Recap:

After Sauron turns her into Lilith, a Nazgûl of sorts, Lily takes back control of herself. She meets Radagast, then on her own meets King Thrór and his companion Nár outside Moria. The three enter Moria. Lily kills Azog, Nár is driven mad by encountering the Balrog, and Lily and the Balrog do battle. Lily is swiftly and brutally killed.

A Gift of Nimrodel

Down Dimril Dale ran the river Celebrant, coming to converge with the waters of Nimrodel. Upon the junction of ground grew a few niphredils, white flowers loved in the land of Lothlórien. They had not been there the day before. Neither had been the grave, nor the grey-brown staff planted at its head.

Serenity marked the resting place, with birds chirping and water falling and gold and green leaves rustling by the morning air, crisp and cold. Dew was on the grass and flowers. Beneath, under the fresh mound of dirt, lay Lily.

And there she awoke gasping. Dirt filled her mouth and nose and eyes, and she blew open the ground with a spell, spitting the dirt out her mouth and turning around as some of it thrown into the air came back down on her.

The birds became quiet, but Nimrodel ran on, the waters singing lightly as Lily let out convulsive gasps and sobs on her hands and knees. Not even the cold morning air erased the fiery pain cutting across her chest where the searing blade had carved her open, the heat deeper-reaching than anything she had ever felt before. God... It hurt, it hurt so much that even now the mere thought of the event shook her bones and made her tilt her head to the sky, eyes closed tight as she swallowed as much air as she could.

Death had come for her again, not with a bright flash of green as before but in the form of fire and darkness; and now she was returned, for reasons unknown. Lily brought her hand to her chest and rubbed the spot with the heel of her palm until the monotony of the motion calmed her frantic breathing. This wasn't the first time her foundation of understanding of the world around her was shaken and tested.

There had been the discovery of magic, then the tastes of murder, betrayal, and the cruelty of nature and mankind. Her first death had topped all of those things. Her coming to Middle-earth beat even that. And now — now was too early to wonder about the meaning of another rebirth, or what hellish creature that thing of fire and shadow was, or how its breaking of her spells could have unravelled her mind in the process, or any of it. It was all too much.

No answers were given in that infinitely short span of stargazing she witnessed beyond her second death; there was no old mentor, no higher being, no hints or clues — only the cosmos, which even now was imprinted on the back of her eyelids. And if there was some meaning in it, she could not perceive it.

Maybe it was some sign of a god from outer space. Maybe the point was that there was no purpose for her, that in the end she was nothing but stardust, accidentally tossed about through uncaring universes. This in particular was a devastatingly sad thought.

Then through her mind crashed the other memory of when she had broken like this, when her godfather had died and she screamed at Dumbledore that the rest of the world could burn.

And in the end it had been she who had stopped the world from burning.

Somehow this gave her strength, and slowly Lily stood, the white robe around her rippling in the morning breeze. It was loosely put around her and she had to hold it up. Before, she might have felt a little insecure, violated even, but the black robes were no doubt torn, and her whole body had probably been a bloody mess — and really, what did it matter at this point? Too much of the extraordinary had happened.

Still, she wondered who… but of course: upon her grave was planted a staff. Radagast's. Had he retrieved her body and buried it here? Lily wobbled a bit as she raised a leg to step out of her grave, and had to crawl out on her hands to manage it. She wrapped her fingers around the leather straps tied over the wood and pulled it out of the ground. The gem on top was gone, replaced by a black stone.

On it was carved her name. Calla Lily Potter. And somewhere in her thoughts came up the meaning of calla lily flowers: rebirth and resurrection. If only her parents had known…

To push away the sudden existential dread trying to grip her heart, she took the stone out of the staff top's wooden claw and turned it over, trying to see any magical significance in it. There probably wasn't any.

What kind of spell might be easier with a staff from a wizard like Radagast? She was in nature. And it seemed, from how it felt running her fingers up and down it, it was normal wood. No core, even. Perhaps the gem had been the catalyst of the focus. Lily looked around.

