House of the Setting Sun by Robinka

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House of the Setting Sun

Mablung and Melian belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

My endless thanks to Rhapsody for her invaluable help, beta-reading and encouragement. Thank you!

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Love is a wild animal.
It breathes you, it looks for you.
It nests upon broken hearts. (...)

You fall into its trap.
It stares into your eyes
Spellbound when its gaze hits you.

(Rammstein, "Amour")

He knew that the end was near. If he hadn't seen the tragedy, he would nevertheless have sensed it coming. Yells full of menace were followed by a lone outcry filled with pain and wrath, and then everything grew gravely silent. But he had more than his own fate to consider in the dusk of the kingdom that he had once sworn to protect with his blood.

She was absent, spiritually so. Her always-shining eyes had lost their divine gleam when he looked upon her. It appeared to him that she was getting older, like the women of the Secondborn. To see her sit immobilized by her lost love was the greatest pain he had ever felt.

"My queen?" he dared ask in a whisper. There was no response, save for a tremor that coursed through her body.

Melian hadn't moved when the sentinels had come to take the king's lifeless body and bury him with honor in the deepest tomb of Menegroth. Nor had she blinked when his wardens removed the dwarves' carcasses and set out after those who had fled from the treasury. She hadn't seemed to even breathe when he came back with the Nauglamír and gently placed it in her lap. Now, he stood beside her with his head bent. His hands itched to take hold of her fragile shoulders and help her out of the treasury, to help her get back to life. But he knew it was uncalled for.

"My power is gone," she whispered and lifted her eyes to his face. "I am no longer your queen, Mablung the ever faithful."

His heart lurched at her words, spoken in a barely audible voice. They were seemingly powerless, yet they had the ability to make his stomach knot and his eyes mist.

"My queen, I am forever your servant," he assured her.

"You do not have to be one now," she replied, and with a shaky hand she covered the Nauglamír, enclosing her slender, now osseous, fingers over its light, not daring to touch the hated jewel. He noticed that, and the anger that had been slowly rising in him now came close to venting. Mablung turned his back to Melian and glared at the polished wall, which glistened in the candlelight.

"You must let them know," Melian said quietly.

"Yes, my lady," he answered flatly. "I will set out immediately."

"No." Her voice sounded firmer. "You will guard it. I trust no one but you."

"Yes, my lady," he muttered in response and bowed his head. Then, he turned to her and placed his hand over his heart. "I will. You have my word."

She only inclined her head, letting her unbound hair, which was turning grey, fall and cover her face in shadow. Yet he could see her lips quiver in a voiceless whisper, as if she was casting a spell on the ill-starred necklace.

"My queen?" he asked.

"You may leave now, Mablung." She raised her head, sighing lightly.

He didn't refuse, knowing that she wouldn't speak to him any longer even if he stayed against her will. Mablung wouldn't show her disrespect by remaining in the cavern even though he wanted to keep her company. She was the one he preferred to guard, not that glittering bane. To him she was the jewel of Doriath, its joy and might, now fading and scared each time anyone else drew near her.

Yet she had the right to mourn in the way she wished, he thought and left the treasury, letting his weary hand rest on the hilt of his sword. He was dirty, blood-covered and tired, but the time to rest hadn't yet come, and Mablung was well aware it might not come at all. Not that he really cared, for his eyes had seen much. They might as well wait a little longer before he let them shut. Mablung's thoughts drifted back to the queen. What had she said to him? He recalled her words, and the realization cut him like a razor.

With scant regard for his own weariness, Mablung briskly turned on his heels and ran back to the chamber, where the queen was sitting and staring with her dull eyes at the puddle of Thingol's blood on the floor.

"My queen?" he called out, catching his breath sharply at the vision of her. Her face resembled a delicate page in a book thinned by ages and fingertips and was now covered with wrinkles. The skin of her neck, loosened by unseemly aging, rippled with every breath she took and every clench of her throat as she swallowed tear after tear. Love crippled her.

Melian sent him an impassive look when he stopped abruptly and fell down to his knees in front of her.

