It was raining outside.

Droplets of water streaked the glass like tears. In the darkness of the early morning, it was all Maglor could see.

Turning away from the window, he struck a nearby candelabra and placed it onto the side table. The small flame lit up the bedroom, casting shadows over bookshelves and old, wooden cabinets.

It was cold, yet he did not feel it. He methodically dressed himself. Grey trousers, mud green tunic, belt, riding boots, his outer cloak. He grabbed his sword and strapped it tightly to his back. He secured his vambraces, and clasped small dirks to his belt. It would be a relatively safe journey from Amon Ereb to the foothills of Ered Luin, but beyond that lay a dangerous, untamed country. He'd best be prepared for the worst. He hastily ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair before smothering the candlelight and leaving the room.

Downstairs in the lower hall, he filled his canteen and wrapped dried fruit and meats for the journey ahead. He grabbed a woollen blanket and a slender bottle of miruvórë from the cellars below. Securing the items within a burlap sack, he tied it shut and slung it over his shoulder.

In the morning's early silence, he scaled back up the spiral staircase and down the passageway to Lillian's door. There was no flicker of light behind it, nor any sound. He briefly considered knocking, but pushed aside any sense of decorum. He ducked under the doorway and entered.

The room was dark. The curtains drawn. The girl was sleeping.

He stepped soundlessly to her bedside.

"Lily," he said, "wake up, we must leave."

The Edain looked peaceful, her hair fanned out across the white pillows. That peacefulness broke, however, when she slowly awakened.

Blinking her eyes, she scowled at the sight of him. Turning aside, she moaned into her pillow.

Irritation flickered. "Lillian," he said again.

"I'm awake," she muttered, "I'll be ready in a moment."

Maglor watched her, solemn and silent. She didn't get up, however, but hugged her blankets tighter. Frowning, he looked back and saw a small, unlit candle sitting on a wooden stool. He stepped towards it and struck the tinderbox.

The small, flickering flame warmed the lonely room.

"I will be waiting for you in the stables," he said, his voice low. Without waiting for an answer, he exited the room. The rain pounded harder against the roof.

Lowering his cloak over his head, he opened the back door from the kitchen and greeted the dreary morning air. Cold droplets pelted against his hood and trickled down his face.

He hoped the weather would ease by the time they reached the river Ascar.

The sodden dirt crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the stables. His mare, dark and grey, stood within the sheltered pen. Her ears flickered at the sight of him.

Maglor reached out for her and pressed his nose into her warm fur. She smelled of hay and sweat. "Come along." He secured her saddle, and strapped the bridle.

As he was bent over, scraping her hooves for the journey, Lily arrived. He looked up, and noticed that her eyes were swollen and red rimmed, as though she'd spent the night crying. She wore practical, warm furs over her blue kirtle. In her hands she carried a satchel.

Though small and fragile, her gaze was defiant. Maglor felt an odd tug at his chest; she was still angry with him.

"Good morning," he called out.

Ignoring any civility, she held up her items. "Shall I strap these to the saddle bags?"

"I can do that," Maglor said.

"As you wish," she said wryly. "Am I dressed suitably enough for you?" She asked.

His jaw clenched. There it was. Was he to deal with this the entire journey? "We shall see," he muttered. She drew near, and he took the satchel. Strapping it tightly within the pouch, he then beckoned her to mount the horse.

Lily hesitated, but drew her skirts back and lifted her leg, sliding her foot through the stirrup. Maglor reached out, holding her securely as she swung her leg over the saddle and sat down. Her dress rode up to her knees, revealing slender legs covered by thick, woollen stockings.

Maglor hastily tore his eyes away. "Move forward," he ordered. She did so. He swung himself up behind her, nestling himself between the back of the saddle and the curve of her rear.

He reached his arms around her, and grabbed the reins. She sat stiffly, as though the mere touch of him disturbed her.

"Are you comfortable?"

"I'm fine," she bit out.

"Good," he said. Clicking his teeth, he guided the mare out of the pen and beneath the front gates. "It will be a long ride."

The torrent of downpour did not ease. As the morning drew onwards, the clouds remained a blackened shroud, suffocating the sunlight.

The Edain remained tight-lipped for the remainder of the day.

Thoroughly soaked, they reached the familiar ford of Sarn Athrad. Maglor guided the horse over the stone bridge. The river Gelion had flooded, rising to the banks of the stonework. They soon broke away from the dwarf road and followed the Ascar river upstream. When the sun fell to the horizon, the weather finally cleared.

It was still bitterly cold, and Lily was shivering beneath him. A harsh wind from the north blew across the rugged landscape.

Maglor spotted a curved oak tree further away from the riverbank and guided the horse beneath it. Without speaking, he slid down and dropped to his feet. His thighs sweetly ached.

He reached out for Lily. "Come," he said, "we will camp here for the night."

Her teeth chattered as she reached her arms out to him. Her furs were drenched; her dainty fingers like ice. Concern spread through him; had he overestimated her resilience?