Upon the river Nimrodel's bank were large green leafs and flowers, and hidden underneath them sharp stones, too small to allow smooth surfaces but too large not to hurt her feet. She was tempted to try and conjure herself shoes, but the breakings of her last two staffs held her off, so she tried a simpler spell: "Depulso!"

It was a bit loud, all the rocks being blown away into the river and some onto the other bank, but a pathway of dirt and small stones like sand allowed her to walk a little easier to the flowing waters. Lily swept her gaze down the river where the water slowed, maybe half a mile down.

"Whatever," she said, dipping a foot into the water — and immediately withdrawing. It was ice-cold. Closing her eyes and sighing, she firmly grasped Radagast's staff with both hands, brought it over her head, and plunged it deep in the wet dirt beneath the water. "Recalfacio!"

The heat dispersed so thoroughly that even the wet soil became as though it had sat in the hot sun for a whole afternoon. Lily sighed again, this time in relief and comfort as she dug her toes into the warm soil. Part of her wanted to sob again. Then she let go of the staff and unwrapped the robe from her body, tossing it onto a boulder nearby.

Her eyes closed of their own accord the moment she stepped in, and the tension in her face eased as she fell into the soothing embrace of Nimrodel.

There she scrubbed herself clean. No blood stained her skin, which maybe meant that Radagast had washed her before the burial; again a moment of discomfort flitted through her, but it was swallowed by gratitude. What was the indignity of nudity to the degradation of death by a demon of fire and fear?

Soon the icy streams of Nimrodel cooled her sphere of comfort, and drifting lazily about in the water she reached out and lightly brushed her fingers on Radagast's staff, murmuring, "Recalfacio."

Really, she should've been out and searching for Radagast or Thrór, or whoever, but she deserved this moment of serenity. The brutality of her death should have shaken her more deeply — and indeed when she thought of that demon of fire and shadow, her heart and mind seemed to stutter — but this river, Nimrodel, took away the weariness not only in her body but in her soul.

She soaked her hair next and ran her fingers through the strands, eyes closed as she brushed out all the dirt. Then she submerged her entire body and head, the warmth seeping into her. It was heavenly. And coming out into the cool crisp air was like being born again.

A part of her wanted to recast the spell and float here forever, lay herself bare to the world without a care; the lure of such liberty was especially strong after the confines of Khazad-dûm. In time though, again, the water in her little sanctuary cooled. So she let her legs drift down and feet touch the ground, and she opened her eyes. Then she laughed.

Running her fingers through her hair again, this time with a Drying Charm, she beamed when it came out dry and red, the glorious red that brought to mind autumn leaves before winter or the embers of dying fires — or rather the plumage of a phoenix soaring in a sky streaked by sunlight.

Summoning her white robe, she washed it as thoroughly as she could, then whipped it around the staff which she pulled from the water and used to dry the robe and color it all green. The staff held no core but there was some kind of remnant power in it that allowed itself to be used as a focus for her magic. Then she stepped out of the water. Lily had forgotten what it was like to feel clean and fresh. Though as she put the robe back on, she noticed more body hair than ever before. But whatever. Such things probably mattered little to the women here.

It was as she climbed back up the bank of the river that a voice called out from the trees on the eastern side of the river Celebdil that Nimrodel converged into.

"Daro!"

Lily froze, slowly raising an open palm and extending the fingers on the hand that held the staff, so that only her thumb kept it upright.

"Easy," she called out, sharpening her gaze among the foliage. "I mean no harm."

From the bushes and trees stepped out three men, golden-haired and dressed in clothes she would consider of finer make in such a place as Middle-earth. Finer were their features; she had never cared much for men but she could still recognize the nearly otherworldly beauty they held. Then she saw their ears, and knew they were not men. And on their hips rested blades, the handles elegant, and in their hands were bows and arrows aimed directly at her. They called out again in their language.

"I don't speak Elvish," she said, keeping her voice as calm and kind as she could while yelling, and silently casting an invisible Shield Charm in front of her. Whether it would actually work against elven arrows she didn't know. They didn't really look inhuman — uncanny perhaps — but they nonetheless seemed beyond men in some way, like pearls next to rocks, or stars beyond a waxing moon.

