Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Lady Tolwen: I'm glad you are enjoying the story so much. As for how to make words bold … With documents that I upload to the Internet, I save as a webpage. That allows the markings put in the documents to remain without typing any coding commands into it. I'm not sure if that help you at all, but that how I do it.
Laurelin Ancalimon: An English major, wow. Well, I do have a beta reader already, however, I certainly would love any advice you send my way.
Note.
Like chapter one, not much has change in this chapter. Mainly in this chapter I was adding detail and getting rid of the head-hopping problem. However, I will tell you that chapter five will be brand new and chapter seven will have new scenes in it. Well, that all for now. See ya.
The lord of Imladris looked out from the balcony to the gardens as he pondered recent events. Within a day two beings had arrived in his home—both severely wounded.
Frodo Baggins, a halfling of the Shire, was the first to enter in his care. The young hobbit had suffered a blow from a morgul blade and had been fading fast. But by some miracle the hobbit's spirit had been able to be reached before he had fallen beyond aid. Now he was resting comfortably in a small pavilion. Yet, the scar will remain eternally with him.
Looking towards the morning sky, his thought shifted to his second charge: a small human woman with unknown origins. When his foster son had come running into Rivendell—he had given little thoughts to such questions—the woman's wounds to severe to waste time.
But at a glance, he noticed many things about her. The child's cheeks were sunken in, and one glance confirmed his suspicions that she was badly malnourished. Her appearance was filthy—dirt and blood had covered her from head to toe—she had not bathed for many weeks, perhaps months. Precious moments were spent cleaning the stab wound before he could treat it, and by that time, inflection had set in.
After the wound was treated he had ordered maids to bathe her before he came back to examine her. What he had seen at his second visit had surprised him, but only a little; he had seen far worse things in his time in this world. Throughout the check-up he had spotted others signs that implicated abuse… But the one thing that did truly surprise him was that the stab wound was self-inflicted; it was easy to tell by the angle and placement.
The sound of footsteps brought him out of his thoughts as his foster son entered the room. Silence passed between them before Elrond stated, "The girl you brought to me is resting comfortably. Her injury was severe enough that I did not question you at the time," the elf turned to watch Aragorn, one hand left on the balcony, as the human joined him. "Where did you find a human so young and steeped in misery that she made an attempt on her own life?"
Looking at the gardens below, Aragorn answered, "I found her outside of Rivendell. No more than ten minutes walking distance." Turning his blue-gray eyes to his foster father he questioned, "How could she come so close without alerting the sentinels?"
"I do not know," replied the Elven lord as he gazed at the gardens below. "I do not believe that this was the first time that our lady stranger has been hurt."
The man's silence was question enough.
Sighing, Elrond continued. "There are old scars on her back and arms. They suggest the use of an item, a whip or scourge for example."
Studying his foster father carefully Aragorn asked, "Do you think that may be the reason? Could she have been captured by orcs?"
"It is possible," the eldar consented, but he doubted it. Though the orcs loved to torture, the marks on the child did not match what the foul creatures would have done… And the starvation had to be considered. If he was correct this abuse had gone on for many years, and orcs almost never kept their victims alive that long. "But we will not know until she awakens."
Turning around to face Aragorn, Elrond continued, "Estel, I want you to patrol the nearby area and learn if there is anyone else. If so, I want them brought to me." A small smile graced the human's lips at his childhood name.
"Of course, my lord." Pausing for only a brief moment, he asked, "How is Frodo, the injured hobbit?"
"He is mending well." Elrond looked out across his valley realm toward the small pavilion where the ring barer rested. "Frodo shall make a full recovery, though he will never be rid of the scars his night in Arman sul left him."
"Hopefully, he will never need to take further injury." And with that comment, Aragorn left the room to complete his task.
One week later
Drifting slowly from the world of black, Lillian woke to an unfamiliar softness. 'This must be the Afterlife.' The disposed princess thought drowsily. 'It's nicer then I'd thought.' A warm breeze stirred her hair, startling her. Her hair was clean and brushed. It was an odd feeling. The servants of the court of Kalin rarely had water to bathe—it was lucky if them could cleanse themselves once a year.
A shaft of sunlight illuminated half of her face and blinking she turned her head from the uncomfortable brightness, her eyes stopping on her warm brown hair. It was strange seeing it so clean—she had grown used to seeing it in a tangled messed, packed with dirt, looking like a shoulder length mud ball. But now it was clean, dull, but clean, and Lillian decided she liked the feeling. For the first time in years, she didn't have the urge to scratch her scalp trying to get rid of some irritating inching feeling.
