Hil: I partially answer your question in this chapter, for the rest, we'll see later ;). But I'd say in general I try to stick to the text and it's made pretty clear Elves don't marry twice and don't commit adultery either (with some notable exceptions, of which Maglor wouldn't be part). As for Maglor being attractive, it isn't really my doing, his parents deserve all the credit for that I suppose haha. But seriously, I think most fans already have made up their own image of him so surfing on this isn't too complicated. Anyways thank you again, I'm glad you liked the kiss scene, I did put some extra work into it since I wanted it to be smooth...

4. Skins

After having disclosed his name, Maglor had decided that was quite enough talk for the moment, since he had no desire to rehash tales of the older days.

Gilmith's reaction, or rather her lack of reaction, to his confession had been unexpected and he knew not how to interpret her silence on the matter. Was she simply too weary to discuss or was she cooled down to be in presence of a murderer? Either ways, they both had chosen to break away from one another and Gilmith had spent the rest of the night curled up by the fire while he had stayed nearer the rocks, resting against them. He wished the night had no been so clouded, for he missed the stars and above all, it would have soothed his heart to see Eärendil's star - that light ever was the brightest.

When morning came, Maglor wondered if time had not come for he and Gilmith to part. He had kissed her, and still desired her greatly, and he had also told her about his true identity, which meant he had completely lost control of the situation. This mere infatuation - what else could it be? - would only lead him to more disasters which was exactly what he wished to avoid, at all cost. For centuries, his whole existence had been dedicated to repentance and this stern lifestyle was perhaps his sole chance at one day earning forgiveness, he believed. He could not ruin this for a girl, Half-Elven or not, could he?

Anyhow, Gilmith probably would refuse to journey with him any longer and soon he would not have to worry about her at all.

Gilmith woke up quite early, yet she moved not, for she needed to recollect her thoughts before facing him. However her concerns were far from being those he imagined - she cared more about the kisses than his father's name. Of course she was familiar with the stories of Fëanor and of his sons, they were included in most songs sung about the great deeds of the First Age, the age of the Heroes, which her own father was quite fond of. Their part was far from being the most glorious and if they had indeed fight against the Dark Enemy, they had also slain many innocents in their attempts to fulfill their Oath. But to Gilmith it was but distant echoes of ancient days, it was just folklore, and she could hardly link the Maglor who had saved her with the Maglor who had lead attacks on the realm of Doriath, a mythical place she did not relate to.

What really troubled Gilmith was that she had crossed a line, that she did not consider him anymore only as her savior, but that she now thought of him tenderly, hoping his arms would hold her once more. It was a distrastous idea to let herself fall in love with an Elf, let alone a prince born in the West - in all regards, he outranked her outright. And, whatever folk her mother belonged to, was she not, after all, fated to wed a man of Gondor?

Finally, she opened her eyes, turning around. She caught his gaze at once and it was hard to guess what could be going on his mind at the moment, for his face was cold and still like marble. His dark hair flowing in the wind, he was terribly handsome and in a way, torment suited him well, enhancing his sharp features.

"Lord Maglor," Gilmith blurted as she sat up, "it was a ridiculous decision we made, when we chose to follow the shore. I should head inland, where my people went."

She dared not to stare at him long, it brought back flashes of their embrace, the night before. The taste of his lips was still on hers and she remembered too keenly how delightful it had been to fall asleep in his arms. She certainly could not afford to blush now.

"Indeed you are right, Gilmith," he said, glancing at the ocean. "I suppose I should suffer to be away from the sea for a few days..."

She noticed he had left by her side a small pouch, filled with dried fruits and nuts. It was breakfast, but she felt in a hurry to leave as fast as possible, thus she pocketed it and proceeded to wrap up her clothes, making sure she was well covered. The sky was dark and it looked like some storm would come from the sea.

"I am deeply sorry I cannot walk myself, otherwise rest assured I would find my way alone to the closest village."

And there she stood as firmly as she could, owing it more to her pride than to her strength.

"There is no need for you to feel sorry," he told her and he put his hand on her head, bending down to take a closer look at her, adding, "I understand well you miss family, I shall walk fast, Gilmith."

How long could they pretend to be strangers to one another, Maglor knew not, yet he did as he had said and soon the sea was behind them, and so the seagulls, who would not follow them further inland.

The forest was one of tall stone pines, lean cypresses and magnificent maple and oak trees. There were also myrtle and pistacia shrubs, flourishing happily under the Sun, and every now and then Maglor would accidently hit a cone pine, for many were scattered on the ground. In his centuries of lonesome wandering, he had left the seaside a few times only and had not gone very far inland - he had never laid eyes on those places that were well-known in Middle-Earth, whether it'd be Men cities, or great forests inhabitated by Elves.

