PART II
"Great was the sorrow of Eärendil and Elwing for [...] the captivity of their sons, and they feared that they would be slain; but it was not so. For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them, and love grew between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor's heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath." – Tolkien, The Silmarillion.
The air was bitterly cold. A fierce gust of wind howled across the moorlands, blowing south through Amon Ereb. It carried with it the ash and sorrow of Thangorodrim. The Fëanorian flag upon the tall, westward turret buckled against the tempest.
Lily's hair had grown. No longer was it the short, jagged mop. It hung, dark and thick, down past her breasts. She'd gained weight. Her body no longer carried the wretched silhouette of malnutrition and hardship. She was healthy and she was beautiful.
Within, she felt numb.
She stood in the overgrown gardens, her arms wrapped around her grey shawl. Her hair flew about her as she looked from the flag to the ivy-smothered walls. The fortress felt empty and hollow. Like a graveyard. Or an abandoned church abbey, laid to waste by anguished ghosts of old.
With only Melieth for company, she was lonely.
"Lillian, come inside, you'll catch a sickness, standing in the cold like that!"
Turning away, she obeyed.
At night, she couldn't sleep. Nightmares plagued her. She'd wake up, chest heaving, her mouth open in a silent scream. She tried to forget them, yet they weighed heavily upon her heart.
She dreaded the coming of night more than anything.
Melieth had seated herself by the fireplace, the remnants of an old gown in her lap. She was stitching. Without a word, Lily joined her.
"We have little fabrics left. We should mend and make do with what we have."
"Our food is in short supply."
"Aye," Melieth muttered. Her eyes were downcast as pushed her needle through the hemline. "Do not worry, our boys will return soon enough."
"I do not think we should rely on them, Melieth. Time has passed. We should have hope, but we should also be realistic."
Melieth looked up at her. "Let us wait one more week. If they do not return, we shall begin preparations for winter."
Lily nodded. "I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?" The elf smiled and nodded. Lily straightened and went to the kitchen. The pantry's contents were scarce. She would have to scavenge. That is, of course, if they didn't want to starve. Lily pumped a bucket of water from the well and boiled the kettle. She leaned against the workbench, her arms crossed, listening to the gradual, high-pitched whistle.
Bubbling and boiling, she took the kettle off the stove and poured two, steaming mugs. The scent of fresh, crushed herbs was soothing.
She came back to Melieth and curled up beside her on the chaise. The she-elf reached out, tenderly stroking Lily's hair.
"Why didn't you swear the oath?" Lily asked, leaning on her shoulder.
Melieth was forlorn. "I was not there at that time. I was visiting my parents in the countryside."
She felt bereft. "Why did you come here, then, to Beleriand?"
"My husband swore the oath," she replied simply, "and I didn't wish to part from him." She blew on the hot water, then took a sip. "Love can cause you to do foolish things, Lillian."
"So you regret it? Joining the Fëanorions?"
"I regret it everyday, my love. I patiently await the time I can return to Valinor and reunite with my family, for they are my everything."
Her words, though simple, brought tears to the girl's eyes.
The Fëanorians didn't come back, and Lily took it upon herself to look for food.
Teaching herself to ride, she took a horse to the surrounding moorlands. She crossed the river Gelion. From there, she traversed deep into the Ossiriand forests. She foraged for mushrooms. She collected pine nuts, found wild Aipio and blackberries. She came across wild eggs, and boiled them. Though she couldn't bring herself to hunt wild rabbits, she made do with what little she could find.
With her resourcefulness and Melieth's wisdom, the women pushed onwards. They kept Amon Ereb alive.
Eventually, the kinslayers returned.
Lily and Melieth stood by the gates, watching as the small group of dishevelled elves traversed the gradual hillside. When she saw them, her heart fell. It was as she'd feared.
They'd lost the majority of their soldiers.
Excluding Maglor and Maedhros, there were naught but thirty survivors. Lily looked amongst the passing legion, hoping to glimpse Nestariel's pretty smile, or Amrod and Amras' bright, coppery hair.
Her dearest friends were not among them.
