Maglor awoke the next morning to a splitting headache.

"Arg."

The lingering taste of fermented, Eglarest wine stuck to the back of his throat. He wanted to gag. Blinking slowly, he opened his eyes.

The morning sun had crept through the curtains, spilling soft light across the old, wooden floorboards. His head throbbed and he groaned, disoriented.

He lay cold and naked in his bed. The coverlets had been yanked from him to the far left. There, they wrapped snugly around the sleeping form of his wife, Lillian.

Lillian?

He brought his hand up to his face and swore softly. Oh. Fragments of last night's activities returned to him.

Wallowing in his own pity and misery, he'd sought solace in a bottle of wine. When that didn't work, he'd attempted to bury his pain with carnal, physical pleasure.

That lustful, drunken outlet also happened to be his wife. Someone whom he did not deserve in the slightest; a girl who knew of his foul monstrosity yet forgave him anyway.

He didn't understand it.

The night before he'd departed for Sirion, she'd stared up at him. Angry. Resigned. He'd grabbed her, and he'd felt the fear radiating from within.

Her whole body had been violently shaking. And rightly so. His own rage frightened him.

If he'd hit her, he wouldn't have stopped.

His wounded pride and his anger followed him to the Mouths of Sirion. There, he partook in another kinslaying. He'd zealously massacred; soldiers, guards, the refugees who laid arms against him, any being that stood in his way. Nestariel had been struck down by a shot to the head. Amrod and Amras - whom he'd once cradled in his arms as infants - were slaughtered and beheaded by embittered elves of Doriath.

His rage did not depart from him. Not until he scaled the steps to Elwing's upper chambers, whence she stood with the Silmaril around her neck. The jewel of his father shone like cool, distant moonlight. An unattainable treasure.

Maedhros came at Elwing, and she fled.

The stench of burnt out smoke and death surrounded them, yet they'd cared little. Battle-weary, Maglor and Maedhros were dulled to the severity of their bloodshed. The Oath lay waiting, like the dark, shadowed finger of a ghost, curling towards them. Beckoning. Threatening. An ever-looming doom.

Maglor's anger simmered when the woman jumped. He'd watched, breath baited, as she fell to the waves and transformed into a great, white bird.

He'd stared as Elwing rose above the sea. Her wings caught the wind; it carried her - and with it - his father's Silmaril.

Within a heartbeat, they'd gone.

Maglor had thrown his sword to the ground and cursed in despair. He cursed the Valar, the dreadful Oath. His mind saw his wife's anger, and he wished to tear at himself in anguish.

Defeated and withdrawn, Maglor and Maedhros left Elwing's halls. They buried their younger brothers in a nearby, shallow grave.

It was then that he saw them.

The twins.

They'd hidden themselves within a sheltered cave. Maedhros sought to abandon them. Maglor looked, and knew these were the children of Elwing. Brooches on their tunics reflected the royal emblem of Doriath. One that once adorned the House of Dior before its destruction - destruction of which he was responsible for.

Maglor took one look at them and his pity overcame him. "I cannot leave them here, Maedhros."

And he didn't.

Lying in his bed, Maglor stared bleakly up at the ceiling.

Lillian stirred beside him. Turning, he rolled to his side. He looked at her, and felt a sad smile tug on his lips.

There, lying in the peaceful quiet of the morning, she was beautiful. Her cheeks were dusted pink. Her lips were lovely and swollen from his kisses.

Hot, heavy lust roused once more.

This time, he ignored it. His actions last night were ones of a lonely, drunken fool.

Despite everything, she'd offered herself to him. Without preamble. He didn't understand at all.

The girl spoke of a great, unconditional forgiveness and meant every word. He saw it. He'd made love to her; he'd looked into her eyes. He felt what she felt. Compassion. Mercy. Forgiveness.

At the thought, he wanted to weep.

Eru Iluvatar! May you have such a mercy on me!

Lillian's eyes flickered open and she yawned. She looked up at him, eyes bleary.

