The Third Way

By Tyellas

Summary: Silmarillion-based. Maeglin experiments with heterosexuality - in a way that will dispose of the evidence - except it doesn't entirely go as planned… an elf rape story with a few twists!

Disclaimer: These characters and Middle-Earth are the copyright of the Tolkien estate and this fan fiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright in any way.

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.

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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