"What is happening to you, my queen?"

"I am leaving," she said and smiled. Tears streamed down her once noble face, twinkling like the waters of the Esgalduin at dawn when the sun, waking up, would look at its own reflection mirrored in the river's endless surface.

"This cannot be!" Mablung protested weakly, pressing his hands together. "You cannot leave your people behind. My lady, if... I am begging you, please, by all that you hold dear..."

"Enough." Melian gestured. "There is nothing for me here."

"Do not leave your children, my lady."

"And will you, my brave Mablung, refuse me the right to go away now when I still possess an ounce of the dignity I once had? Of course, you will not. Because you love me and you loved your king. Yes, my time has come." She reached out and trailed her hand along the tangled braid on his head, then let it fall back into her lap and onto the necklace. "I do not belong here. And I doubt I ever have."

"Why are you saying this?" Mablung couldn't understand. "You are our queen. You will be as long as Arda remains, until the end of days!"

"My dear Mablung," Melian whispered. "I bound myself to Arda by giving my hand in marriage to Elwë. Now he is no more and I..." Her voice broke. Mablung drew close and took hold of her hands.

"I have lost my power over the land." Melian uttered a quiet sob. "Even though I might not have lost my power over the hearts of my people."

"You will never lose it, my lady," Mablung answered.

Melian's head dropped to the side, and he knew her vital strength was leaving her. It was too early.

"Your hands are cold," Mablung told her.

"Yes, it is getting chilly here," she said and didn't object when he lifted them both to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss on her paper-like skin.

"Let me take you to your chambers, my queen," Mablung offered while getting up. She looked at him, heart-wrenchingly sorrowful and helpless, but said no word and nodded almost imperceptibly.

When Mablung walked along the dim corridor with Melian tucked in the warm circle of his arms, she seemed lighter with each step he took. She weighed less than a leaf that danced in the air on a windy day. With a grim look upon his face, Mablung strode fast, fearing that she might vanish if he didn't hurry.

"There is so much life in this body," Melian whispered while placing a hand on his chest, and in her other hand she clutched the Nauglamír as though it was the last thread of her own life. "Soon... You must let them know... You must stay."

"I will not let you down, my queen," he replied, not knowing whether she wanted to hear any response. "I will save you."

"You already have, Mablung," Melian issued. "By letting me do what I wish. You have my endless thankfulness."

Mablung couldn't find a proper reply to that. His mouth suddenly went dry and his tight throat didn't let him breathe.

Melian was mistaken. He hadn't yet accepted her wish. Would he trade his life for hers? he mused bitterly as he was nearing their destination, and the echo of his steps banged at his ears as loud as thunder. Would he dishonor himself in her eyes?

As if reading his mind, she inhaled with a whistle and muttered, "No."

The door to Melian's chamber stood open, yet it was far from inviting, as if the chill had crept over here and taken into its possession everything she owned. Mablung entered and, pushing dark thoughts aside, kicked the door shut, turning to the right and then heading to the bedchamber.

"You may let me go," she suggested softly. "I can walk to my own bed."

Ignoring Melian's request, Mablung tenderly sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt on one knee before her. A smile rewarded him.

"Finally insubordinate," Melian rebuked him good-naturedly. "Thank you."

"My lady." He bowed and rose.

"Be at peace," she said. "Go now."

Pain mixed with rage traversed through his chest, but Mablung swept a deep bow once again and stepped back to the doorway. When he tried to pull at the doorknob, his fingers clawed it in a wobbly grip and slipped down weakly. He exhaled.

"If it depended on my say," he began quietly, dropping his gaze to the hand that seemed to have no strength to return to the doorknob, "I would not allow you to leave. But you, my queen, must do what your heart is telling you. Know this, my lady: I would not give my consent to further ruin what you once loved so much. It hurts to see you give into this sorrow. It will hurt to see my home fall. Without you, it is likely that we will soon face our doom. I did not think it would ever come. Yet it will."

"Your words are harsh, but spoken out of affection and loyalty."

