Summary:
Silmarillion-based. Maeglin experiments with heterosexuality - in a way
that will dispose of the evidence - except it doesn't entirely go as
planned…
Story
Notes and Warnings: Set after the Nirnaeth Aenordiad but before Tuor comes
to Gondolin. Based on Tolkien canon. NC-17. Het,
rape, graphic sex, violence. Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: These characters and Middle-Earth are the copyright of the Tolkien estate and this fanfic is not meant to impose on that copyright or make a profit.
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After the joy in killing he had found at the Nirnaeth Aenordiad, if Maeglin encountered mortal Men in his illicit prospecting outside the valley of Gondolin, he slew them. It was his pride that he had mastered a party of as many as seven. Such they deserved, he thought, after seeing how the betrayal of Men had brought the Eldar low and stolen victory from them at the battle of the Nirnaeth. He brushed aside the fact that the sacrifice of mortal Hurin had been the saving of the host of Gondolin, for he had borne a long grudge against that particular Man. Nor did he distinguish between kinds of men; for were they not all doomed to die?
This
day, from a secure place, he watched a small party of mortals, two men and a
woman on a horse. She was no lady, though she rode; she was bound with gyves.
This evidence of thraldom amused Maeglin as he prepared to strike.
The
first Man was slain quickly, with surprise. The second one fought long and
fiercely, pleasing Maeglin well; he loved the way sword-play made him feel,
kindling his blood to burn and sharpening the world around him. But he had never
met a mortal man who could pierce his armour, nor withstand the malice of his
sword Anguirel. The way he died was ideal, knowing that he was downed and
mastered, thought Maeglin. He had lamed the man so thoroughly that the mortal
had fallen from the pain, and the he had watched aware as Maeglin slowly slit
his throat, then plunged the sword into it so that the blood spurted like a
fountain.
There
remained only the woman, cowering frozen between two rocks on the mountain-path,
ill-clad to flee, bruised from her scramble down from the horse. When he got a
closer look at her, Maeglin was startled. She was young enough to be tolerably
fair still, her cheeks fresh and smooth, her long black hair lustrous. Only her
smallness and her rounded ears, as well as the extra fullness of her bosom and
croup, gave her away as a mortal maiden. She was ill-clad for a mountain journey
in shimmering silks, and her legs were still hobbled by the heavy gyves. She
could not flee her holders, nor could she flee the one who had slain them, and
so she whimpered among the stones, saying pleading words that Maeglin could not
understand. He spoke no tongue of Men.
"Wretched
mortal! I shall slay thee now," said Maeglin. She did not seem to understand
him, either, looking up at him with a bewildered, tear-stained face. "Ignorant
brat," he added. She was a dead woman if he slew her, or if he had mercy upon
her, because there was no way he could equip her for escape from the mountain,
and the horse with the mortals' gear and food was fled.
As
he mulled over which would be crueller, a third option came to him, which no
unshadowed Elf would have contemplated, for it was a very wicked deed. Every Elf
knew that to be raped was to perish. That would be a fine way to kill this
snippet of humanity! Hadn't one of the elf-men who served him said to him the
other day that he ought to lie with a woman? The privacy of the situation
appealed to his pride. If he ever
laid with a maiden or widow of Gondolin, instead of pleasing himself with men as
young warriors might, word would filter back to Idril and she would think he had
set aside his devotion to her brightness. This slattern would do nicely, for she
would not live to give report to another. It would be fine practice for when he
finally conquered Idril. He reached down and dragged the girl to her feet by one
wrist, pulling her along stumbling behind him.
A
ways down the mountain-path where he had slain the Men, it dipped down into a
pass that had some sheltering caves. Maeglin drew the gasping girl into one of
these, then cast her down upon her back. Even then the foolish thing did not
seem to understand his intent, staring at him as if she had never seen an Elf
before. Perhaps she had not. By his own beauty, she might think him incapable of
darkness, come to save and spare her. He would soon show her better.
As
she lay staring, he flung himself on top of her, still cloaked and in his armour.
How small she was, and how soft! He took off one of his gauntlets to touch her.
