Hil : Wow thank you for your kind words! I've always felt Maglor's fate was so tragic, since it seems he never gets to go back home even though that is what he is yearning for (I assume). Also, I might be partial, but despite the Oath he sort of... did well? Obviously he's killed many innocents, at the same time, even after the three kinslayings, he was still able to raise Elrond and Elros and love them (I'd say he remained human, but he's an Elf...). Anyways, I believe he was not a bad person deep down and he would have sincerely sought forgiveness at some point. As for the story's length, I'm very unsure about how it will turn out to be. I've been thinking about it for a long time already and I've come up with 3 different endings... and I don't know how far I should take it for the moment, so we'll see!

There are only two of them, but they have so many issues to deal with, I'm afraid I will forget something.

3. Wind

He sat on a dune, facing the ocean.

Seagulls had followed him, as they oft did, and for millenia they had been his only companions - they loved listening to his songs and to the sound of his harp and he loved watching their slender silhouettes swirl in the sky. And it seemed the birds knew he was feeling greatly distressed, for a whole colony had stationed around him and even the strongest waves, that came tickling his feet, could not dissuade them to leave his side. A powerful wind had risen from the East and it swept away the sand, as well as seashells, bits of dried seaweed and sea foam. Yet it did not disturb him, for he was lost in tormented thoughts, having to face his past once more.

When he had picked Gilmith up in the stabble, he could not have possibly known who she was, or rather what she was. And now that he had told her he would find a way to bring her back to her father, he could not abandon her, could he? Even if Gilmith's presence by his side was seriously threatening his heart... "Half-Elven" was part of those many words he had banned from his life and as for this name, Elrond, on some days he wished he would have completely forgotten about it, for he carried it like a burden. But then, it was also part of his sweetest memories, in which he took refuge at times and he surely could not discard this carelessly.

What an odd twist of fate it was, that he had came across yet another Half-Elven.

He found Gilmith asleep on the pond's bank, nestled between the crooked roots of a great pine tree, and beside her the fire was nothing but a pile of warm ashes from which a string of smoke rose. The flamingos had stayed nearby, instead of flying back to the mudflats where they usually spent their nights at, and in a bush was lurking a fox who had feasted on the calcine hare remainings. It fled when he crouched next to the sleeping girl and crickets resumed their chirping as soon as he had sat, waiting for dawn to come.

It came, as it always did. Stripes of clouds crossed the grey sky and, seeing it, he thought this day would be windy, like the previous one. It would probably slow him down on his way East, but it did not matter. He minded not to spend more time with Gilmith, it would force him to face some of his inner demons, he hoped. And he felt he not quite ready to let her go anyhow, her presence brought something... invigorating to his daily life.

Gilmith opened her eyes just as a couple of blackbirds started singing, roused by the Sun's light, and she was relieved when her eyes fell upon him. She would probably not admit it, not even to herself, nonetheless she had been afraid he would not come back.

He had drawn features and seemed tired, as much as an Elf could be at least. His black eyebrows were knit together, tighter than usual, and dark circles tarnished his gaze as if he had not slept for a few days in a row. Yet rest would not heal him - that Gilmith could understand it, although she did not quite exactly grasp the nature of his anguish. The fact that she was a Half-Elven upset him, obviously, as it was after she had disclosed the identity of her mother that his mood had gone even more somber. But she knew not why, neither did she know what sort of ties existed between him and lord Elrond, whose name he had clearly refused to hear.

"You caught another rabbit, sir?" That was all she could find to say, for she feared his temper had not improved over the night.

"To be fair, I did not put much effort into it," he said. "This one was hopping by the water and it even nibbled your foot. All I had to do was to extend my arm."

"Poor thing..." Gilmith muttered who felt sorry the rabbit's genuine trust had been so blatantly betrayed.

"You do eat meat, do you not?" he asked, passing her over a bowl full of broth.

"Of course I do." But not hares, she thought. Neither deers, nor boars - none of those wild creatures that, naive and unsuspecting, approached her whenever she was out, in the forest.

"Good, for your face is still pale and you will have to eat more to recover fully."

He was still carefully avoiding to look at her and he acted as if nothing had happened the night before, as if Gilmith had never told him her mother was an Elf. She, on the other side, did her best to catch his gaze, hoping to have an opportunity to ask him questions about the Elven folk - there was so much she could learn from the books of her father's library. But her attemps were vain, for they ate their meal in silence, after what he started to gather their things, once again handing her most of the clothes so the cold wind would do her no harm.

"We should get on our way," he announced at last. "Many leagues stand between us and the nearest inhabitated coastal village, assuming that the corsairs have not reached the areas closer to your home."

"High walls protect our city and a watch is ever kept on the sea," said Gilmith in a voice she wished to be firm, whereas in fact she was only trying to reassure herself.

"It seems unlikely the corsairs would have tried to attack Dor-en-Ernil, considering they sent rather strong forces on this side of the coast," he whispered, speaking to himself. "They would have not bothered with this part of the Anfalas, had they meant to head to your father's land."

"I suppose..." she sighed.