This time, it would be a short incursion, that he ought have done before, had he been wiser. Anfalas was not very populated, the equivalent of barely a third of Belfalas' population was scattered in these lands, yet had he been willing to leave the sea shore earlier, he and Gilmith would have parted days ago already. He still was not convinced it had entirely been a mistake to let her, though he could easily list the reasons he should have not told her his real name, but perhaps a little tenderness had done no harm, perhaps it had soothed his heart, if only for one night...

He would almost rejoice she could not walk, she was but a light weigth on his back and since her head leaned on his shoulder, her hair tickled softly his neck. He realized he would have been happy to bring her back all the way to Dor-en-Ernil, however he also deemed he did not deserve the pleasure of her company and Gilmith should not tarry by his side, lest she be badly hurt.

The trail of his thoughts was interupted, some time in the late afternoon, when he heard her cry. Thus far, Gilmith had mostly weep when she had been alone, or silently, so he would not notice, but she seemed not trying to restrain herself anymore and Maglor took pity on her, once more.

"You shall see your father and your brother soon enough, by horse you will be able to reach your home within a week," he told her, unable to ignore her sniffing any longer.

"Perhaps... that is not the reason I am crying however."

There was more than one reason she felt miserable, yet he would not probably not guess what had triggered her tears.

"Tell me, then," Maglor said after a long silence.

"I am no Half-Elven, I am just a daughter of Gondor..." Gilmith muttered.

"You looked quite Elven to me. I must admit that at first I really did wonder what you were doing in this small village of Anfalas, as I was under the impression you were an Elf."

"They call me Edhelwen when my father is not around, for they say I bear great ressemblance with my mother," she explained. "However that does not make me an Elf, does it? Upon seeing you, upon sharing your life, even just for a few weeks, I do realize I am just a young girl who will one day wed, have children, grow older and then die... I had foolishingly hoped that meeting a real Elf would change things, that it would trigger some unknown powers, hidden within me... What an idiot I have been... I am no Half-Elven and I am not alike my mother, I simply am my father's daughter."

Her brother Galador questioned himself much less about these matters, having always felt he belonged to Gondor and to the race of Men in general, and worst than that, he had never truly understood how she felt herself about her identity. The very idea that Gilmith could share more than likeness with their mother's folk was beyond what he could fathom, thus she had mostly been left alone to ponder about these issues, listing all those differences that set her apart from the other young girls.

"The other Half-Elvens, they were given a choice over their fate," said Maglor, at length. "They were offered this freedom, to be either Man, either Elf."

"By whom?"

"The Powers of the West."

Gilmith smiled sadly through her tears, having expected this answer.

"My cause will surely not move them, for if they still watch over Middle-Earth, then their attention must be focused on the East and on Mordor."

Even Maglor could not foresee what the outcomes of such a situation could be, since he knew not if the cases of Elrond, Elros and their family had been a one of a kind exception, or if the Valar consider the plead of another Half-Elven. "This is but my humble advice I am giving you Gilmith, yet I believe you should do as you dream to."

"As I dream to...?"

"Go North, go to Lórien where you shall be welcomed by the Galadhrim, no doubt. There the Lady of Wood shall give you good counsel, should you wonder who you truly are."

"The Lady of the Wood," repeated Gilmith, thoughtful. "Does she know you still wander on the shores of this world?"

"Mayhaps..." he whispered somberly. "Although she most probably does not waste her time pondering over the likes of me."

"Is she not of your kin, though?" To forget her own gloominess, Gilmith had tried remembering those old genealogy trees she had glimpsed once or twice in scrolls her Númenórean ancestors had brought from their island - she would been unable to list all of Finwë's descendants, but she was sure the Lady of the Wood and Maglor were related.

"Indeed..." he growled.

She could not see his face, however she guessed he was scowling and it put an end to her inquiries. At least she cried no more.

"Are you hungry perchance?"

The question came out of nowhere, as the Sun had set down hours ago. It had suddenly hit Maglor that Gilmith was still fragile and food was perhaps the best medicine these days.

"A little, but do no stop on my account," she said, her voice hoarse. "I can nibble on a few nuts."

"No, you need a proper meal, I saw your legs shaking while you struggled to stand up this morning and had you been less stubborn, you would have collapsed," he said, almost scolding her. "Yet do not worry, it will be but a short halt, for I do not intend to sleep this night so we shall progress fast."