No. Lily was in despair. No. It couldn't be so.
As her husband drew near, she held her breath. Sitting slouched on his grey mare, his tall, slender figure was wraith-like. Blood stained, dirty, wan. His face was paler than ever. His long, dark hair fell to a messed knot at his waist. "Vessë." He called out, his voice rough. Wife. Lily's former hurts and resentments all but vanished. For one unguarded moment, she'd realised what he was feeling. Relief. A relief so profound it stopped her cold.
Her eyes felt hot and gritty. A teardrop fell.
Without another word, he slumped off his horse and pulled her into his arms. He smelled of earth and sun."Avatyara ni," he murmured, pressing his nose into her hair. Maglor held her so tightly she could hardly breath. "Avatyara ni." Forgive me.
His grief rolled through her in waves. It was at that moment she knew the fate of Amrod and Amras. Of Nestariel. Of so many others.
Maglor slowly drew away, bloodshot and bleary-eyed. "Come, let us go inside. It has been a tiring journey."
The halls were filled with fire and warmth once more.
Maedhros, having tossed his sword carelessly onto the long-table, trudged up the staircase. His eyes were empty. Glass-like. Lily watched him disappear into the passageway above.
Her heart ached for him.
There was no word to describe someone who'd lost their sibling. It was a tragic, unspeakable kind of grief. Unending, all-consuming. Lily wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stared at the sword on the table. The elf hadn't bothered to clean it. Dried, cracked blood smeared the tip of the blade.
"Lillian."
At her husband's voice, she turned. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was the tall, tired form of Maglor. On either side stood two small boys.
Her eyes widened.
They looked at her and shook with terror. Their hearts were pulsing at their throats. Maglor was grim. "Lillian, this is Elrond," he nodded to the sharp-eyed boy at his left, "and this is Elros." The child at his right was a bit bigger, his eyes rounder. Maglor glanced down at them, "if you both need anything, she will help you. You need not be afraid of her."
The boy, Elros, looked as though he were about to burst into tears.
Her heart clenched.
If anything, Lily wanted to curl up and weep beside him. Hurrying over, she knelt down, her skirts swishing against the floorboards. They couldn't have been older than six. How long had it been since she'd seen an actual child?
"How are you feeling, little ones? Are you hungry?"
Elros was still shaking. Elrond, on the other hand, eyed her shrewdly. "Yes, please," he said. "I want some food."
"Alright," she smiled gently. "You're going to be okay. Come with me, now." She outstretched her hands, and they hesitantly took them.
Lily stepped around Maglor and guided the boys into the kitchen. As she passed, she gave him a steady, sharp look.
Where did you get them from?
Her husband only quirked a brow, before turning and walking away. Lily resisted the urge to take Maedhros' sword and clobber him with it.
Composing herself, she turned back to the dirtied, famished children. "Alright, what would you both like to eat?" Not that there was a gourmet selection.
"I would like fish, please." Elrond said petulantly.
"We don't have any fish at the moment. I'm sorry, little one." At her words, Elros began to cry. His wails echoed across the empty kitchen. "Now, now. It's alright," she murmured.
"I want to go home," he wept, "I want my mama."
"And where is your mama, sweetling?"
Elros snifled into hiccuping sobs. Lily knelt down once more, gently wiping his tears away. "I don't know," he muttered. "I don't know."
"You're going to be safe with me, alright? I won't hurt you," she said. Reaching out to his little knuckles, she kissed them sweetly. His sobs quietened. There we go.
"Now, how do boiled eggs with beans sound?"
Elrond made a face. "Are you Edain?" He asked. "Because that's something Edains eat."
Sudden laughter caught in her throat. "I am Edain," she smiled. Pushing back her hair, she showed him her rounded earlobes. "See?"
"Oh." Elrond seemed to perk up. "Well, I am a peredhel," he said.
Peredhel? Lily tilted her head. The boy did not speak Quenya, but a heavily-accented form of Sindarin. Whilst she could understand him relatively well, the word was unknown to her. "Peredhel? What is that?"
Elros wiped at his runny, pink nose. "It means our ada and nana are Edain and Elvish."