"Yes."

"I forgive you."

"I needed to tell you that, my queen." Mablung accented the last words by turning back to Melian and rapidly moving closer to where she sat. "Forgive my selfishness and disrespect."

"There is nothing untoward in your attitude," Melian answered.

"The curse of this..." Mablung again fell to his knees before her and stared at the Silmaril, which glimmered with sparks. "It has power over us. It destroyed... It keeps on bringing beauty to debris. It might once have been pure, I cannot deny, but after the blackness poisoned it the purity could never arise again. The hand of its creator..."

"Stop, Mablung. I beg you," Melian implored.

"...planted his madness in it and the hand of its thief infected it with reckless greed. The shadow spread its net, entangling us as well. Shall we get rid of it, my queen?" Mablung kept on muttering in a fever and narrowed his eyes, which made the light blur his vision. "Shall we simply give them back what they want so that their fate will be forever fulfilled? It would be so easy. It has always been. You must have known it from the very beginning."

His hand rose as of its own accord and wandered through the air above the Nauglamír, hovering over it for a moment. But Mablung grasped Melian's hand instead, and her breathing stopped. Clenching his other around the necklace, he picked it up.

"It has no light now. Can you not see? It tumbled into shadow, having stolen everything from you, my lady. Love, life, and..."

"My love is not lost," she murmured. "It sleeps soundly, forever composed in the breathing of the woods of Nan Elmoth. I will cherish the memories of it and of the Light."

Mablung dropped the Nauglamír to the floor.

"I have not seen the Light of the Trees." He turned his face away. "I refuse to believe it is enclosed in the jewel. It has its home in you. In your eyes."

"It did."

"It still does."

"Yes..." Melian agreed. Her hand softly touched Mablung's face.

He shifted and pressed his lips involuntarily to the inside of her palm, as if his body were reacting independently. To him it seemed that it had its own will, seeking the weak hope that he was craving for so desperately. Melian's lips quivered lightly.

A tear that forced its way from underneath Mablung's closed eyelid sunk into her palm. Melian removed her hand and fisted it, and when she opened it, the drop shone like a small diamond. Mablung gasped and looked up at Melian's face.

Her head slowly bent as she leaned forward. Mablung's heart raced.

"Behold the Light," Melian breathed.

Their lips touched in a light dab, soft like the caress of a snowflake upon one's face, and Mablung pulled back to look into Melian's eyes. They twinkled with bright sparks and warmth, gradually changing their shade in the glimmering light of the torches in the chamber. There was not a single wrinkle to be seen around them, and Melian was again the personification of youth and beauty. Mablung gaped at her astounded, and his hand rose to gently brush her chin and cheek, trailing up to her forehead. He was touching her disbelievingly, expecting her to be only a product of his imagination. But she didn't disappear as he feared. She smiled sweetly and leaned in for another kiss.

Mablung returned the caress with hesitance and tenderness so as not to scare the beautiful vision that graced him with her attention and not to offend her, though a voice in his mind screamed at the inappropriateness of what was occurring. Spellbound by Melian's sudden change, he gave in and kissed her, letting his lips nip hers and his hand stroke her hair. It was an enchanting, blood-warming feeling, but it was forbidden to him and, in spite of all its sweetness, undignified. Mablung removed his hand and ran a finger down Melian's cheek.

"No..." he murmured. "It is not happening."

Her lips seemed to drink the words that he was issuing right against them. Melian retreated an inch away from him and whispered, "No, it is not."

"Then why am I on fire?" he asked.

"Because you want to be," Melian replied. Her head nested into his shoulder, face turned to his neck, and her breathing fluttered against his skin like the wing of a moth.

"My queen, I..."

"Shhh." She put her fingers flat across his quivering lips. "There is nothing you can do, Mablung."

He trailed both his palms up her arms and took a tender hold of them as he pulled back and then pushed her gently away from him, sitting back on his calves. A moment later, he raised himself up, pulling her with him so that they stood facing one another. Still, his fingers held her arms, letting her make no motion save for placing her both hands on his chest. Mablung looked down at them and then at her face.

