Revenge

Canon compliant AU.  So ends the passion of Maeglin Eölion.  And so begins the seduction.  Obviously names are never mentioned, but you should easily be able to guess who plays the other "voice" doing all the convincing.  This piece is, of course, directly related to "Passion" and also related to "Urban", "Erratic" and "Loveless", thus also the Cleansed arc.  Takes place in an unknown location in the First Age just before the destruction of Gondolin.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: one-sided Maeglin x Idril, Tuor x Idril

Characters: Maeglin, Sauron (mentions Idril, Tuor, Eöl, Aredhel and Turgon)

Warning: canon-compliant, obsessive behaviors, non-graphic torture and hints of non-con, mental instability, psychological torture and manipulation, fantasies of murder

Song: Breathe Into Me

Words: 1,251
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revenge (noun): an act or instance of retaliating in order to get even; an opportunity for getting satisfaction
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/revenge?show=0&t=1382666659

Hopelessness was a dangerous fiend.

Certainly, Maeglin had experienced its clawed grip before, digging ragged, gaping wounds into his fragile inner core as he was dragged down and down into an ocean of suffering.  But not like this.  Never like this.

No one will come to find you.  No one cares for your fate, son of the dark elf.

He could picture them in his mind's eye so clearly.  His father's scornful sneer aimed toward his terrified offspring as he was dragged, chained and writhing, toward the cliff that would catalyze his demise.  His mother's blank eyes, open and staring off over his shoulder from her slack, pale face, frozen in death.  His uncle's flat stare shredding through all the shields and protections he had scraped together in the face of the unknown, so stern and uncompromising, so lacking in affection and understanding.

And then there was her.

Her and her laughter.  Her and her smiles.  Her and the soft touch of her fingers through his hair and across his shoulders.

Her and her frowns.  Her and her dark eyes as she turned away.  As she walked into the open arms of another man, spitting back resentful words of rejection and disgust, knowing that Maeglin loved her as a husband loves a wife and not as a cousin loves his uncle's daughter.

And her husband looking over her shoulder, so smug and satisfied.  Gloating in his eyes as his hands slid over that graceful curve of her spine...

No, they would not come for him.  In fact, they might be rejoicing even as he hung here, blood-soaked and wracked with indescribable pain, for this way they did not have to see him, feel his presence.  No longer would he be the inconvenience to his uncle who hated seeing the features of his sister's murderer upon his nephew's face.  No longer would he be the frightening phantom haunting his lovely cousin, hoping beyond hope that she would abandon her affection for her rugged, rude and aging mortal and see how deeply he truly cared for her and longed for her and needed her.

See how much he loved her.  With every breath he possessed.  With every thought that slithered through his mind.  All for her.  For her.

And she did not care.

She loved that mortal.

"If thou dost tell me what I want to know, I can give her to thee..."

"No..." They had already tried this trick.  But he would not fall for it.  No matter that his will to resist was slowly dwindling with the increasing pain and humiliation and bitter disappointment, he was not a traitor and he would not prove them right in their distrust and disdain...

But the growing of fury itched and burned beneath his flesh.  That they would do this to him.  That they would abandon him.  Were they not supposed to be his family?

Even his father would not have done something so despicable...

"Perhaps he was right about them, the Golodhrim..."

Perhaps he was right that they were traitorous and murderous, cold-blooded beings with cold star-eyes interested only in their own greed and pleasure...

But was his mother not of that people?  She had loved him... perhaps been the only person to ever truly love him... Could she really be...?

"But in the end she ran away.  Broke thy father and shattered the remains of thy family beneath the soles of her boots.  Did she not, little one?"

It was hard to imagine his father being anything but the powerful, uncompromising and scathing creature forged of iron and flame that he had been, but Maeglin knew that he loved his wife.  It was painfully obvious to anyone who dared take a second glance at the odd pair and their strange cross-cultural relationship.

And she had run off without a word.  Without a backward glance.  Knowing that he would follow.  Knowing that he would be hurt and suffering.

Had she not loved him back?

Like Idril did not love him back?  Was no amount of devotion enough?

"Idril Celebrindal does not want thee and thy devotion.  She does not desire thy love and affection.  She only desires to fulfill her own lusts..."

No... he would never...

"Never what?  Spurn genuine love for the sake of her attraction to a fleeting mortal man who, in a mere handful of years, will abandon her for death's doors?"

Maeglin shuddered.

"Perhaps thou shouldst how her the true meaning of rejection... of loneliness..."

He did not want to torment her, but the idea would not remove itself from his mind.  Her dark looks filled with revulsion whenever she glanced at his face.  Her soft laughter mocking him from a distance as she kissed and twined with her husband in full view, knowing he watched wistfully at a distance.

The vindictive pleasure he imagined in her eyes when she turned to gaze upon his form--hunched in pain and aching at heart--uncaring that she was torturing him slowly to fading...

Only Maeglin was not ready to give up.

"Dost thou not see?  Take away that which she loves more than anything.  Have thy revenge upon thy love and her husband and her father.  Kill the king and take his throne to avenge thy fallen kin.  Kill Tuor and his son, claim the woman who rightfully is thine and let her know the pain she has brought upon thee..."

The touch of fingers across his bare flesh was soothing and cool.  No pain or humiliation followed their presence.  Only cold breath against his ear and the fall of golden silk down his back.

"Tell me what I wish to know and I will give thee all thou dost desire..."

Tuor's lifeless body spread in blood and gore across the cobbled streets, eyes wide with horror and realization of defeat...

Turgon upon his knees, pleading for mercy and holding false kinship in hopes of survival, though his crown was thrown down and his body broken...

Idril weeping in understanding as she beheld the bodies of her husband and son and father, slaughtered by the invaders, her swaying form held firm by Maeglin's arms as he embraced her tight to his chest.  Pretended to play the savior...

And yet silently whispered with his eyes...

"This is what you have done to me.  And thus shall it be done to you, my love..."

And, in the background, his father's face, for once proud, shone.  For he had claimed the vengeance rightfully his through blood.  This was where he belonged, standing above these wretched betrayers and kinslayers, these heartless, sinful creatures...

All above the pain, he saw this vision.  Felt his insides tremble with a paroxysm of power-induced adrenaline and nearly carnal pleasure when the images flooded his senses.  And if they were but a figment of his imagination, conjurations of dark magic, he cared not in that moment.

His family--his kin and his people--had abandoned him, never loved him...

Never even cared for him, a son of their House and their blood...

And he would show no mercy or sympathy in return.  Only give them their just deserts.

"Tell me... tell me what you wish to... to know..."

Against his ear, the mouth smiled.  Hands crawled over his body, driving away the agony until he sank into limp numbness.  Into utter relief.

"Just tell me where to find the Hidden City..."