Lily awakened slowly to the aroma of good cooking. She tried to sit up, but gasped in pain.

"Sí lenca." A soft, feminine voice said, and slid an arm beneath her shoulders, raising her gently. Lily felt something behind her to support her back and head. "Lortalë lestamendë."

Her eyes felt as though they were sewed shut, and she could hardly make out a woman in a flowing, grey dress. Her dark hair slid over her shoulders as she bent over the fire, stirring in a big iron pot.

Morning light streamed through a window in front of her. The light hurt her eyes. She was in a room not much bigger than the cell she'd once been captive in. The floor was wood; the walls a dark stone. Besides the bed, she could make out the hazy shapes of a table, four shelves, a chest of drawers, and a rickety chair.

The woman came back and sat on the edge of the bed. "Car mer matila, hérincë?"

That language. Lily froze. Snatches of things came back. The torture. The rescue. A beautiful creature speaking that strange language.

Her heart thudded in her chest. Where had he taken her? Her head throbbed as she tried to remember the journey down from the mountainous pass. What had happened? Had he brought her to his people?

Lily felt panic rise.

The woman held out the spoon towards her. She saw she meant to feed her. Lily felt chagrined but her hunger overcame any pride - and any rational fear. She was starving. The gruel of meat and vegetables she spooned into her mouth was better than anything she'd ever had before. The throbbing in her head lessened. Her back ached horribly. Her arm was in some kind of sling.

The fair woman spoke again. Her words were rapid and melodic.

Lily shook her head, hoping she would understand. "English?" She tried. "Do you speak english?"

The woman's gaze seemed to alight with understanding. She, in turn, also shook her head. Her hair spilled across her shoulders as she did so. Lily noticed that - similarly to her rescuer - she was incredibly beautiful. Every part of her possessed an ethereal, fair glow. It was unnatural.

Lily shrunk back into her pillows. Despite the blankets, the room felt very cold. She shivered. The woman tutted, and reached a slender hand out to her forehead. She spoke once more in her language, before putting aside the empty bowl and rising to her feet.

Lily watched as the woman left the room. Alone, she closed her eyes once more, hoping to wish herself back to present-day England. In her mind, she pretended everything was a dream. That she was in London. She'd purchased a large eclair and was sitting in Green Park. It was warm, and the sun would shine through the canopies. She'd take off her shoes and feel the grass between her toes. Her papa would be beside her.

At that thought, Lily felt tears forming. She opened her eyes and stared bleakly up at the ceiling. It reached high, with curved, wooden beams supporting the length of it. A few lanterns hung down from the beams. All were unlit.

If it weren't for the sunlight streaming through the window, or the fireplace, she'd be in complete darkness.

The thought frightened her.

The woman soon returned, carrying a thick bundle. Lily shrunk back as she approached, watching as she tossed the thick, woollen rug over the coverlet. She smoothed it over Lily, tucking it gently beneath her wounded arm. Lily felt hot, gritty tears prickle once more.

Was she a nurse?

Up close, Lily could see the edge of her ears. They sloped delicately to a tapered point - like an elf's.

Elves in storybooks had similarly pointed ears, didn't they?

"What is your name?" Lily asked, rather fruitlessly.

The woman gazed down at her, and smiled. It was piteous, yet not unkind. She reached out, her fingers trailing across Lily's roughly shorn head. The action itself seemed poignant, as if she were asking her a silent question they both knew the answer to.

Lily reached up, grabbing the woman's wrist and pulling it away from her scalp. Shame mixed with self-awareness heated her cheeks - how must she look? She had spent months wasting away amidst her own filth. She certainly wasn't pretty. She certainly looked nothing like her.

Unwilling to let go of the woman's hand, she pressed it to her chest. "Lily," she said. "My name is Lily."

The woman watched, her bright eyes searching hers. She said nothing.

"Lily," she repeated, pointing to herself.

The fair creature smiled, understanding. She pressed a slender hand against her own heart. "Nestariel."