It was not difficult to find a small glade and Maglor had thrown his cloak on the mossy ground for her to sit on it and once the flames of the fire he had quickly lit rose into the night's cold air, this corner of the forest where they stood started feeling homely indeed. He went to gather some pine nuts, which he brought back in abundance, along with berries, thyme leaves and fresh water. As he peeled the nuts, Gilmith, who was eating all he gave her, gazed at him absentmindedly, thinking he was quite agile for someone with such large hands, especially since his right hand was wrapped in a tight bandage.

"Your hand!" she exclaimed softly, baffled she had not understood this earlier. "You... you threw a Silmaril into the ocean, with this hand..."

Maglor froze for a few seconds, frowning.

"Yes, it burned my flesh, deeply," he admitted, reluctant. "As the songs go, it is true I was not worthy of holding the jewel anymore, for sins had tainted my soul... and this pain reminds me everyday of the crimes I committed."

Heaving a sigh, he proceeded to untie the bandage, wincing as he did so, and his bare skin was exposed - it was red, raw, and covered with blisters, some whole, some ripped, as if the wounds were fresh, whereas they had been inflicted to him millennia ago. Considering these, Gilmith thought it was actually a miracle he could still move his fingers, for it look extremely sore.

"It has not healed since then," she whispered, gaping. "And... you have been wandering along the shores ever since?"

"This is all there is left for me to do," he replied bluntly.

"Could you not... seek forgiveness? Have not those years of loneliness brought you to atone for your deeds? For I am not the only one person you have saved, am I?"

She was unsure about whether there was some sort of procedure High Elves had to go through in order to be allowed back in Valinor, or if such a thing existed. However he came from the Undying Lands, perhaps he even knew these Powers ruling the West, and Gilmith believed there was a chance for him to plead his cause - she'd certainly forgive him, but it was just her growing feelings for him that made her so compassionate towards him.

"I did save a few people, mostly from shipwrecks... but not nearly as much as I have seen perished because of me. As for forgiveness, I have long felt I do not deserve it."

"To me, you simply are the one I owe my life to," she reflected.

"And to numerous others I am a ruthless murderer."

"One day the number of people you have saved might outweight the number of people you have... slain."

"'Tis my only hope," he confessed, bitterly.

Maglor found himself to be too restless to stay seated by a fire and he rose. "If you have eaten enough, I suggest we go already, Gilmith," he announced, quickly wrapping his hand, once again. "Behind this forest lie fields and I would wager that more than one cottage could welcome you, over there."

While he stomped out the fire to extinguish it, almost hurriedly, Gilmith regretted having brought up the matter of his injured hand. It most probably had been the last meal they woud share, however modest it had been, and she had ruined it, forcing him to display wounds he surely would have kept for himself.

"You told me you never left the seaside, how can you know..."

"I also told you birds keep me informed." and he added, sighing, "I... I told you too much... have I not...".

His hand had found hers. There were many underlying feelings lingering between them and pretending nothing had happened could only last so long, yet none of them would speak those words, none would face their emotions.

"Perhaps I was too chatty myself," she said, entwining her fingers with his.

"To each his own issues."

"I would not dare compare mine to yours."

"It is about time we depart," Maglor finally said, "I might be able to drop you right on one of those farmhouses' doorstep before dawn."

"I am ready," Gilmith whispered and she managed to produce a feeble smile, despite the sadness that filled her eyes.

Those beautiful green eyes, they were Maglor's weak spot. He ought have avoided her gaze, he should have known better. Yet it was too late. He felt drawn to her, irresistibly.

A light stroke on her cheek would not mean much, he tought, and one last kiss would not hurt, would it?

So they kissed and they fooled themselved into believing it was just a way of saying farewell, that in a few minutes he would release her and that they would resume their travel. But neither Maglor, neither Gilmith tried to resist their desire for one another, on the contrary they slowly fell on their knees and as he kept bending down, she ended up lying on her back, beside the pile of ashes that had been a fire moments ago. The grass and the moss felt comfortable enough, however Gilmith was not preoccupied by the bedding, for she was too busy keeping up with his caresses and his increasing ardor.

Soon Maglor's hands slid under her dresses, however he proceeded carefully, eyeing her reactions every now and then to make sure he did well, for he too had stepped into new territories. These loving gestures were unknown to him as much as they were to her and it simply was up to them both to make these discoveries together. To his relief, little Gilmith soon proved to be very eager and willing, climbing onto him and fumbling with the ties of his tunic. His mouth against hers, he smiled and quickly took off his clothes himself, revealing his lean and surprisingly toned torso. Awhile they kissed some more, happily playing with each other, while Gilmith removed her own garments, one by one, and once she was completely naked, they rolled, he ending on top of her - relishing his position.