"Maglor?" She drowsed. She noticed his nakedness and blushed shyly. Maglor saw it and smiled. "You thieved my blankets," he teased, his voice soft.

Her dark eyes flickered. "Oh," she mumbled. Her voice still carried the remnants of sleep. "Sorry."

Maglor watched as she untangled herself. Naked, she pushed the blankets over the side of the bed. They slumped to the floor.

She laid back down beside him.

Morning light caught the pale skin of her thighs and the curve of her hips. His eyes wandered to the lovely dip of her waist. Then, to her breasts. Much like her lips, the girl's nipples were pink and swollen. Ah. My own doing. His eyes trailed to her collarbone, to the remnants of last night. Small, sweet lovebites trickled up her neck, to the crux of her earlobes.

"Is that better?" She asked sweetly, feigning innocence.

Maglor clenched his jaw, barely reigning in his own desire. If he touched her, she wouldn't leave his bed, not this day.

"Lillian," he murmured. "I'm sorry for last night."

"You're sorry?"

He attempted to keep his eyes on her face. His mouth felt dry, "I'd promised you a marriage of convenience. I think I broke that promise."

She was quiet. A strand of hair slid past her shoulders. "So you regret it?"

"No," he frowned, "I don't, Lillian."

"Then, what? You didn't enjoy yourself?"

"That isn't the point. I only think it wise we don't do it again," he said slowly. The words were like ash.

Lillian scowled. Through their bond, he could feel the gentle aching of her heart. "Right," she muttered. "I see." She turned away from him and glared up at the ceiling.

"Lillian." How could he make her see the truth? "You must understand. I am not a good man."

"I know that," she argued, "you think I don't know that?"

Maglor didn't reply. He watched as she distractedly played with her hair. In her small actions, he sadly realised how utterly young she was. An Edain, centuries younger than him - than anyone else in the fortress. Young and unsure and alone.

He'd wedded a girl. Not an elleth, but a simple girl. She would soon wither and die and it would eventually kill him.

The reminder was a kick to his gut.

"I do not think we should be physically intimate with each other."

She bit on her lip. There were tears forming in her eyes. "I don't understand. You told me last night that I'd bewitched you. That you desired me. Were those just empty words?"

Írima. The hot, burning fire in his soul and his body. "Írima," he said, "no. You have no idea how much I want you."

Could she not see the bloodshed gushing from his hands? He'd killed willingly. Knowingly. His actions haunted him. The death of his brothers haunted him. "But if you truly knew what I did at Sirion. What I did before that and -"

"I don't care!" She interrupted. She was tempestuous now. "I've forgiven you and I will always forgive you!"

"Why bother, Lillian?"

"Because I -" she stopped herself. "Because I care for you, my lord."

There it was. Maglor's eyes narrowed. "It isn't wise to care for me."

"I realise that now," she muttered sourly, "I've obviously made a big mistake." Her tears ran freely.

"It was my own fault," he said glumly, "I'm not the person you think I am."

"Really? I see a man who saved my life and gave me a home, despite being a complete stranger. I see a man who brought two children under his care, when it would've been easier to leave them stranded."

"Those children are orphans because of me."

She stilled at his words. Finally, he thought, I've gotten through to her. "Did you think I brought them here because of selfless altruism? No," he argued, "they are here because of my own wretched guilt!" Angry, his head throbbing, he lept to his feet.

Lillian sat before him, naked and beautiful. Her chest was heaving. Maglor squeezed his eyes shut to keep himself from staring like a common lecher.

Valar above.

He began to cross the room. "I am doomed like the rest of us in this godforsaken place," He continued blithely, "soon I will die, just like my brothers. Just like Nestariel."

At the mention of her friend, the girl let out a pained sob.

Turning aside, he reached for his clothes. "You should not waste your tears on her," he said grimly.

That got her angry. Maglor watched her scramble to her feet.

"Don't you dare tell me who I should mourn over. She was a very good friend to me!"

