Helena/Baron for all-made-out-of-shipwrecks
)O(
He had never meant to hurt her.
He could not blame people - lest of all Helena herself - for assuming that his intentions when he sought her out had been to kill her, nor could he fairly say that he was wrongfully condemned. He was ashamed of it, more deeply than any outside condemnation could ever have made him feel. He deserved - almost enjoyed - being called a murderer, so rightly was the accusation deserved.
And yet, it stung when people forgot that his crime had been one of passion, one committed in the heat and madness of the moment, and one that he had regretted even before the light left poor Helena's eyes.
Whatever people said - and whatever Helena herself believed - his love for her was pure and absolute. Had he only had better control of himself (and he had spent eight hundred long years berating himself that he had not), he would never have hurt her. Never.
But she did not believe that. Every passing day since their deaths had been spent in atonement, yet it would never be enough to convince her of his love.