University has been draining all my energy lately and I have to admit I felt pretty miserable to be held away from fanfics (and books in general).

5. Haven

Anfalas, T.A. 2028 mid-October

They were walking on the beach, bare feet, and they were holding hands. Gilmith's face glowed and her long brown hair flew in the wind, like a banner, while she giggled everytime the waves came tickling her toes. She had gained some weight back, her pink cheeks were plumper and her green eyes sparkled with carefree happiness. Beside her, Maglor too was metamorphosed and these days a smile ever lingered on his lips, taking off his handsome face the weight of many years of suffering. For a while at least, his wanderings on the seashore no more were a burden, on the contrary it had become a pleasant stroll, as if he actually had chosen to do it, as if it was not a curse.

Gilmith now was allowed to walk, on the strict condition that he was to decide when she had exercised enough, for she herself tended to overlook her limits and, on mornings, they had taken the habit of going around the beach, singing - he had taught her many beautiful songs - and discussing whatever matter crossed their minds. By then, it was obvious to both of them they had fallen in love with one another, most definitely, and it scared them at times, although neither dared voice their worries aloud. Slowly, they were heading towards Dor-en-Ernil and they were well aware their days together were numbered - even the scenery around them changed, as the limestone cliffs of the Anfalas made place to small hills and neatly drawn fields.

There were also more and more villages, connected by a road that became wider and wider, and at dusk they could see smoke rise from the cottages' chimneys. Maglor knew perfectly well how to avoid places where Men could be met and although it had not been said, Gilmith was to stay with him until they were to sight her father's tower. It was a short periode of time they had left to spend together, but they made the most it, delighted by the sweetness of each other's company.

And sometimes also, delicate matters were brought up, usually by Gilmith who was very curious about Elves in general and Maglor in particular.

"Have you ever thought of going North yourself, to Imladris where dwells lord Elrond?"

She knew he liked not hearing this name, yet he barely winced at the mention of it - she barely felt his hand squeezing hers harder, for a brief moment.

"No," Maglor answered sternly, "even if I were to sail West one day, I would leave these lands without having set my eyes on Imladris, for I certainly do not belong there."

"I was under the impression that you and lord Elrond were rather..." Gilmith was not sure there was a word to describe their relationship properly. Maglor had fostered lord Elrond and his brother, king Elros, however he was also the very reason the children had been parentless to begin with, or at least thus it was relayed by the songs of old.

"Close?" he mused, the ghost of a smile passing on his lips. "Well, Maedhros and I fostered them indeed... I did raise Elrond and his brother and for years I cared for them, as if they were my own sons. They have known me longer than they knew their parents, and I was the one who soothed their fears at night, the one who taught them to write, to sing, I..."

As he heaved a sigh, Gilmith shyly asked, "You loved them genuinely, did you not?"

"Indeed, love grew between us... I did all I could to make them happy despite the terrible years we have been through together," Maglor confessed. "However it was clear all along our paths would part at some point, for I was still bound by the Oath whereas their destinies were far more brilliant than mine."

"Have you... Have you bid them farewell knowingly then?"

"Yes, I bid them farewell long ago, when the world as we had known it had been destroyed by decades of war, when at last the Enemy had been defeated," he replied. "They were young and a life full of promises lied ahead of them, thus Maedhros and I let them go... Terrible deeds we had to accomplish, for the Oath tormented us still, and the least we could do was to spare them from seeing this darker side of us... In fact, we wished to protect them from ourselves and to preserve their innocence. Is it not perfectly ridiculous, though ? After all, we had ruined their lives already, by attacking the havens, by slaining their people..."

"Yet... nothing prevents you from visiting him? Or... is there...?"

"Physically, there is nothing that prevents me from travelling North, that is true..." Maglor shrugged - there were no barriers in Middle-earth, except those he had set for himself.

"Then why would it not be a happy reunion, were you to go to Imladris?"

It had been bothering her for days, weeks already. Gilmith knew she was rather powerless, there was not much she could undertake to help him, however she was convinced lord Elrond woud be able to do something - what exactly, it was a mystery. The Lady of the Wood was said to hold great powers too, yet Maglor seemed to fear her somehow, and would he not be more willing to listen to the one he considered his son? And perhaps if Gilmith's own opinion of him was worthed well nigh nothing, for she was a clueless nineteen years old Half-Elven of Gondor, who had fallen head over heels for him, would not the Powers of the West take in consideration mighty and wise lord Elrond's words?