Unbothered, Maglor slowly tied his breeches. "Aye. She was also a murderer, like the rest of us."

Lillian began to pace before him, crossing her arms, concealing herself in shame. Maglor saw her torment and wished to comfort her.

"Do not weep over us, little one. We are not worth your compassion."

"Maybe I should simply leave Amon Ereb," she said sourly. "My husband doesn't want me and I have nothing else."

"If that's what you wish to -"

"Oh stop it!" She seethed at him, "just stop it!" Her eyes flashed. "I'm tired of arguing with you!"

Maglor glared at her. Her anger stirred his own; like a spring near to bursting. "If you wish me to leave -"

"No! You won't leave me, you cannot leave me!"

Her rage suddenly twisted into fear.

"Then I'll stay." The girl's emotions were giving him whiplash.

She stopped pacing and hung her head in her hands. Heavy, hard sobs wracked at her chest. "I just," she cried, "I feel so alone. I'm so alone. I have nobody."

Maglor heard those words and his restraint crumbled. "Ai, my love, do not weep so." He came and wrapped his arms around her. The girl hardly reached his shoulders. He pressed her head to his heart. "You are not alone. I will not leave you."

"But you don't want me," she hiccuped.

The tightness in his pants disagreed. "Írima," he said gently, "sex doesn't have to be the only thing between us."

She sobbed into his chest. "But I want to have sex with you."

Her words were so blunt he wanted to laugh. "Do I please you that much?"

"Yes." Lily sniffled, pressing her nose into his bare chest.

Maglor let out a sharp, pained gasp, his own eyes watering. He looked up to the ceiling, trying to push the feeling away.

"Nestariel told me elves only marry once," she said softly, "that it is a very sacred thing."

The elf lord grit his teeth. "Yes," he murmured, "Nestariel spoke the truth."

"I want you to be happy, Maglor. You were happy with me last night, weren't you?"

"I was drunk," he replied bluntly. "Like a coward, I'd used the bottle to drown my sorrows and then I used you."

"I don't care," she said stubbornly. "I want you either way."

Maglor looked back down at her, solemn and silent. Lillian was a slave to her emotion. "You know," he said slowly, "my parents did not share a good marriage."

She quietened in his arms. "Really?"

"Yes. They fought fiercely and often during my youth. My mother, Nerdanel, renounced him after he departed for Aman."

Their final argument was etched firmly into his memory. "You are no wife of mine!" Maglor could not forget his mother's heartbreak. 3,000 years of devotion, severed by a few well-aimed words.

"My parents had a good marriage," she countered, shifting in his arms, "my papa loved my mama dearly before she died."

"Did he remarry? I have heard tales of mortals doing such things."

"No. He loved her in memory and raised me on his own."

Maglor felt the girl melt beneath his touch. She no longer shook with rage. Reaching out, he began stroking her hair. "Then what your father had was special."

"I want that with you," she said, "I want to try. I cannot bear being so lonely."

He knew the feeling.

Maglor reached down, pressing a kiss to her head. She wilted against him. "If that is what you wish, little one."

"I want you to want that, too."

"I'm not certain if I could bear it." He said, truthfully. To love a second born, knowing what awaited her? And him?

Lily pulled away, and pressed her lips to the warm skin of his chest. The suddenness of it almost stole his breath. "Lillian," he warned.

"What?" She hummed, beginning to kneel down before him. When she began to untie his breeches, he gently pulled her hands away.

"No. No more," he countered, "if unfeigned marriage is what you want, then we're going to take things slow."

Lily acquiesced. Straightening, she wrapped her arms around him. "Alright, your majesty. We shall do whatever you decree," she said wryly.

"Do not tease me so," he said lightly. "You're asking for trouble."

For the first time that morning, she smiled. "Good," she retorted. He pinched her side and she squealed, darting away.

Maglor smiled boyishly. "Put some clothes on. We'll go see to the children downstairs. I think they shall comfort you greatly."