"This is magic," he uttered.

"Call it whatever you wish," she answered, leaning in. "Call it a farewell, a dream, an unspoken promise, or a never-fulfilled request, Mablung. It will make no difference, for the sun has to set."

"It will, my lady," he protested as he drew her closer and encircled her slender, willowy shoulders with his arms. "Nothing will be the same, ever again."

She sighed, trustingly sagging into his embrace, as if searching for a tiny bit of comfort, albeit fake, yet so alluring in its elusiveness.

Mablung rested his cheek on the top of her head, marveling at the softness of her hair. She was intimidating, distant and familiar at the same time, not his and yet not anyone else's, but he cared little.

"Give me the strength to go away, Mablung," Melian pleaded.

"My lady, I would never..."

She took him totally by surprise, forcefully pulling away with a flashing speed and pressing her lips to his in a demanding kiss. Mablung's breathing stopped for one moment in a flickering panic. He couldn't believe there was still so much strength and passion in her, but he eagerly responded by claiming her lips and wrapping an arm around her slim form. His hand heated the small of her back, making her cling to him in a promising arch.

"And I will give you the light you have always sought for," Melian whispered into his mouth.

"I have never..." he started to explain himself, but her finger landed across his trembling lips.

"I know."

Shuddering from delight, Mablung forgot about the dreadful reality. Pain and rage, anxiety and sorrow, these were all pushed deep into the darkest corner of his mind. He knew it might haunt him later, but he would accept that. For now, there was only Melian, fair, pliant, and yearning for his touch, wreathed in the silky mist of her light-blue gown, which was now the only thing keeping him from admiring her nakedness. Asking himself whether he really wanted her and immediately answering his own question, Mablung reached down and grasped a handful of the smooth fabric to push the gown upward. She shivered in his embrace and welcomed his attention with another possessive kiss, which he accepted without flinching.

I might well be doomed to dwell in misery, Mablung thought in the last flush of sobriety before he dove into the kisses that made his excitement rise to an unknown level. Later, he would despair over the theft of a forbidden fruit, a fleeting moment of true craziness in the madness that had exploded around them. Will I be crushed under the unbearable heaviness of remorse? he wondered briefly, but the taste of Melian's lips quickly wiped the unwanted thought away. The touch of her naked skin under his fingers caused him to shift away from her. His breathing twitched and whistled in his knitted throat.

"Mablung?" Melian's voice sung in his ears.

Instinctively, he tightened his arm around her and put his cheek against her forehead. There were so many things he would love to tell her now while she was in his arms, helpless like a castaway. He decided that no more words were necessary at the moment. A tender kiss followed and he took a step back.

"Yes, my queen?"

"Love me, please, right here, right now." She slipped from his arms to pull on the fastenings of her gown, letting the silk fall from her shoulders to the floor. "Turn this unfriendly darkness into satin."

He kissed her forehead, slowly descending lower to her now closed eyes, then her slightly parted lips. Their noses dusted each other; foreheads met. His hands traveled up her arms, sending pleasurable shivers down his spine and making her lean against him. Mablung didn't need any more encouragement as he felt her bare skin tingling under his fingertips. A jolt of need thrilled his body and held the air in his lungs for a brief moment. His eyes locked onto hers, and she smiled while tilting her head. He bent to taste her mouth, but stopped his face an inch before.

The tip of her tongue swept her lips with anticipation.

The timid touch of her lips set him aflame within a blink of an eye, yet Mablung restrained his lust. Now all that he wished was not to hurry, and she made the light caress last, as if she was sensing his thoughts. Yet her lips trembled in a flush of desire. Lingering along the rosy skin, his mouth claimed hers with unexpected reverence.

She surrendered to his guidance, inhaling his scent, bringing herself fully against his mouth, melting, demanding a response, shivering, touching, nipping, nibbling on his lips, licking the corners of his mouth, moistening them with the tip of her tongue. There was too much to withstand.