There was too much for her to handle at the moment. The deaths of so many loved ones the night of Fíriel's wedding, the absence of her father and brother, the odd behavior of Dregor and, last but not least, her confession about her mother. The previous night, Gilmith had cried herself to sleep and nothing but exhaustation had stopped tears from rolling down her cheeks.

He had noticed her eyes were puffy and as he was unwilling to see her weep again, he promptly said, "Would mind me carrying you on my back once more, Gilmith? The road ahead of us is not a smooth one, I'm afraid."

"You are kind to ask me, yet I am in no position to decline your offer," she answered, rising laboriously from the ground, and she peered down at her feet - it seemed she could not trust them anymore to support her.

"You will recover fully soon enough," he told her and as he was gesturing to her to climb on his back, his hand slid in her hair, lingered there for a second.

He was unaware of it, yet once Gilmith was all settled, her arms around his neck, her cheeks had reddened and her heart was troubled.

It was a rather dull day, as a strong wind carried clouds through the sky and it also unleashed great waves that smashed against the cliffs in spectacular explosions of water and foam. He did not talk, neither did he sing, and Gilmith could not fall asleep, for she felt very awkward about being carried on his back and this time there was no darkness and no rain to help her forget she was so close to him. His black hair flew freely behind him, so soft and shiny that many maidens would have been envious of it, and it brushed her face every now and then, increasing her uneasiness.

It was a rather strange feeling and Gilmith thought it was completely ridiculous to let herself be flustered by him. So many other things ought have filled her mind at the moment, yet all she was really thinking about was that never before had she met anyone who smelled this good, like the fresh scent of a summer night. Of course, she had not forgotten about her sadness - her body still ached enough to remind her of the terrible corsairs - and she hoped she would reach her home fast, however... However being on the road with him was like being on a journey far away from all she had known thus far. It was also as if the attack had never happened, as if she were to be greeted by all those who had died in the village once she would be arrive in Dor-en-Ernil. Perhaps it also felt like her mother was not far, because he was an Elf. Could he then be the key to her dearest dream? This foolish dream she'd probably never dare try to make real...

Gilmith would have certainly been suprised, had she known she was not the only pondering over delicate matters. He walked fast, he walked straight, oblivious of the wind, yet he was not entirely sure he had taken the right decision - why bother to head to Belfalas? The girl could have been dropped somewhere inland, after all, he could have left the seashore for a day or two and soon they would have been apart, never to cross each other's path again. But there he was, on his way to the east, resolved to carry Gilmith and not so unhappy about it.

He stopped at dusk, on a small headland where a few trees stood, and after a little exploration, he found the perfect shelter from the wind, between huge rocks that blocked most of the sea breeze. Gilmith was quick to jump down his back and, not wanting him to find out she was unable to take even a few steps, she sat at once, adjusting her cloak. She met his gaze, at last, while he was unloading his harp, and she smiled, a light blush covering her cheeks.

"Has word of your mother's whereabouts reached Belfalas?" he inquired, as he was lighting a fire. He did this swiftly and effortlessly and soon flames provided them with some heat and Gilmith was glad to warm herself up.

"No..." she answered, puzzled. "She sailed to the West I believe, for she was on her way to Edhellond when she met my father."

"Many Elves of Lórien left Middle-Earth during these days," he said, remembering a lot of them fled the forest because the Dwares of Moria had awakened something terrifying in their mines.

"How would you know?"

He had not said it explicitely, however she was under the impression he lead a lonesome life and that his contacts with Elven communities were rare, or perhaps nonexistent.

"Birds keep me informed."

"Birds?" Gilmith repeated, puzzled.

"Seagulls for the most part, though all have helped at time," he told and then he added, in a mutter, "all save for the Eagles."

"The eagles?" she said, but he remained silent.

On his wanderings, he had seen all kinds of birds from the elegant seagulls of the south to the white geese of the north who he had followed sometimes, during their migrations. But the great Eagles, those who were Manwë's eyes, those who had come the Elves' aid during the First Age, those he had never had sight of. Thus he was convinced Valinor was still closed for him and that, were he to sail away like the other Elves, he would not find the road to the West.

"I wish I could follow my mother to wherever she went," Gilmith whispered, echoing his thoughts unknowingly, as she was twisting her hands nervously and staring the crackling fire. "I wish I could travel North to visit Lórien if I am permitted to and I wish to meet some of my mother's kin who still dwell there, are they not all gone already... And then perhaps I would head to the havens of Lindon... Yet these are wishes, just silly wishes, for I would not leave my father, it would break his heart for good."

It was something she had never confessed to anyone, not even to her brother, not even to Fíriel who was - had been? - her best friend. She knew not if Dregor had even listened to what she had just said, for he seemed lost in some daydream, but it did not matter. Now that these words had been spoken, it was as if she had taken one step forward, and what had been an almost shameful longing had grown into a slightly more realistic prospect.

"There was melancholy in your gaze well before the corsairs attacked the village and nearly slain you, was there not?" he said in a soft tone, moving by her side. "These green eyes were ever filled with sadness, am I right, Gilmith?"