Edain were well-known for their susceptibility to the cold.

"I will make us a fire," he told her. "I have dry pelts in the saddlebags." He gently pulled aside her wet furs and unbuckled the pouch. The rain hadn't soiled their things. Good. Pulling out warm, dry blankets, he wrapped them around her shoulders.

She pressed her wet nose into them, closing her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

Looking for dry wood, he kindled a small spark beneath the protection of the tree. The campfire crackled to life. As the heat began to radiate, he tugged off his outer cloak and squeezed the water out. He hung it on a nearby branch to dry.

Lily stood still, quivering and mulish.

"Ai," he muttered, "Lily, lay aside your grievances and come to me. You need warmth."

Reluctantly, she walked to his side and slumped down onto the dirt. She stretched out her cold fingers towards the flames, warming them. He watched her. "Tomorrow we will make for the foothills of Ered Luin towards Nogrod," he said to her, "if we make good headway, you will be reunited with your kin by sunset."

Lily's eyes were fixated upon the campfire. It lit up the surrounding bankside. Small sparks crackled and spit, floating up like white-gold starlight. "You will take me south of the fortress where I was captive," she said, "I will find my way from there." Her tone was grim.

Maglor frowned. He stretched his boots out before him and leaned back on his arms. "No, I will not leave you alone in those mountains. It is folly."

"You don't get to decide that," she argued.

"Actually I do," his patience was waning, "I saved your life, and I will not see you die in vain."

She didn't answer. Instead, the Edain curled in on herself, silently wallowing. Maglor watched her. Her hair was damp; her nose pink. She looked small and frightfully alone. He thought back to Melieth's conversation. The girl had lost her entire family. She had no husband and no protection. Yet, she had her kin, did she not? The more he tried to convince himself, the less certain he felt.

"You should rest," he told her. "It will be a long day tomorrow." He stretched out, laying back on the grass. The soft swaying of oak branches quieted his spirit. In the darkness, the Edain lay down beside him, swaddled in her own blankets.

When the morning came, they began the steep, narrow incline through the mountain pass. The sky was overcast, yet rain did not fall. Maglor was thankful. As his stead traversed the rocky outcrops, Lily relaxed against him. Her body was warm; she shielded him from the bitter wind that swept through the valley.

In turn, he held her securely within his arms.

As they passed the first summit, he could vaguely see Mount Dolmed in the distance. It loomed like a dark shadow. Its peak was shielded from view as thick clouds had dropped down, crashing and swirling like waves in a seastorm. Soon, he could no longer see the vale.

A strange foreboding struck him, and he pulled on his mare's reins. She slowed to a stop.

The only sound was the wind. It howled like a preying wolf - loud and dreadful and terrifying.

He had always despised this region of Beleriand.

Lily rustled against him. Her strands of hair tickled his mouth and chin. Her body absentmindedly rubbed against his. "Why have we stopped?" She murmured softly.

Maglor felt very aware of her presence. He fidgeted in his saddle, attempting some distance between her hips and his thighs. "I," he coughed, "there is something in the air," he murmured. "Do you feel it?"

The girl blinked slowly, looking out to the steep incline below. "This place does feel familiar," she said. "Is that what you mean?"

"Not quite," he replied, "I fear something else." The skin at his neck was prickling. Clicking his teeth, his horse continued upwards. The sky had darkened; the clouds choked any sunlight, making it appear like nightfall.

His ears could pick up the faint, distant sound of pebbles scattering. "Ah," he cursed, craning his head towards the northern slopes. "It is as I thought," he said.

"What is it?"

"Our journey has not gone unnoticed. We are being followed."

They continued their perilous upclimb until noon fell.

Maglor halted his mare once more at a narrow crag. It overlooked the steep, rocky gorge below. At the bottom, a small river flowed south towards Nogrod. Behind them, the precipice conjoined to an open, wide arched cave.

Lily paled when she saw it.

"This is the place," she said cryptically.

Maglor looked down at her, suspicion swelling. "What do you mean?"

She didn't reply, her eyes utterly transfixed. In a heartbeat, she'd swung her legs over the saddle and landed on the ground. Her boots crunched under her. "This is where I was taken captive," she said. At her words, Maglor felt ill. He slowly dismounted from his mare.

Lily stepped into the mountainside, her fingers trailing gently along the cave walls, as though she were searching for something. Remembering.

Inside the cave, the air was foul. The sickening odour of rot festered, suffocating them. "We should not be here," he warned lowly, "we are inviting evil upon us." He reached his arm back, unsheathing his sword. The skin at his neck prickled once more - and this time, he heard more than the distant scatter of pebbles.

"Lillian," he reached out for her, "we should go." When he touched her shoulder, he found that she was shaking, violently so. He pulled her towards him, holding her tightly to his chest. "Ai, what is wrong?"

"Something is coming," she said, her voice breaking. She looked wan, as though she were about to faint. "I can hear her."