As they stepped closer, she could make out their expressions: wonder and wariness. They looked as though they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing, and they began to whisper to each other in their language. After a moment one of the elves broke off from the group and disappeared into the forest.

"Lady!" cried one of the two remaining. "Place your staff upon the ground and cross the water! We wish to speak."

Lily glanced around, scanning the bushes and trees for more of them, then said aloud, "Point your arrows elsewhere first."

"You stand upon our border," said the elf. "Are the inhabitants of a land not allowed to question intruders?"

"Is a woman not allowed to bathe in a river without worry of interrogation by peeping elves?"

The shorter of the two shifted his eyes away from hers, his bow lowering just slightly.

The taller elf glanced at him, then returned his gaze to her and said, "It was not our intent to violate your privacy. Spells cast at our border demand investigation, and the safety of our forest comes before the modesty of so strange a witch, whose purposes to us are unknown."

Lily chewed on her lip, then took a breath to give herself time to think how to respond. Had they seen her cast spells? Or had they met Radagast and he had told them of her?

She said finally, "I have no purpose but to seek answers. I don't wish to enter your forest, nor harm you, nor do anything but understand what's happened to me better."

"We may give you a few answers, but only if you put aside your staff," said the taller elf. "Please, we do not seek conflict! My name is Galion, and this here is Nûrdir. Come, place down your staff and speak with us."

After another moment of consideration, she nodded and planted her staff into the wet ground again. Her Shield Charm remained active, an invisible barrier above the middle of the river. She held her hands up and stepped closer to the water, and so too did they.

"Will you stay there," called Galion, "or may we find where the river becomes shallow and —"

"This is good enough," said Lily among the sound of rushing water.

Galion shared a glance with Nûrdir, seemed to sigh, though she couldn't hear it, and then said aloud, "We shall not harm you. Not unless you give us reason. Nimrodel sings and we do not wish to shout the whole while. Our ears could hear your whispers if we so wished, but can yours hear ours?" Galion seemed to contemplate the thought for a moment, then — Lily could only guess by the movement of his lips — he said to Nûrdir, "Perhaps."

Her ears weren't quite so far-reaching, but she supposed he really had no idea what a witch might be capable of. Lily sighed, shrugged, and reached out for her staff. An arrow flew from Nûrdir's bow, and bounced and shattered on her Shield Charm. She froze on the spot, her wide eyes darting from Nûrdir to Galion, both of whom were silent and still. The arrow had seemed to have been shot toward her stretching fingers, or perhaps in between them and the staff to ward her off.

Slowly, Lily leaned over and wrapped her fingers around the staff and whispered, "Silencio."

The river quieted, though not fully as she intended. Yet it was enough.

"Now we can talk a little more normally," she said.

Nûrdir stood uncertain, his fingers itching for another arrow but resisting, and Galion eyed her cautiously but stepped closer anyway and said, "Then let us speak. What answers do you seek? For I guess that your questions may help clear our confusions too."

"Well, what do you know of me already?" said Lily.

"We know only what Radagast has told us," said Galion. "He —"

"Radagast?" Lily looked between the two of them with hope and said, "You spoke with Radagast? Is he near?"

"He is near," said Galion. "We found him and a dwarf-companion near where we stand now. Your body was in his arms, and he grieved your death." A pang shot through her, and now also Lily understood the sharp inquisitiveness in their eyes. Galion continued when she did not speak: "He attested your good spirit, and from here we do not feel any ill-intent, but in these days we have grown wary of all, for dark trickery has deceived the Elves more than once."

"Then point me to him, please. I won't beg for your trust, nor your pardon. And if you don't trust me, then send me on my way. Radagast will be my quickest path out of here."

Galion held up an arm and pointed eastward, further down the river. "Radagast headed hither, he and his dwarf-companion. They set camp upon the western bank of Nimrodel. Radagast awaits a new stave, and the dwarf-king his companion, who in our care may heal from his ordeal. Or he may not. It is not for me to say."

