it also called to her.
"I love you," he admitted, eyes boring into hers, and though his voice broke he could no longer keep from telling her. A part of him dwelt on the precipice and the moment the fateful words were said Maeglin hoped his kin would again be the wiser. That Idril would scorn this as she had done the first time, crush this dark need ere it devoured him.
But nothing of the kind passed. All he felt were her small hands on his face, soothingly lingering upon his brow, ghosting his jaw.
He closed his eyes as Idril reached and gently began to unbraid one of his plaits. She removed the silver thread from his hair, fingers spreading long silky locks so they fell freely over his shoulders.
His heart began hammering in his breast in realization that she was performing the task done by spouses of those returning from battle. He then watched her with bated breath as she worked.
How could she have been so blind? All this time, he had tried to shield them both from the unnatural pull he felt towards her.
Unnatural?
Was any living being ever able to make or bend a choice in whom they came to love? And did she not stand here, unable to retreat from him? Why?
"You are so quiet," Maeglin spoke sadly, lost to her motions. Though her silence at his confession tore at him, her light fingers continued to soothe. These lingering ministrations, her scent, the look of craving in her eyes curtailed his resolve to speak his truth and leave. Instead the elf felt all he strove to keep at bay coming to the surface akin to a great and perilous wave, crashing against the shores of his mind, his heart; the full depths of a strong and selfish urge from beyond boundaries of reason.
At first the elf rose to one knee, eyes never leaving hers as his hands came placed on either side of her.
His desperate wanting expression should have made her reject and flee him, she knew. But the maid could do nothing but watch entranced as he steadily closed the distance between them. And his eyes kept her still, mesmerizing in their intensity; shoulders unyielding against hers until Idril felt him so close their lips nearly touched.
She closed her eyes, feeling the silk of his mouth seeking hers. She allowed him to explore. It felt... better than she remembered, if the flickers of light surging through her lower body were any sign. She drew from him gently and further onto the bed, coming to lie on her back as he slowly followed, trapping her in a light and hesitating embrace. Idril felt the caress of his midnight tresses over her neck and face, shielding them from the outside world. His weight upon hers felt better than she ever thought it would.
"You should not allow this," he tried with fear in his voice, drawing closer to lips he longed to feel again; his eyes were half closed at the delirious warmth of her. "If you tell me to leave, I will." Their breathing mingled in shallow gasps, his hand caught in her golden hair.
She watched him for a long while in silence.
"Idril," he hedged, pressing the side of his face to hers. "Tell me, command me to leave."
But the pained desire Idril felt radiating from him was her own. He has lived through a war. He was safe for now but there was no telling where life would take him. Where it would take them.
"I do not want you to," came a whisper so faint only elven ears could discern it.
His eyes snapped open in short disbelief. And what he saw beckoned to him, throwing the last remnants of control to the wind. It was unbelievable, but he saw... need? He felt it from her, bright and deep. He pressed his lips to hers again. Her taste caused his heart to tumble and smolder then burst into flame, and as a blessing he felt her lips timidly move against his.
Despite all manner of reason urging the opposite, she clutched at his tunic and fully melded her mouth to his. A kiss suffused with wanton desire and the misery of loss. Though briefly confused the elf obligingly opened his lips to her. His own Vala, and he worshiped her more than he ever did they.
His hand came under her and trailed down her arching back as he deepened the kiss, each following the other languidly, patiently tasting in turn.
Idril felt such overwhelming power in the way he trapped her. His touch was soft yet pleasingly firm, and so fey the maid was steadily being swept by the tide. And what a tide it was. Nimble hands moved to unfasten the seams of his dark tunic, revealing a silken shirt.
Maeglin looked upon her, so flushed and fair and willing. Driven by desire alone he pressed his lower body to hers, wringing a weak humming he never heard before. He felt slender legs wrap around his hips. Their lips barely touching now they stood motionless, confusion and joy mingling.
Nothing save her could deter him. So far gone he was, aching for her, all of her and hands gently slid the dress from her shoulders, delighting in her shiver. Lips gliding from hers, he reveled in her scent until her dress revealed two tender peaks. He longed to hear more of those new and lovely sounds from her, and dared to softly nip each mound of flesh in turn, his mouth lingering and warm.
The maid pressed his head to her chest, her breathing become quick and shallow. Somewhere on the fringes of her mind Idril knew this had to cease, it was against the laws of their kind and against what she had ever imagined of love. But he burned so bright, needful and lost in her arms.
"Maeglin," she cooed, feeling his tongue glide along the side of her neck.
"Anything," he breathed, tilting her chin to him for another taste.
"We cannot wed," Idril managed, a sliver of reason fighting its way into her. "We cannot..."
His kiss stilled and Idril felt the pressure of him lessen. He drew away and made to release her, rising on his forearms. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "Gratitude." Once more she had saved them both. With a pained sound Maeglin rolled onto his back, taking steady breaths to regain himself.
He felt her curling against him, slight and warm. Her head came to rest on him, one bared leg gently placed over his thigh. As Idril did so he gasped when her knee brushed him, and she noticed. He was still so wound and ready, and she wished more than anything that they had continued.
"Stay with me," she pleaded, bringing herself as much into him as she could.
"That is unwise," he said absently, his senses partly regained now. But he could not trust himself in her presence, and to both his delight and dread, now neither of them could.
The maid closed her eyes, the small hand over his chest gripping his shirt. Oh but now she knew. She desired him. Just as much as he did her, and now Idril saw a glimpse of what he must have been through. If one night of longing hurt with such intensity how much harm had all the rest done?
"Oh Maeglin, I did not know," she murmured against him.
"I failed to keep you away from this. The blame is mine. I did try fighting it, but it consumes me," the raven-haired elf finished voicing the truth he had always feared to tell her. His arm then came strongly around her, bringing the maid even closer. Fingers then moved along her side, over sumptuous curves. Lips parted, eyes closed, he committed the feel of her to memory.
"You will stay, will you not?" she asked, her face buried into his side.
He smiled as if a great mountain had crumbled away from his chest. "Do I have the semblance of a choice?"
They wrapped themselves together, each enmeshed in their own strain of thought. It was long before rest came, and too soon dawn graced the east and their figures with its golden beauty.