Last Dance

Mellow Soulmate AU.  The night before departure.  The night of goodbyes.  Quenya names used (Maglor = Makalaurë or Laurë).  This story is connected with "Blush", "Worst Day", "Villain", "Morals", "Hero", "Gloves" and "Pauses" among a multitude of others.  It would take too long to list them all, and I am rather tired at the moment.  Takes place in Tirion near the end of the Years of the Trees.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Maglor x Vardamírë (OFC)

Characters: Vardamírë (OFC), Maglor (mentions Manwë, Varda, Fëanor, Erestor and Ilession (OMC))

Warning: non-canon compliant, OFC warning, spontaneous children, a little bit sappy probably

Song: The Last Dance

Words: 1,119
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last (adjective): following all the rest; belonging to the final stage (as of life)
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/last
dance (noun): a series of rhythmic and patterned bodily movements usually performed to music
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/dance?show=0&t=1380766631

"You will be leaving in the morning."

They were alone in their bedchambers.  Vardamírë in her sheer nightgown and Makalaurë in his nightshirt, the pair staring at one another through the reflection of the silver mirror upon her vanity as she brushed her pale hair slowly.  Every few moments, she would glance toward him, take in his face, ashen in the striking light of the candles.

His hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, twisting. "You could come with me."

But he knew she wouldn't.

Knew that she did not want to abandon these shores for a mad quest led by his insane father.  Knew that she did not want him to throw away his life so recklessly for a prize he did not even desire.  Knew that she was angry that he had dragged her children into the fray, was pulling them toward disaster.

Knew that she was heartbroken and betrayed.

And now the silence lay heavily between them, broken only by their breaths and their awkward words.  What did one say, though, when they knew...

Knew that in the morning they would say goodbye...?

And not a fleeting goodbye, but a goodbye for decades.  For millennia.  For ages.

When would they come home?  When would she again hold her sons within the cradle of her arms?  When again would she hug her husband close and feel his presence resonate with her soul?

Would she ever feel again that bliss and security?

Or perhaps...

The thought of standing upon the shore forever, staring into the distance and praying to see their faces beneath white sails for eternity left her cold to the bone.  Left her stricken as though by a physical blow, that he would put her through this hell at the mere word of his father.  And for what, but a trio of glowing rocks and the head of the Dark Lord?

"I thought that, if given the choice, you would choose us... our family..."

It hurt.

But how long could she remain cold when she knew that her last chance was slipping away.  After tomorrow he would be gone.  Her sons would be gone.

Her life would be gone.

"But I cannot.  You know that..."  Know that a quest for vengeance and a war fought over vain greed were no place for a woman.  For a family.  For a vulnerability.

Her slow and steady brushstrokes faltered with the decisive crack in her words.  Finally, she turned to look at her mate where he sat perched upon the end of their bed, elbows braced upon his knees, head cradled in his hands, hair hanging in his face.  Makalaurë looked sleepless and haggard, his face drawn and lips blanched.

"I am sorry... so sorry..." Shattered in voice, she could hear how close he came to weeping in desperation.

Over the past few days he had repeated those words again and again, but to stubborn and cotton-filled ears. Always she had scoffed and turned her head away from his apologies, brushed away his despair and his fright.  After all, had he not brushed her aside just so?

Yet, this was their last night together.

Her last night as his wife.

I might never see him again.

If the quest of his father failed, Makalaurë could be lost to her for all time, locked away and damned to suffer forever in the cage of binding words.  In his own voice, he had spoken the Oath never to rest until revenge was claimed and the Silmarilli recovered, Manwë and Varda as his witness, and such words could not reneged or forsworn.

Could not be thrown aside.  Even for her.

Setting her brush aside, she rose to full height, her silken gown flowing around her calves as she moved.  As he watched her glide across the room upon silent feet.  Looked at her with those distraught eyes, circled with dark bruises from sleepless nights of turning toward her back and being ignored.

Vardamírë came to a halt before him, reached out and cupped his sharp cheekbones, tilted his head upward toward her gaze. "I know you are, Laurë."

Stroked his face tenderly and pulled his head against her breast, sliding her fingers into his loose, tangled hair. "I know..."

"So, so sorry..."

"Hush..." 

Carefully, she grasped his hands and lifted them upward.  Pulled him to his full height and wrapped her arms about his neck so that she might rest her face against his shoulder and hide in the blackness of his messy hair tumbling down.  So that she might hold him once more in the stillness and intimacy of their chambers, feeling every inch of his presence sliding against her body and mind and soul.

So that she might feel his arms about her waist, holding her close as they began to rock slowly, their forms melding taut to one another until every ripple and curve settled into place.  Like coming home for the very last time, their last dance in the dark and the quiet before the thunderstorm broke over their heads in a violent roar.

Like saying goodbye.

"Please, come back..."

About her, his arms tightened minutely.  A hand rose, stroking through her silvered hair and down her quaking back. "Hush, my love..."

"Please!"

A sigh ruffled her hair, washed over her forehead and her tear-stained cheeks. "We will meet again, Vardamírë.  After all, what am I without you but incomplete and empty?"

But how long... how long will I have to watch and wait...?

How long must I stand in silence, your reflection in the mirror vanished, dancing around the room with empty arms?

"Truly, I am sorry.  Sorry that I am putting you through such hardship.  Sorry that I have involved our children.  Sorry that I was such a coward..." Low and rough as crushed velvet were his syllables, strained and tormented.  "I should have been stronger.  Should have fought harder."

Should have put you first.

"But I love you.  More than anything.  Never forget that."

"I know..."

They came to a halt, and she lay against him with her eyelashes fluttering.  As though she were made of the finest blown glass, he lifted her and laid her down upon the bed, tucking her against his body as he settled beside her.  In a haze, she felt the tender kiss he pressed to her brow.  And then her nose.  And then her cheeks.  And then her lips.

"It will not be forever.  I promise.  I swear."

I will return.  And this shall not be our last dance.
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I am far too tired to write a proper AN for this story.  So sorry, once again.  This semester is a tough one for me, and I'm trying my best.

Anyway, I'll get right to the point.  Song = The Last Dance by Within Temptation.  Obvious.  This is just what came to mind when I was tasked with this strange prompt, and I think it's sweet and sad all at once.  Damn dramatic irony.

That is all.  I need sleep.  Like now.