Sorrow danced with hunger, this shame deeply hidden by an overwhelming lust, and the choices in the nook of his mind were now completely forgotten. The moment he felt her tongue tease his, nothing else mattered. Regret seemed to fly away only to return with double force, and Mablung decided silently to defy it with eagerness.

Their mouths and tongues drew wet ornaments of passion, boldly tasting each other; overtaken by their yearning, their hands roamed to memorize the contours of their bodies. Mablung cupped her cheeks with his palms as Melian sucked his lower lip into her mouth, wrapping her arms around him.

Mablung broke off the kiss and lifted Melian by tightening his arm around her waist. She bent her knees and knelt on the mattress when he took a step closer to the edge of the bed. Mablung released her and watched her flushed face, then swept his gaze downward. She was ethereal, pale and soft; her curves were gently pronounced and tapering down to her slim waist, which merged into her broad hips. He had to admit he was fascinated. But he was also confused to the last fiber in his being.

"I am not sure... I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to proceed," he stuttered uncertainly.

Melian inclined her head to the left and only smiled in response.

She was careful when she slowly unbuckled his jerkin and unfastened the laces of his shirt. Mablung stood still, drinking in the whispers and rustling of the fabric, closing his eyes when her fingertips dusted his bare skin. A heavy piece of his clothing fell to the floor with a dull thud when Mablung shrugged it off his shoulders, at the same time unclasping his belt. It rang against the stone floor when it followed the jerkin, but his shirt only soughed as it floated down. Bare-chested, he dared to open his eyes and cast a glance at Melian, as if to reassure himself that she was still here kneeling in front of him, anticipative and his for this one time. Mablung knew that only their bodies would be united, but her spirit wouldn't become one with his. It was a simple fact, yet he struggled to accept it. There would be no eternal bond, no bells that would announce the ineradicable commitment, no endless joy of sharing one another in a spiritual way. The bond of souls was not his destiny, and this actual act of lust and submission was only a substitute, delightful but bitter in its severity. The act of bonding was an experience for which he had always hoped for, but one he would never achieve. It would be cut before it became tied.

Defiance seemed of no use, Mablung decided silently as Melian reached to undo the ties of his breeches, and he stopped her gently by pushing her hands to her sides. She sat on her calves and waited with her head slightly bent. Her hair obscured her beautiful face. He slid his breeches past his hips and took off his boots, tossing them beside the bed, and stood naked before the queen. At that moment, a new Mablung was born. She looked up, and then her eyes wandered downward appreciatively. Mablung saw no sign of rejection in her gaze, only a pure trust and devotion that confused him even more. He hadn't ever been, if he remembered correctly, the object of a female's interest thusly expressed. Her boldness heated his blood and caused warm pink to color his cheeks. Melian smiled again.

Mablung held out his hand and cupped the side of Melian's face, gently pressing up until she looked into his eyes. No word passed between them in their silent acceptance and invitation of the other's willingness.

Melian raised her hand and took hold of his. For a moment, he feared that she had decided to back down, and the fright made his hair rise on his nape. He could restrain his desire, he told himself firmly, but the truth was he didn't want to. He wanted to give himself to her even if she had little to offer in return. But she didn't do what he expected she would do. With a delicate move, she only rubbed her cheek along the inside of his palm, tangling her fingers with his, and planted a soft kiss onto his knuckles before she ran their hands down to her left breast and allowed him to cover it. Mablung shivered at the feeling of her soft skin and the hardness of her nipple when he brushed with his thumb. He knew that she was about to lead him, to guide him through the first and the last chance to share his body with her. A sly smile curved his lips while a shiver ran down his spine that waned somewhere in the lower part of his back. The next moment, he felt a light sting, a prickling feeling that surged through his stomach.

Her fingers carefully explored places that brought deep sighs of pleasure from him, leaving them only to return more thoroughly, as if she were mapping his body until every inch of skin was revealed to her. When she pulled him to her, he obeyed, kneeling beside her on the mattress. They fell into one another's arms with a moan and a growl, pressing their lips to the other's flesh, evoking shivers and murmurs of encouragement.