"There, I would be a ghost, Gilmith. Nothing but a bloody ghost of the old days."

"You seem quite real to me..." she said, entwining her fingers with his.

"What I am to most of these Elves of the North is what those pirates of Umbar are to you, far worse even. Thus how could they welcome me among them? And why should they?"

"But what if-"

"I won't go, Gilmith," he said, his brow furrowed, his eyes shining fiercely. "And it is not up to the Elves of Imladris, or of Lórien for that regard, to judge me for those... terrible crimes I committed. I shall not obtain forgiveness from them, thus I would rather not face them."

Gilmith felt anguished, for she had come to believe that going to see lord Elrond would be a good first step, towards his healing.

"I shall never be able to help you, shall I?" she whispered, as she stopped walking.

When he had first found her in the village, she might have been the one in dire need of help, yet she had come to realize he needed more rescue than she did and that in the end, between the two of them, his toments were the worst - and perhaps no other Elf had suffered like he did.

"You do not have to help me," he told her, facing her and running his thumb on her cheek. "These days we are spending together are already too much for an old fiend like me and I am underserving of this bliss. Gilmith, it is an unexpected bliss you have brought me already and I shall never be able to thank you like you ought be."

On the first days of November, they came in view of the abandoned haven of Edhellond, a grey silhouette of houses and towers settled by the river Morthond. Its last inhabitants had fled some fourty years ago, when king Amroth had died, drowning in the sea, but the city still stood, frozen in time. Bushes and ivy grew freely on roads and walls and a flock of storks had taken up residence on roofs, building their giant nests on the highest places. Otherwise, Edhellond was nearly intact, as if the Elves were to come back any time soon.

Gilmith and her brother knew well the haven, for it was one of their favorite playgrounds and they had spent many days there, when their father had been away, in the countryside or in Minas Tirith. Whenever they could, they had escaped there, not really sure of what they were hoping to find in these houses - mere echos of the past, perhaps. And that was all there was left there, old stones and worm-eaten wood, yet she and Galador had always loved to pretend some treasure had been hidden among the silent stones of Edhellond. And when once they had found a small silver brooch, adorned with golden leaves, they had decided it had belonged to their mother and they had kept it preciously, in a small box - to that day, none of them had been able to get rid of.

"Fifty miles stand between here and my city," Gilmith said, as they passed the archway where the eastern gates had once been. "And there are small towns scattered nearly everywhere along the road, most of the farmers would recognize me..."

"You are almost home, indeed."

Unlike her, Maglor had never stepped into Edhellond, neither had he entered a city since the end of the First Age. This one might have be abandoned decades ago, yet it was a strange feeling to find himself surrounded by walls.

"Yes, it even smells a bit like home..."

In a way, Gilmith was happy, for she would be reunited with her father and her brother, at long last. They were her very life and she missed them immensely - it was even worst to think they believed her to be dead. However, she no more was the ingenuous maiden that had gone to attend Fíriel's wedding, excited to travel on her own and to dance with young men. She had become someone else, somehow older and perhaps a tad wiser too and, above all else, she had fallen in love with Maglor, deeply, irresistibly. Truth be told, at first she had thought it was a mere infatuation, for a little girl like her could hardly resist a tall and strong Elf like him, especially since he was so mysterious and somber. Yet it now was clear she had not been blinded by his looks, Gilmith knew she would simply never love someone else the way she loved him.

"I suppose we ought spend the night somewhere in here," Maglor said, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

"Can we?" wondered Gilmith, leaning her head against his chest.

"The landlords surely won't mind."

They gazed around, at the empty streets, and a few seagulls flew above their heads - those had been following them for a while already.

"It is a special place to me," Gilmith confessed, "it is connected to my mother, a little at least."

"Where should we head then?" he asked, peering at her, a soft smile on lips.

"There is a tower overlooking South, I do recall it is in excellent shape."