But why was it clean? Shifting, a twinge fluttered up in her stomach and although small, she gasped at the sensation.
Pain: the one common factor in life. If she felt pain, then she wasn't dead. But if she was truly alive, what was this place? And how did she get here? Lillian frowned. Who saved her, and most importantly, why?
Shaking her head to clear it, she looked around the room. It was bigger then her old room, but such a thing was not difficult to imagine—her old room was little more then a closet. This was a simple room, yet it projected a beauty that she had never seen before. Every inch of wood was carved in relief, vaulting high to the ceiling, or embracing the tall windows. She couldn't see from here, but the open shutters carried in the scent of trees and water. To the right of the bed that she lay, covered in silken blankets, was an elegant table with two chairs.
Shifting her attention to the entranceway her gaze froze on the person standing in the arched doorway, a small tray in his hands. He was…handsome. Easily the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life.
The stranger was dressed in a blue, long sleeved tunic with the tope laces undone, revealing fair skin and a well-define chest. A pair of well-tailored tan leggings suited his figure quite well. Two small braids pulled back his chestnut hair, revealing his pointed ears. The odd shape of his ears did nothing to decrease his beauty, instead enhancing it, giving him an aura of a mystical being. He had a youthful appearance, yet his gray eyes belied his appearance, showing years of wisdom, despite their mirth.
"Good morning, my lady. I trust you are feeling better," said the stranger in a deep soothing voice. His voice shook Lillian from her reverie. Mentally cursing her error, she cast her eyes down as she tensed, preparing for the blow.
If any servants made eye contact with a noble, they were immediately beaten—her cursed blood father and his court held themselves above it, as did all his guests.
Frowning, the stranger questioned, "Why do you tensed, my lady?"
Her head bowed, Lillian whispered dejectedly, "I must be punished." The stranger stopped still as he blinked and blinked again.
"Why would my father make the effort to heal you, only to make more scars?"
"If you would allow me to speak freely, my lord?" Lillian waited until her peripheral vision saw him nod, "There are many sadistic and perverse nobles in the court of my master."
"Well," the stranger said, placing his fine nose in the air, "although, I may be perverse, I assure you that no harm is to be dealt in the Last Homely House." His unsubtle mockery did not catch in Lillian's mind. A sudden fear gripped her as she though of what she might be required to do in order to repay this strange man's hospitality.
Fortunately, he saw her hesitation and corrected himself…after a fashion. "Madame, I will not ask you to chew my food for me or other such trivialities." He set the tray down on a side table. "Indeed, I only ask you to chew your own." Reaching for her hand, as it lay bunched in the coverlet, he raised it to his lips. "Welcome to the House of my father, Elrond Halfelven. I am Elrohir, brother of Elladan. May I have your name, my Lady?"
"I, I am Lillian, daughter of Lylia, servant in the Court of Kalin." She flushed deeply as Elrohir kissed her hand in the way of princes.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Lillian." The woman shifted, uncomfortable in the company in this beautiful stranger, biting back a wince at the action. This stranger, this Elrohir, said she was in Rivendell, but where was that? She had never heard of it before.
Looking out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Elrohir before locking onto the tray of food. She was hungry. And the plate was set for a king. It was probably this stranger's meal. Nobles never really did care if a staved servant watched them while they ate.
Normally, she had one meal for the day, maybe two if she was lucky and the portions were always small. She would have been sickly thin if she hadn't been good enough at stealing from the kitchens or if Galen had not brought some pieces of bread to her. It was never much, but it kept her alive. As it was, she was still dangerously underweight.
Elrohir caught her sideways glances at the tray of food and smiled warmly. "You can eat if you wish. I brought it for you in case you woke up."
Lillian's eyes widened. Why would a noble bring a servant food? The woman opened her mouth to ask her question but before any sound escaped she closed it. She had almost broken two of the rules ingrained in her mind since she was six; to never question a noble, and to never speak without permission. Studying her hands once more, Lillian shook her head slowly.
Frowning, Elrohir said gently, "Surely you are hungry. You were unconscious for a week. All we managed to trickle down your throat was some broth."
Again, the woman shook her head. She was hungry, true, but it was wrong for a servant to be brought food by a noble. The stranger's frown deepened as he watched the child before him, pity entering his eyes. Shaking his head, he carefully blanked his emotions while forcing a small smile, commenting, "It is all right, Lady Lillian. You can speak freely here. Ask any questions you might have."