Slowly, Lily looked over beyond the narrowing of the river where it then became wider. The banks too were not as steep nor filled with plantation. It didn't seem like anyone was camping out within seeing distance, so they must've been further down. She nodded and said, "Thank you, then. I'm sure you'll keep an eye on me... Just… don't put an arrow in the back of my head, please."

"That we may promise," said Galion. "The world grows dark and yet the Lady does not order death so comfortably. But stay on the western side of the river."

"That I can do," said Lily, raising a hand in thanks. "Good day, then." They nodded to her, and lifting her staff from the mud she bowed her head to them and set off down the river, feeling their steady eyes on her back the whole way down.

In body she was refreshed and invigorated, but in mind she was still exhausted. If she could just lie down under one of these plants, atop one of their large lofty leaves, she'd let sleep consume her for a month.

Down the Nimrodel she journeyed, coming across nothing but singing birds and the other occasional fauna. In time she spotted two figures in the distance above the bank of the river, who she at first mistook for two stones, one small and one taller, but then they had moved and she knew. And she walked a little swifter.

It was not just Radagast and Thrór, upon closer inspection. A taller figure was revealed near them as she came around a small bend in the river. It was certainly an elf, looking to just have come to a stop in front of them — perhaps to give news of her revival?

She had some trouble getting up the bank of the river in this section, having to climb on all fours and double back more than once to find a more suitable path up. Before too long, she was pushing aside the foliage above and nearing the group. A wizard, a dwarf, and an elf. Lily considered opening up with a joke, but pushed the thought aside. Habits, however, were a bit harder to break: she stepped a little closer, casting a Silencing Charm on herself, and began to eavesdrop.

"As I have said twice now," said the elf with the air of someone struggling to keep their patience, "it may take years. The damage done to his mind is severe, as you saw, dwarf."

"And once he has healed?" said Thrór. "What shall be done with him then, since dwarves are not allowed within Lothlórien, as you have said twice now."

"Then he shall be let go," said the elf with a small touch of agitation finally entering his voice. "From there he may find his back to you or your peoples."

"Alone?" growled Thrór.

"What should we do?" said the elf. "It was not us who sent him or you into the black pit where dwarves once perished by the thousands, nor us who destroyed his mind. Why should we risk our lives to return one dwarf back home, if home it is; are the peoples of King Thrór not wandering without direction?" Swiftly he held up a hand, as if regretting his words, and before Thrór could respond with fire on his tongue the elf said, "Go back to your people, King Thrór, and send a dwarf or two to our border. They may build camp and stay awhile, and await your companion's recovery."

Thrór's chest heaved once, twice, then he said in a strained voice, "So be it."

"Perhaps we can stay another day, and in the morning receive news of Nár?" said Radagast, giving Thrór a glance as he directed his question to the elf.

"Do as you wish," said the elf, "but by tomorrow morning all the news we will be able to give you will be a better estimate of the length of time it may take for Nár to recover. But that is all. And even that will be only a guess."

"Alas," said Radagast, "if Lily lived still… we might stay here in comfort for weeks. You might, I should say," he added with a nod to Thrór. "I still seek news of what has happened in Dol Guldur."

And the elf said, "In that I may only say this: a great battle took place, and the White Council was ambushed and they fled. One was killed. This I may speak of, for the Enemies know of it already, but that is all. The Lady has given us strict orders to not speak of anymore to any who come to our borders, friend though you may be."

"Very well," sighed Radagast. "Then I thank you. I suppose I understand. The deceit of the Enemy is subtle. But I wish to repeat what Thrór has told you, for it is now Enemy, not enemies: Lilith the Necromancer has perished —"

"Which we cannot confirm," said the elf. "Forgive us, Aiwendil, but we cannot trust the word of the dead sister of the Black Witch."

"Yeah," murmured Lily, "fair enough." And the elf halted, his eyes instantly finding her. Damn the fragility of her spells here. They stared at each other for a moment, then Radagast and Thrór found her and they too stared for a long while. So she stepped out from the tree, and said aloud, "Please do not send any arrow or axe at my head."