It was not hard to find, for it was a small white tower, with a copper roof, and its doors were wide-opened, welcoming almost. Maglor and Gilmith climbed up the stairs, ignoring the different rooms they came across for the time being, and in a few minutes, they found themselves on a vast terrace with a magnificent bird's-eye view on rive Morthond and the sea. The land looked very familiar to Gilmith and among the woods and farms, her eyes caught the purple spots of lavender fields - she could almost smell it. And farther, on the highest hill of the area, there was her father's city, there was home, this place the people of Gondor had slowly started naming Dol Amroth.

She was far-sighted and even from such a long distance she could see the silver-upon-blue banner of her house flowing above her father's house. Gilmith had long dreamed one of the swan ships would bring her wherever her mother had gone, but this time her thoughts strayed elsewhere. The Undying Lands, she'd probably never reached, however she could sail North quite easily - had not her father some kin dwelling up there, in Eriador?

"I will go North some day, I know not when, but I will visit all those places I have been dreaming of since childhood. There has always been a longing within me... it grows keener whenever my eyes fell on the ocean."

Gilmith would have been unable to put to words this feeling, neither could she remember what had triggered it - her mother's vanishing perhaps, or it simply was in her Númenórean blood.

"The Sea calls us home, that is why," said Malgor who had turned his back to the balcony and the landscape - his attention was focused on her solely.

"Humans like me can sense it too then?"

"Gilmith, I doubt your fate has been settled already," he said slowly, weighing every one of his words, "you could still follow your mother, to whatever shores she sailed..."

"What...?" she breathed, gaping.

"These are only my personal assumptions, and whatever the truth is, you shall discover it on your journey to the North..." Maglor told her, very seriously. "A journey that you will have to undertake without me, for I am doomed and would not risk you to be."

Gilmith took his right hand, the injured one, in hers, patting the bandages with caution and gentleness. Surely his wounds would heal one day, surely he would be forgiven... alas she would not be there to witness it, she thought, tears filling her eyes.

"Are we not both yearning to see our mothers once more?" she whispered, her chin trembling, her voice wavering. "That is maybe when our paths shall cross again... on the other side."

Maglor's gaze shifted from the sky to her and he considered her awhile, silently. Perhaps it was the scenery around them, this old abandonned haven, or perhaps it was just that he had grown so used of having her by his side, but a keen sadness pierced through his chest when his his eyes met hers. He felt not sorry for himself, for he was convinced he had been blessed with undeserved bliss, but guilt at his own cowardice assailed him - had he not utterly failed at protecting her?

"Gilmith, go seek out your origins, but I beg of you, do take care of you and do always think of yourself before you think of me."

His silky black hair framed his anxious face and his bright grey eyes were crushed by his frowned eye brows. It was quite horrifying how pain and sadness strained his handsome features and it certainly was too much to bear for Gilmith - she stifled a sob and threw herself in his arms.

Eventually, after the Sun had set out in the West, they went down to explore a few of the tower's rooms and in most of them furniture was still in place, untouched for decades and covered with thick layers of dust. Then they found a bed, a large four poster bed, and though he cared not for comfort, Gilmith hardly could hide her excitment at the prospect of spending one night on a soft mattress, not matter how pleasant it had been to sleep under the stars in Maglor's arms. Outside, the weather had turned much colder over the last days, thus it was also a relief they would be in a real house, sheltered from the wind.

"Would it be alright to light a fire?" Gilmith asked, probing the fireplace.

"Would not the villagers notice the smoke?" he retorted, sitting on the bed, after having removed its shabby cover.

"I think not," she said, moving towards him.

"Later, I shall go find some wood then."

"Thank you". And she bent down to kiss his forehead, with delight. Weeks ago she would have never dared to act so freely around him, she reflected.

Maglor was quick to slide an arm around her waist, scooping her on his lap, and he brushed away her curl from her forehead. Whereas Gilmith had a playful smile on her lips, his expression was serious, almost solemn, as his hands cupped her face and he took a few moments to look at her up close, before he spoke.

"I should have delivered you to your people earlier, it was highly selfish of me to indulge in... in... my desires," he muttered. "That was a great weakness from my part and it only shall hurt you in the end."

His grey eyes filled with sadness, although a light ever shone brightly in them - and she now understood why it was so fascinating, it was the light of the Trees, the memory of happier times.

"Please do not pity me," said Gilmith, running her hand through his hair. "I won't bear that you look at me like this. and I won't let you take all the blame for what happened... I may not be tall like you, I may not be mighty like you and I may be young still, yet I willingly chose to stay with you and I never fooled myself into believing it would last forever."