"I may not be what you expect, my queen," Mablung whispered. Having pulled back, he watched her intently.

"I will take whatever you wish to offer me, Mablung," she replied, tracing both sides of his neck, then sliding her hands along his shoulders and arms. "I will welcome everything and anything you are willing to share with me. There is no need to worry or be confused. There is neither shame nor pity in me now. Only raw lust."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, gasping, encouraged by her confession.

"To be with me."

Mablung took hold of her without ceremony, running his hands into her hair at her temples and combing his fingers through it. He placed his mouth over Melian's.

Appearing momentarily taken aback by his suddenness, she recovered quickly, her tongue probing his lips until Mablung parted them, allowing her to slide it sensually over his. As he kissed her, Melian moved her body into his, bringing her hands up to his sides and digging her nails into the skin on his ribcage, making him growl. He pulled back from the kiss and watched her with his eyes half-closed while she stroked his chest. Swallowing, she ran her hands down his muscled flesh, stopping at his nipples to tease them until he groaned softly. With a confident smile, she bent in and licked the right nipple. His hands were not lazy either as they roamed up and down her arms. Melian paused, cocking her head to the side.

Mablung was well aware that her eyes wandered along his chest in silent awe, and this thought flattered him. She didn't seem to notice all the bigger and smaller bruises, scratches, and dirt that covered his skin. Melian cradled his face lovingly and pulled him to her, but only brushed her lips along his mouth, and then she pushed him downward, as if she were asking him to caress her breasts. Mablung obeyed immediately, taking her left nipple fully into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth so that she uttered a moan and arched against him. He drew her body closer, skin touching skin, and sat back on his heels, at the same time stroking her back as he kneaded her muscles. Her hands took hold of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, and finally, after a long moment of keeping him in place, she let him run his mouth to her right breast. Mablung gasped and repeated the caress.

"Is this what you need?" he crooned against her flesh.

"Yes," she moaned. "I need you. Inside me."

"My lady..." he growled, pushing her onto the mattress.

His hands shook as he lay down beside her. He remained unmoving for many moments, simply holding her in his arms. His muscles quivered, seeming to become more strained and taut with each touch of her hand along his back and side as she let her fingers play across his skin, rubbing it gently. He was suddenly full of concern and doubts, and Melian sensed that.

"It is no horrible mistake. Mablung." Melian looked at him and tenderly turned his face to hers. "It is no mysterious spell, for I cannot cast any now. It is you and I, together. We have created the magic. Do not let the passion wane. Or do you want it to vanish?" she queried after a pause.

Mablung took a deep breath and lifted his head, fighting the tears that were rapidly welling in his eyes. He kissed her once again before lowering his mouth to her neck, down to the hollow between her collarbones, to finally stop between the creamy swells of her breasts, full from childbirth and deliciously round. Then he brought his forehead to her skin to touch her and whispered, "I do not want it to fade. I desire you, only Eru knows how much."

With the greatest care, Mablung rose to his knees and bent over Melian, placing both hands beside her shoulders. She arched up to kiss him. Mablung responded, shivering under the touch of her fingers along the length of him once she wrapped them around his hard flesh and stroked with delicate moves. His eyes shut immediately in response; a guttural growl grew in his chest, and she kept caressing him until he pulled back panting and grasping her under her knees. She parted her legs willingly, inviting him to cover her with his body.

Leaning over her, Mablung felt a helping hand guide him into her. When he noticed how eager Melian had become, showing him how much she wanted him, and how hot he was making her, he groaned through his gritted teeth. He entered her with a cautious push and ceased his movements instantly. A choked, involuntary moan escaped him.

"Yes..." Melian whispered.

Mablung remained still and panted. Nestling his face in the curve of her neck, he almost started to weep into her hair as he bent his elbows and brought himself fully against her and inside her body. His thighs quivered and his hips, surrounded by her long legs, thrust shallowly. He halted once again, terrified that he might explode in an instant. Gathering his will, he straightened his arms and gazed at the beauty beneath him, blinking back those unbidden tears.