Her skin was very tender, not at all like that of the hard elf-men with whom he
took his pleasures now. She seemed to melt beneath him, squirming a little like
a fox-kit. He stroked the long horse-tail of her hair, and that too was softer
than that of elf-men, surprising him. How much finer Idril would be, if this was
a mortal maid! He would not take his armour off, he was not that foolish - in
fact he dragged the two of them around so that he might watch the mouth of the
cave even as he took her. But he could still feel her full breasts flattened
beneath his chest-plate. When he shifted the pair of them, her breasts slid free
of her loose garments, which slithered down to her waist.
Balanced
above her, Maeglin felt her from her collar-bone to her loins. She did not shift
away, frozen with terror as he stroked and petted. Curious, Maeglin took one of
her nipples in her fingers, and twisted it. This made her shriek and writhe
back, but Maeglin did not let go, pinching harder instead. She continued to cry
out in desperate pain, shedding tears. "How weak you are!" said Maeglin, and
the girl heard the disapproval in his words and wailed in fear.
Maeglin slapped her small face. It would have been a mere love-tap
between elf-men, but it flung the girl back, and she raised both her hands,
trembling in desperation.
Maeglin
sighed in exasperated disgust. This girl would never endure his idea of sport.
It only proved the superiority of the Eldar, for the elf-women, while as
tempting as this mortal, would have greater strength to endure and heal. He
might as well take the wench and have done with her. It was easy to pin her down
with one hand and his legs. Maeglin released the most intimate plate of his
armour and lifted the edge of his ring-mail. Her sheer garments ripped easily.
He shivered at the sound; Idril was often clad in fine silks, and they might
tear thus. His victim did not try to free herself, but lay still and shaking,
eyes clenched shut. "Easy meat," hissed Maeglin, his cock hard in his hand
as he got ready to ram into her. He sought her opening, and gasped aloud at the
sensation that came to him when he stabbed in.
Between
her legs was the core of all the girl's tenderness, and she screamed thinly at
Maeglin's violation. Maeglin hardly heard her, although she shrilled in his
ears, so rapt was he at these unknown sensations. So easy to enter, even in
force! So hot and fluid! As tight as an elf-man's nethers, yet incredibly soft
and silky. Maeglin turned and bit her shoulder as he arched over her, thrusting
into her again and again. "You are no maiden, to be so ripe for the taking,"
Maeglin said. The girl shook her head from side to side, whimpering, whether in
pleasure of pain Maeglin could not tell. He hoped it was the latter, but could
not be sure, so he speared her hard, and harder again. This time he heard the
girl's shriek, and felt her try to scramble away, and was satisfied.
Maeglin
closed his eyes as he continued to thrust into her deeply. Her insides were
becoming even tighter around him, and less wet, as if pain reduced that
nectar-like moistness. He groaned at the thought that if this was the pleasure
given by a mere mortal wench, then taking Idril so would be a bliss supreme. For the first time in hundreds of years, Maeglin spoke as he
came. "Idril!" he cried out, and the girl he covered knew not if it was
praise or curse or even a proper word that he spoke.
Maeglin
pulled back and stood up. He watched her with anticipation as she backed up
against the cave wall, still sniffling, looking at him with glazed eyes. She was
bleeding between her legs. After a moment, he realized that her gaze, though
upset, was undimmed, and she showed no signs of imminently dying. He tilted his
head as he looked and waited, and the girl shivered again. Long minutes passed,
and still her cheeks were flushed with life. "Well, curse you to the very
depths of Angband, wench," said Maeglin. "Is it possible that being forced
is not the death of mortals? If so, how like beasts you are!" Maybe she would
crawl off later, and weep and perish when she felt her heart break? Maeglin
looked uneasily at the blood between her legs. Perhaps she would bleed to death?
Knowing little of women, he thought she would not bear a child, if she was
wounded there by his hard use.
Maeglin realized that he had only deferred his earlier choice; to slay the girl or abandon her to the cruel mountain wilds. He drew his sword, and weighed how the metal hummed in his hands, as if he took counsel from the blade. The girl covered her eyes with both arms and froze. With no word or sound of voice, he smote Anguirel upon the chain of the gyves that bound her legs, and the metal flew apart. She looked down astonished. "Go!" cried Maeglin, pointing at the mouth of the cave. "If you can live in these hard wilds, then you deserve your life. Go!" She did not move, so he turned and left instead, eager to return to Gondolin and look on Idril once again.
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