Oh. A half-elf. Lily looked at the young boys, examining them closely. They possessed the fine-boned features that graced all elves, but she could also see something distinctly human, something familiar, in their gaze.
The result of marriage between both immortal and mortal.
Lily briefly wondered if Maglor knew that when he found the children. Pushing the thought aside, she cooked Elros and Elrond their first, warm meal within the halls of Amon Ereb. When they'd finished, she guided them up the wooden, rickety staircase to her own chambers.
Had Maglor or Maedhros even bothered to prepare separate rooms for them?
Lily helped rid the children of their muddied boots and tunics and tucked them beneath her own, fur blankets. As they settled, she sat by them, talking gently.
It was apparent the children were traumatised. Whatever they saw, whatever the Fëanorions did, it would take time for Elrond and Elros to heal.
Lily knew. She saw the tell-tale signs of war neurosis. These were survivors - innocent, wayward children caught between the crossfire.
In exhaustion, the boys passed out. Straightening, Lily pressed a hand to Elrond's forehead. She briefly wondered - as half-elves - if they suffered illnesses.
Unsure but unwilling to take a risk, she rekindled the fireplace and drew shut the curtains. A cosy, crackling warmth perfused the darkened room.
Then, she left.
Feeling weary, the girl wandered up the staircase to her husband's door. Without bothering to knock, she entered.
It was dark and cold. She could smell the faint, lingering scent of old candle wax. Her husband was asleep; or at least, he looked to be.
"Maglor?"
"Hmm?" His voice was hoarse. Tired. Had she awoken him?
"Are you awake?"
He shuffled under his covers. "I am now." His tone was irate.
"Sorry." Lily took off her boots and unbuttoned her kirtle. In her pale, delicate chemise, she stepped over to the side of the bed and drew back the covers. She slid inside. His bed was lovely and warm and soft, and it made her toes delightfully curl.
Maglor shifted. "What are you doing?" He rolled over, turning to face her. In the near darkness, with naught but a sliver of moonlight, she saw he wasn't wearing any clothes. She glimpsed the breadth of his shoulders, to the sinewy muscles that travelled from his arms to his wrists. His hair spilled down across his bare chest, where she glimpsed mottled, dark bruises. Swollen gashes adorned them. Despite this, despite the evidence of his transgressions, she thought him beautiful.
"Vessë?" His eyes were on hers. Akin to his brother, they were hollow, empty. Lily reached out, touching his cheek. "Those children, Elrond and Elros, are asleep in my room," she said softly. "Where did you find them?"
Maglor groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Not tonight, fíriel," pushing aside her touch, he rubbed his hands across his face, "question and castigate me all you want tomorrow, but not tonight."
Lily chewed on her lip, holding back a smile. "Alright," she whispered. "I'll wait a couple hours."
He hummed. "Good. Now, cm'here." Within a second, he'd reached out for her, enveloping her within his strong arms. Lily felt hot. Her elbows were wedged at an awkward angle. Uncomfortable, she rolled around until her back was pressed against him. At her movement, Maglor grunted. In the silence, she could feel the steady thumping of his heart. Her husband swept aside her hair. He bent down, laying small kisses across the nape of her neck.
Lily hummed. The feeling was oddly lovely. "Is this to be your apology?" She murmured.
"Yes," he said. His warm, large hand slid across her waist, trailing to the curve of her hips. "I cannot help myself. You've bewitched me."
Against her will, she let out a wry smile. "Hardly. I've done nothing but vex you, my lord."
Maglor languidly brought his mouth to her earlobe. He nibbled playfully on it. "Írima," he said thickly, "my desire. You plague me day and night." She shivered. "And you don't even know it."
His hand trailed back up her stomach, to the curve of her breasts. His touch was making her head spin. Her husband ran his thumb over her nipple, and she arched beneath him. Oh. "Maglor…"
"Do you like that?" His breath was hot on hers. He entwined their legs, pressing his knee against the junction of her thighs. Her nightgown tangled, bunching up. There. Right there. Lily bit her lip, and squeezed her eyes shut. Oh god. Why was he doing this?