It was then, in that moment, that a tall, dark figure came to them. It mutated from the soiled blackness within. Maglor paled. A demon from the wastes of Nan Dungortheb, from Angband, in the shape and physical form of a woman. A daughter of Morgoth.

Her eyes glowed blood red. At the sight of them, she muttered low and foul. "Here she is," the creature said, her tone dulcet, "the little witch herself, attempting to flee back to her own world."

Maglor clenched his teeth. Witch? He glanced down at the Edain, who looked ready to drop dead. Steeling himself, he raised his sword.

"Leave us be, foul sorceress, and we will consider letting you live," he threatened, his weapon of Valinor glinting dangerously.

She turned her seductive gaze on him. "Who are you to call me foul, kinslayer?"

Kinslayer. At her words, Lily tensed. "Who are you?" She spoke up.

"Thuringwethil," she replied. "And I'm the one who brought you here." Her smile was wolfish, her eyes flashing darkly. "The door to your world is closed, I'm afraid. You serve me now."

"Serve you?" The Edain was angry now. "I have nothing to offer."

"Foolish child," she warned, "you know nothing of the powers that be. The powers that can be wielded and possessed by those who are willing."

Maglor sneered at her. "Those are mighty words, coming from someone who was supposedly slain by my brother's pet dog."

"You fool! I am one who cannot die." She seethed back. "Do not antagonise me so." Her robes of black clung to her figure like a second skin. Hair like midnight fell down to her ankles. An evil concealed behind great beauty. It was a concept Morgoth and his followers favoured greatly; for it deceived and lied and wrought the greatest destruction.

Maglor gripped his sword tighter as she moved towards Lily.

"Come no further," he warned. He pointed his sword so that the tip pressed against her neck. Thuringwethil stood still, yet her gaze glittered. She had only eyes for the little Edain.

"Come join me, child."

"I won't. My only wish is to go back home."

"Only I have the power to open the door between worlds. If you come willingly, I will grant you your wish." The temptress stood, offering. Willing.

Lily was silent. Maglor seethed. From their exchange, he realised how little he knew of the girl at all. Surely she couldn't be considering the woman's bargain?

"I feel sorry for you, Thuringwethil," she eventually said, her voice soft. "Are you so afraid of loss that you're willing to stoop down to a simple mortal?"

The dark lady's eyes flickered. Her expression became veiled. "You were brought here for a reason, child. Soon, you will understand, and you will know." she said. Within the eternity of a second, Thuringwethil summoned a sharp, foul blade. She thrust it into the Edain's ribs. It pierced her skin and sunk right down to her bones. The girl cried out in pain.

It took that second, that one moment, for the Edain to fall.

His anger overcame him, and Maglor struck Thuringwethil down. His sword pierced her jugular. Blood - thick and dark - spurted. He didn't stop. Red hazed his vision. He struck her again, hitting square and hard.

The woman, injured, turned and fled.

Maglor chased after her. She bolted further into the cave, and her arms stretched into crinkled, torn wings. She morphed, becoming bat-like. Cursing low and foul under his breath, Maglor angrily watched her flee into the darkened abyss above.

Smearing blood from his forehead, he returned to Lily and saw her - a crumpled heap - on the ground.

"Lillian," he murmured, "herinya." He dropped to his knees before her, willing her to move. She didn't. Dread, gut-wrenching and powerful, overcame him. "Lillian, you need to stay awake for me," he reached out for her, cradling her face with his hands. "Lillian."

She hummed softly, and his breath quickened. Thank the Valar. "I'm going to pull it out, alright?" Her eyes were shut, and she was muttering to herself in her strange language. "It's going to hurt, but you will feel better," he tried to soothe her.

The wound already looked blackened and foul. Holding his breath, he grasped the blade and yanked it out. Lily didn't retch or scream or cry. She bit down on her lower lip, squeezing her eyes shut; a quiet suffering. Maglor tossed the dagger aside and stood to his feet. He held her in his arms.

If she were to survive, he needed to get down from the mountains that very night. Not for the first time, Maglor berated himself for his lack of medical knowledge. Placing her on his horse, the elf-lord slid up behind her and held her close. Stripping lengths of fabric from his tunic, he hastily pressed it into the gaping wound.

He gazed up into the dying sky. Eru Illuvatar! He cried out to the heavens. Spare the girl. Spare her. Oh god, let her live.

As he rode, he wondered if this was the result of his own forthcomings. He'd rescued a girl from the pits of hell, only for her to die by a short, miscalculated second. Maglor clenched his jaw - he should not dwell on his own misery. He needed to think. One decision determined life or death. The return to Amon Ereb would be long and arduous. With the previous rainfall, their journey would be longer.

He considered Belegost. Then Nogrod. Duick would welcome him - the path was narrow and treacherous, but it was short.

Maglor pressed onwards, navigating east towards the dwarven city. Cold, stone and cave awaited him. And Lily would live. Every breath within him willed it so.

He would determine the truth of Thuringwethil's words another day.