Several times, he tried to speak but could only gasp and moan as she writhed in a rhythm as old as she herself was. Finally, when Mablung shifted to take his weight upon one arm, his hand landed on her hip and stopped her.

"Fare thee well, my queen," he uttered in a soft yet rasping voice. "May the Valar and the peace of Aman ease your pain. Keep me in your fond memory."

"I will," she replied, hissing and arching backward, exposing her breasts fully to his view and fisting the fabric of the bedclothes in one hand. Her other palm heated his back, but quickly her touch turned into a desperate clutch as she clawed his buttock, digging her nails into his flesh. His urgency grew beyond tolerance.

With each stroke of his shaft inside Melian, Mablung unleashed his need and freed his soul, which was soaring and mirroring his passion. Much to his sorrow, Melian's soul did not follow him. Mablung swiped his head backward, crying out from pleasure and pain, sending his hair about him like dark wings. His heart rampaged in a fever and he felt his veins pulsing franticly. In the background, he could hear Melian's soft cries and moans, her encouragement to plunge faster and harder.

One last time, he bent his head to kiss her, and when he did so he had to fight an incredulous urge to tell her that he loved her. Melian suddenly tensed.

"I cannot," she uttered in a pleading voice.

"No regrets," Mablung murmured in response and went deep into her mouth, pulling out of her and then pushing in a fervent thrust that stole his breath away.

Her slender fingers gripped tight to the muscles of his shoulders. Mablung paused, reveling in the moment and then started to move slowly, in tiny rocking motions.

Melian bucked beneath him as he danced with her body, raising and lowering his hips to meet her every sway. When he noticed the tremble passing through the muscles of her legs, which were fused with his own skin, he increased his pace. She pressed back to seek his strokes in her obvious need to attain the very height of their pleasure. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he didn't notice. His hair swirled back and forth between them. Melian was thrashing her head from side to side, her own locks flying from the sensations that shuddered along her limbs. Her cries grew loud, and she called his name, pleading for release as her slender hands gripped the sheets in sheer delight.

Mablung curled his hand around her nape, thrusting with deep, demanding plunges until release came crashing down on him and he felt nothing for a long, pulsating moment: nothing but pleasure surging through his body and the stabs of pain upon his spirit.

For a time, they lay in each other's arms, utterly spent. At last, Mablung rolled onto his back and encircled Melian's shoulders with one arm. She placed her head on his chest as he pulled her leg up and drew it across his hips. Her eyes closed slowly.

"Thank you," he said.

She smiled weakly, lifting her eyes to him, and then kissed his chest.

"Go now," she implored. "And do not come back."

"As you wish, my queen."

Mablung freed himself from her arms and got up heavily despite the pleasant aftershocks of their lovemaking still coursing through him. Picking up his garment and the Nauglamír, he silently walked over to the door but stopped and looked at Melian. She was curled into a ball, with her back to him.

Mablung exited to the adjacent room, where he quickly dressed and was about to leave, as Melian had told him, when a quiet sob drew his attention. Sighing, he returned to the bedchamber, rebuking himself and succumbing to remorse, which hit him with an unparagoned force.

"Melian?" he called out softly. Silence responded.

The queen lay still, twisted in agony, and her grey hair covered her body. Mablung momentarily turned his eyes away and cursed. She was again old, senile, and deformed. Mablung brought his hand to cover his eyes and wept. Into his tears he poured his unrequited love and overwhelming hate. As he came to his senses, he pitied Melian, and he pitied himself, but now there was truly nothing he could do. Except one thing.

Slowly he retrieved Melian's gown and circled the bed. She weighed nothing when he dressed her, tenderly wrapping her body in the silky fabric. Then, he lifted her withered form into his arms and left her chambers, heading to the deepest dungeon, where Thingol lay soundly in his everlasting sleep. The king and the queen would be together again; nothing, not even the Silmaril, and no one would come between them.

He had let Melian go. She had made him cross boundaries for which he would pay, willingly and steadfastly as always.

They were even.