She turned to him and for once she was not shy to face him, although her heart ran fast in her chest. Quite fairly, he was a spectacular being and perhaps that was just it, perhaps it could not be helped that a young maiden like her felt fascinated in his presence.

"You look sad yourself," Gilmith told him. "Immensely sad, I daresay."

And the tip of her fingers brushed his cheek, furtively.

"Gilmith..." he muttered, shifting closer to her. His left hand, the one that was not covered with bandages, squeezed her shoulder lightly.

They heard no more the waves and the wind, in silence they stared at each other - she, eyes wide-opened ; he, his brow furrowed - and then he leaned in slowly, as she tilted her head. For a few seconds, his mouth pressed to hers, in a chaste and delicate manner, but it was brief and he soon drew back, stunned by what he had just done. His body had taken over his mind and whatever stirred within him, it made him want to taste her lips again, even though it most definitely was a dangerous move.

Gilmith stayed still, unable to process what had happened, and she was deliciously pretty with her red cheeks and her startled expression, thus he dived in for another kiss, a more intimate and a more passionate one. Whatever worries had been his lately, they had left him already, for he loved - he truly loved - kissing her and, cupping her face, he could not recall having touched something as soft as her skin since he had gone into exile. It was thrilling also to feel her shiver as his hands ran down her back and when he pulled her against him, maneuvering to have her sit on his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck while her cloak slipped down from her shoulders.

Their wild embrace had reached its climax and their lips were seemingly locked for good, for neither of them wished to end this moment. It was Gilmith's first kiss and it came with many surprises, all of them being very pleasant ones - she sighed and moaned more than once as his mouth traveled down her throat to her collabornes, exploring unexpected areas of her body. She had never imagined that being so close to someone, to feel their body against hers, would set afire her senses so furiously. And he, he had forgotten who he was and where he was, he was wrapped up in kisses and caresses, relishing a sensuality he had not experienced since he had left Aman.

It had escalated quickly and awhile he toyed with the idea of undressing her, partially at least, for he was eager to see more of this lovely silhouette of hers - and he did remember how, the day before, he had been moved to see her naked, stepping out the pond. Truth was, he had become seriously aroused, however he could not allow himself to go any further, even if it seemed that Gilmith, hung onto him, would gladly follow his lead.

They broke apart, at last, and he took some time to consider her, gently stroking her face. If he had to be honest, she was not the prettiest maiden he had ever set eyes on and she could hardly be compared to the Noldorin ladies, yet she was very charming and everytime he looked into her green eyes, his heart sank in his chest. He could barely restrain himself and before Gilmith eventually fell asleep in his arms, he kissed her a few more times.

He would have laid her down on the ground, so she would get some proper rest, but minutes passed, then hours, and he still put kisses on her forehead and his hands were still entwined in her hair.

Some time after midnight, Gilmith's sleep became agitated because of one of these nightmares she experienced ever since the attack of the corsairs. This one seemed particularly violent, for she woke up haggard, breathing heavily, and it took her awhile to remember where she was.

"You are safe," he whispered, tightening his embrace around her. "We are miles away from the village's ruins..."

She had lift her head to look at him, bewildered that he was still holding her in his arms, and in the darkness of this moonless night, his eyes shone like two stars, so brightly that a question came upon her lips at once.

"Who are you?"

She was staring at him earnestly, her chin resting on his chest, and there was such innoncence in her gaze he felt his will wavered.

"Gilmith, are you acquainted at all with the stories of the old days?"

He suspected she knew some of it at least, for she had mentioned Elrond the day before. Also, this knowledge had been passed down through songs and although he had been cut off from the world for quite a while already, he was aware the Númenóreans had preserved most of the ancient lore, and so had their descendants in Middle-earth.

"No more, no less than most people in our realm..." she answered, closing her eyes when he put a kiss on her brow.

She was under the impression he was old, even for an Elf, however she had no idea what it meant concretely - Gilmith was only nineteen and a mere century seemed a lot to her. Outwardly, he had the appearance of a young man, one the maidens would have swooned at unanimously, but he spoke like an elder and he had the eyes of someone who had seen many summers pass by and, who had been the witness of countless tragedies.

"Then surely you... you must have heard of the War of the Jewels?"

"I did."

"You might not be familiar with my name, for few lais mention it," he said in low voice, his breath brushing her ear. "Yet I'm afraid my father's name is quite famous."

"Who was he?"

"He was Fëanor, the eldest son of Finwë."

Indeed, Gilmith knew this name, and what was traditionnaly associated to it - Fëanor's Silmarils, Fëanor's oath, Fëanor's sons...

"Thus you are..." She could not recall which of the seven sons of Fëanor was still alive, actually she had believed they all had perished before the end of the First Age...

"I am Fëanor's only surviving son, Maglor."

These two are not very good at communicating, are they?

Gilmith being from a noble family (and a descendant of Númenóreans) it seems likely she had some sort of knowledge about the old days. Although she probably was more interested in the history of the Second Age, because of Númenor and because that's when we start hearing about Lórien.