For a second, he was reminded they were in a forest, for an owl had hooted in a nearby tree, and, being reminded the air was crisp, he threw a blanket over them - they would easily keep themselves warm underneath it. The two of them were well aware of what they were about to do, yet when their gazes locked, as he was about to enter in her, there was not the faintest trace of hesitation in their eyes. Their yearning was mutual, thus Maglor bent down, cupping her face and kissing her, and he went ahead, feeling Gilmith's fingers stroke the back of his neck.

Maglor knew not exactly how it worked, however caution dictated him to go slowly and when all of him was inside her, he stopped. He woud have asked her if she felt alright, but instead he merely stared at her, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath lightly brushing her face. Her green eyes wide open, Gilmith was a little surprised at the sensation, yet it did not hurt that much, or perhaps it was just that the pain was much lighter than what she had gone through over the last weeks.

In any case, she did not want him to worry uselessly so she kissed him before he could say anything, hungry to taste his lips. She also wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, drawing him even closer to her, and the feeling of their bare skin rubbing together was terribly exquisite. He took this as a signal and he began thrusting, gently and deeply, while his mouth traveled down from her own mouth to her throat, and then on her collarbones, and at last on her breast, her soft round breast - how delicious it was. It took him some remarkable self-control to keep a steady pace, for he felt himself maddening with pleasure, but he did his best to focus on his caresses on her. And it paid off, at length Gilmith let out a small moan, the first of many.

In the end, their enjoyment was different, his plainly being the greatest. He had let out a long groan, a sound he had never imagined could come out of his mouth ever, and thinking about it afterwards made him feel somehow bashful.

"It hurt you, did it not?" asked Maglor after he had locked his arms around her, not unhappy to hold such a cute prisonner.

"Barely."

"I was too... rough, you are still recovering after all."

These words caused Gilmith to chuckle and she realized it had been weeks since she had last laughed.

"If the beam was not enough to break me, then surely I can handle some fierce cuddling."

"You are a small twig," he said, smiling and putting a kiss on the tip of her nose, "yet I have to admit you are surprisingly strong."

She was still giggling a little and her fingers were softly moving on his face, tracing his features, as if she wished to remember exactly where everything was. Then her expression grew serious and concern clouded her green gaze.

"Don't you... don't you have a wife already?" she inquired, ashamed she had not wondered about this earlier.

"I never was wedded," Maglor told her, earnestly.

However, in what seemed to be another life, he had been betrothed to a lovely Noldorin lady and, with a little concentration, he could still remember how sweet flirting with her had been. Yet sweet was all it had ever been, whereas, when he looked at Gilmith, he did feel great fondness for her, but he also ached with desire - a stinging and burning sensation that pierced through his chest, leaving him instatisfied, all the time.

"How come?"

"It never happened... The exile changed our lives, the Oath took away everything I ever had and everyone I ever loved..."

Gilmith saw great grief fill his grey eyes and for a few endless seconds, she felt at loss. She suddenly feared he would lose himself in his sorrows and, helpless, she did all she could to soothe his pain - she kissed him.

Gilmith was asleep, huddled against him, a peaceful expression spread across her face. He ought have been thinking she was adorable, he ought have stroked her cheek or run his fingers through her hair, however making love to her once more was all that was on his mind. He wanted to press her closer to him, to feel her breast squeezed against his chest and his hands... if he only could slide his hands down her back and lift her up just a little bit. He was all hard again, it almost hurt - how could he be such a fool and believe that what had happened last night would quench his lust? It was just keener than ever...

However he was not experiencing mere lust, for, lurking in his heart, there was also something else, far more delightful and far more dangerous.

I've tried to think of Maglor as some historical/legendary character, because that is what he is to Gilmith. She knows he was responsible for the death of many people, but it was long ago, on a continent that no more exists, so it's hard to relate to it, so she would not be especially horrified at what he has done (and well, he was not too bad either...). And after all, she came to know him simply as an Elf who saves lives whenever he can.

It was difficult to write a sex scene without being too explicit about it O.o also I pretty much have never read stuff like this in English so I had to check what sort of vocab was appropriate (and decided I would not name any intimate parts in the end haha) Also I said I usually try to stick to the text, yet sex before marriage would be a big no-no then haha.

These two are a weird match, in the sense that he is of a much more high rank than she, even though her mother really was an Elf. A prince of the Noldor is definitely AAA while a Silvan Elf would be A at best, and Gilmith is half human so... (not that I have anything against Wood Elves but it is stated their culture is rudimentary compared to that of the Sindarin, so imagine how they looked beside the fancy Noldor). But hey, if Beren managed to wed Lúthien, anything is possible.