Looking up in surprise, Lillian briefly locked gazes with the beautiful 'man.' No noble had made such an offer to a servant before. Was he testing her? And again, Lillian curse herself, as she dropped her eyes to her hands.
Opening his mouth to soothe her fears, he stopped when he heard a grumble from the timid woman's stomach. Smiling gently, Elrohir reached for the tray of food. The smiled faded and his hand stilled as he saw the reaction the young woman had to her slight noise.
Lillian had curled herself into a small ball. Her eyes closed tightly and her body tensed like she was expecting to be hit. When nothing came, Lillian opened one eye to find the room was empty. The only sign the man had been there was the steaming tray at her bedside.
- - - - - - -
Walking down the corridors, Elrohir allowed his thoughts to dwell on the new guest. She had arrived only a week ago, mortally wounded, and no one knew whence she had come. But one thing was clear through her actions, she had been mistreated badly there.
She called herself a servant, yet her manner led him to believe that she had lived along the lines of slavery. He had never seen any servant react like her, but he had seen the prisoners of orcs respond like that—his own mother being one of them.
Shaking his head to push the sorrow aside, Elrohir concentrated on the matter at hand. He didn't believe that the human have been in the hands of orcs. First glance told him, as it did for his father, that she had been practically starved for years, and orcs didn't keep their captives that long—not alive anyways.
But another matter confused him. She had said she was from the court of Kalin, but he had never heard of a lord from any kingdom by the name of Kalin. Yet, he didn't believe she was lying either.
Stopping at a crossway, Elrohir glanced over his shoulder. He had a feeling that the malnutrition the girl had suffered from had also weakened her immune system. Her healing process was considerably slower then what an average human's was. He hoped that she would eat what he had left and gain some strength.
But either way, his father needed to know of the new developments, now it was just a matter of finding him… Despite all the tasks his father had given him growing up, finding him when it wasn't an emergency was by far the hardest.
- - - - - - - - -
"His strength returns." Elrond comments as Gandalf and he watched the hobbits' reunion.
"That wound will never fully heal. He will carry it the rest of his life." Gandalf stated solemnly.
"And yet to have come so far still bearing the Ring ... the Hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil." Elrond replied turning his attention to Gandalf.
"It is a burden he should never have to had to bear. We can ask no more of Frodo." Gandalf said firmly before asking, "What is this I heard about a mysterious woman you treated for a stab wound? Do you know who the lass is?"
Shaking his head, Elrond started to walk down the hallway, answering, "No, I don't. She has not yet awakened."
"Mmmm..." Seeing one of Elrond's twin sons approaching, Gandalf refrained from continuing with his comment.
"Ada, the mystery woman, Lady Lillian, has awakened," Elrohir said as he came to a stop in front of his father.
"Her name is Lillian, you say." Elrond turned to his son with some warmth in his features. "Have you learned anything else?"
"Only that she has spent many years in slavery." Two backs stiffened at that.
"You know this because she has told you?"
"I know, Master Gandalf," Elrohir spoke to the wizard while keeping his gaze on his father, "because she addressed herself as a servant. Yet she refused to meet my eyes, and also held herself as one accustomed to beatings."
Closing his eyes briefly, before returning his gazed to his son, Elrond continued. "Do you know where she came from or how she arrived near Rivendell?"
Elrohir shook his head. "No. Every time she did or said something that her 'Master,' " he spat the word out with disgust. "disapproved of, she would tense, waiting to be hit. I thought it best to inform you first and seek your advice, Father."
"We need to know where she comes from and her history if we are going to help her." The elf lord stated. Pausing briefly to study his son, he could see anger, but did not comment on it. "Do not push her for her past. Let her come to terms with it, and know that she is free here. She need not answer to anyone, and that includes ourselves. Let her understand that we are here to help her not harm her."
"That will not be easy," Elrohir commented, remembering the lady's earlier actions. "She still fears her master's law."
"Then we will have to show her that no longer exists for her," Elrond replied, switching directions to head towards the room where Lady Lillian rested. "Come, I would like to meet this lady and greet her properly to Rivendell." The eldar said, a slight note of teasing at the end.
Shaking his head, smiling, Elrohir stated, "I already did that father."
Raising one eyebrow at his son, the Elven Lord teased, "Did your flirting make a difference in the end, my son?"
"Ada!"
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