"Maglor, I…" She shook with a growing, overwhelming desire, and she couldn't determine whether the feeling was her own or her husband's.
"Let me please you," he said, low and slurred. "Let me satiate both our needs. You can save your hatred for another day."
His words sobered her. Hatred? "I do not hate you, Maglor."
He didn't reply. Did he not believe her? Memories of their argument flickered back, unwarranted. In her anger, she'd called him awful, horrible things.
In her mind, he'd deserved it.
Lily was upset, she had been hurt and she was frustrated. But she didn't - she couldn't - hate him. He'd saved her life. He'd protected her.
Maglor pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling. "You smell of the white, wild roses that grow in Lorien," he murmured. He reached further, bringing his lips down to her mouth. "And you taste like the morning sun." Lily shivered as he stretched himself above her.
"The morning sun?" She whispered between his kisses.
He hummed. "You taste of hope. And light."
Lily looked and saw his eyes. Oh. He wanted her. His gaze was heavy, sinful. The portly remnants of wine lingered on her lips.
Had he been drinking?
Before she could consider the thought, Maglor kissed her again. Hard and feverish. She kissed him back, teasingly biting down on his lower lip.
He groaned. "Ah." His hips bucked. She could feel his arousal press against her hip. "You wicked temptress," he muttered.
Lily smiled, pulling away from him. "You have no idea, my lord," she said coyly. Maglor's desire overcame him. He began to undo the buttons on her chemise, his fingers fumbling in his haste. Cursing, he yanked the fabric down past her waist. Her breasts, full and soft, spilled out.
Lily felt flushed. Her husband's eyes clouded with lust. "By the Valar," he murmured, "you are beyond lovely."
Before she could reply, he bent his head down, taking her left breast in his mouth. Lily bit her lip, holding back a whine as her husband suckled on her hardened nipple. "Maglor," she murmured.
He hummed. The sound was smug, carnal. "You do like this," he teased gently. "You like this very much."
"I think we should stop," Lily muttered, feeling hazy. "You've been drinking."
"Who cares?" He growled. "Let's forget our sorrows and make love to each other." He bit down on her nipple, his tongue swirling around it. Oh, god. Lily moaned, her hips grinding up against his own. "Maybe I shouldn't have come in here tonight."
"No, no," he said, breathless, "don't say that, don't you dare." He reached up and kissed her hard.
"Maglor," she said. Her husband had begun peppering kisses across her throat. "Maglor," she repeated, "look at me."
He did, and she wanted to weep.
Cupping his face with her hand, she spoke, "I will never hate you, Maglor. You're my husband. I made an oath to you. For better or for worse," he blinked slowly, his eyes suddenly becoming glassy. "I am sorry for calling you such awful things that day," she continued, "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."
The silence between them was heavy.
Maglor brought his hand up, gently prying away her fingers. Closing his eyes, he kissed her knuckles, sweet and soft. "I have already forgiven you, Lillian."
Her heart swelled. "Then perhaps we should rest, no? I have a feeling tomorrow will be a trying one."
"Ai," he straightened above her, beautiful and naked and still very much aroused. "If that's what you want, wife, then I must go dunk myself in the cold of the Gelion." His eyes sparkled once more - that old emptiness gone.
She laughed, bleary-eyed. Perhaps, her husband was right. It would be easy to drown out their sorrows with sex. Lord knows she needed an outlet for her loneliness and her grief.
"Maybe I can help you with that." Shuffling forward, she shrugged off the rest of her chemise. Maglor's eyes wandered over her figure, as if committing it to memory.
"Vessë," he murmured thickly. "Lie down and let me pleasure you."
She bit her lip. Desire swelled. Reaching down, she grabbed him, stroking his shaft. Her husband groaned, his eyes squeezing shut. "Ai," he choked out. "Lillian, stop that."
"You don't like it?"
"I like it too much," he said thickly. Oh.
"Alright then," she said. Lying back, she stretched her arms behind her, arching out before him, "have your wicked way with me, my lord."
No more words - coherent ones, at least - were spoken that night.