"Oh but it shall last forever, Gilmith," he sighed heavily, "in my heart at least."

Facing the melancholy that had seized him, she felt helpless once more and at loss for words. On a few occurences, she had had the fluttering impression it was in her power to release him from his burden - some of it at least -, yet every one of his smiles, of his laughters, of his joyful songs had ever been followed by flickers of grief in his gaze. And Gilmith was now so terrified at the thought of her contributing to his despair, she could only kiss him, in the hope that the touch of her lips on his would convey her feelings better than any speech would. Their kiss lasted long, and when they broke away, her forehead rested against his, while his thumbs ran up and down her jawline.

Her eyes were still closed, as she whispered, "Are you not a little happy when we are together or has it been all worthless?"

Maglor pulled her closer, closing the gap between them, and his hold was strong, his fingers digging in her back.

"Ever since... Ever since I started wandering, my life has mostly been spent dwelling in memories, but over the last few weeks I have fully lived in the present," he said, his breath warming her neck and shoulder. "And I have stored enough beautiful moments in my mind to last for the upcoming millenia."

"Maglor, I..." her voice trailed, her mouth still opened, and she fell silent, hesitating. Gilmith had a confession to make, one that had been lingering in her thoughts for long, however lately she wondered if it would not be wiser to keep these words to herself.

He had understood what she had been about to say, it seemed, and he acknowledged it, kissing her. Maglor put everything in his kiss and there was something a little desperate at way his mouth moved on hers. Gilmith felt herself collapsed against him and as their embrace grew wilder, her brown curls got tangled with his black hair - soon they rolled on the bed and indeed the softness of the mattress was a nice a change from the grass and the undegrowth. Making love outside, under the stars, had been vastly pleasant, yet the bed, its sheets, its pillows, brought quite a different experience, making it somehow more official.

It was so easy for Gilmith to let loose her imagination and while he showered her with kisses and caresses, she pretended they were newlyweds - just happily married, laying in their own chamber for the first time. Maglor always proceeded with such tenderness and skillfulness, her skin shivered under his gentle touch and already she heard herself moan. Gilmith too had learned a thing or two over the weeks and she knew what drove him crazy, for she had discovered a few sweet spots of his. She marveled at how her mouth and fingers could so swiftly turn this regal looking Elf, with his sharp features and sparkling grey eyes, into a lusty male who groaned when his pleasure reached its climax.

It always ended up with the two of them wrapped in a tight embrace and they had spent whole nights like this, delighted to have found each other. This time however, Maglor did not linger long in bed and as soon as his breath had steadied, he rose, after having whispered into her ear, "Stay here, I will go fetch some wood."

Curled up beneath bedsheets and cloaks, Gilmith was lost in her silly newlyweds fantaisies when he came back, carrying boughs and bottles of water. The crackling sound of fire brought her back to reality, that and the smell of a delicious soup - strangely enough, Maglor was quite a skilled cook, ever managing to turn plain ingredients into tasteful meals.

Gilmith took a few sips from the bowl he handed her, but soon tossed it aside, on a wooden nightstand. Maglor had sat on the bed, beside her, and she was more eager to huddle herself in his arms than to have dinner, although she expected to be scolded.

"Eat a little more," he told her, grabbing the bowl and putting it in her hands. "You need to put some flesh on these delicate bones of yours, young lady."

"Yes, sir," Gilmith agreed, giggling, and she diligently chugged the whole bowl.

Seconds after, she began to feel drowsy, but it did not matter, he was still holding her against him. Her limbs were numb, her eyelids heavy, and she leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes. She barely was aware he had taken the bowl from her hands so it would not fall - obviously she had been more weary than she had known.

"Do not worry, dear Gilmith, I will take care of everything," Maglor muttered to her, as she seemed completely asleep.

She heard him though and she swore to herself she would not keep her feelings to herself anymore. On the morrow, she would tell him she loved him. She would tell him she'd never wed another, be he Man or Elf. She would tell him these weeks with him were worth more than a lifetime with anyone else .

She'd surely tell him all this on the morrow.

Maglor refering to himself as an 'old fiend' seems harsh, but objectively, he and his brothers were responsible for quite a number of deaths back then.