Lily smiled once more. "Nestariel," she parroted. The woman beamed, her joyous face morphing into pure sunshine. It almost hurt looking at her.

"Lily," she chirped happily. "Hantalë." The woman continued to speak softly in her tongue, and she grew sleepy. She had heard all kinds of voices in her life, but none as soothing as Nestariel's.

She was so tired, she wanted to die and sleep forever. She could barely keep her eyes open.

"Sifúmë."

She didn't even notice when the woman departed.

The following days seemed to meld together.

A still darkness lay heavily on her. How long would it take to recover? Alone in the silence, desperation clawed at her. She needed to find a way home. She'd been freed from the chains of captivity, only to fall into the hands of another. She had no strength to flee. Worse, she had to rely on these people for food, shelter, water - everything. Her utter dependence chafed at her pride.

Nestariel was a soothing presence, yet the inability to communicate with her soured any contentment she felt. If anything, the language barrier reminded her she did not belong. She would never belong, not with these folk.

After a week, Nesterial left the room for hours at a time. She didn't know what she did, and she couldn't ask. She was relieved the woman wasn't hovering over her, spooning soup into her mouth. She needed to think.

The aloneness she craved soon turned into loneliness, and thinking was all she did. It rained, and she listened to the pounding on the roof. It brought memories of her childhood, and then memories of school, and of war. Then, it seemed, the silence became too much.

She needed a distraction.

Finally, Lily stood on her own feet.

When she looked for something to put on, she found nothing. It hadn't even occurred to her until then that nothing in the room belonged to her. What was she to wear? Her old, tattered nightgown was nowhere in sight. An old trunk was in the back corner, yet she was too tired to open and rummage through it. Naked, and too weak to drag the blanket off the bed, she leaned on the window sill and drank in the cool, fresh air.

Small birds fluttered from a big tree. A larger bird strutted about the grass less than a few feet from the room. She smiled. A soft breeze drifted in, with a scent so rich she could almost taste it. It reminded her of her grandmother's country home.

She watched the scenery. The home she was in was built upon a hill. It overlooked soft, green meadows that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

Weakness began to creep at her spine, and her back began to ache. She was shaking and growing lightheaded. Nestariel returned, and, when she saw her standing naked by the open window, went without a word to take a quilt from the bed. She swung it over her.

"Pelna caima, Lily."

She intended to help the girl back to the mattress, yet Lily refused. She shook her head, and pointed to the rickety chair beside the fireplace. Hesitant, Nestariel helped Lily to the seat, before adding another log to the fire.

Pain shot up her sides. Lily wrapped the blanket tighter around her. She could feel every bit where the whip had struck. The creatures hadn't missed that much.

She grit her teeth, and her knuckles whitened.

Nestariel crossed the room to the old trunk. She took out a bundle and brought it to her. She said a few, hurried words in her own tongue.

Curious, Lily untied it. The grey wool fell apart, and she realised it was a worn cloak. Inside were two chemises, both stained yellow. Two kirtles - one a faded, dark green. The other, a navy blue. Both would button up to her collarbone and had sleeves to drape down past her wrists. A leather belt, woollen stockings, and a pair of black down-at-the-heel boots lay neatly wrapped inside. She looked up at Nestariel in wry disbelief. How was she to put this on? Where did she even begin?

The elven woman smiled gently down at her, then gestured to her to remove the blanket.

"Sáquet sámeldë," she said. She reached for her, and Lily shied away. "Ai," Nestariel sighed, "nutui maurë e numbë." She gestured for the girl to stand, and Lily reluctantly did so.

Her wounds stung, yet she ignored it. She would heal in time. Nesterial slid the blanket from her shoulders and tossed it onto the chair. Standing naked and mangled before the elven woman felt shameful. She ignored Nestariel's eyes wandering curiously over her figure, and reached out for the blue kirtle.

"Ai, ui," Nestariel argued. She shook her head, her eyes sparking with amusement. Lily huffed. In correction, Nestariel deliberately reached for the chemise, and scrunched it up. Kneeling down, she beckoned for Lily to step into it. The girl did so.

It was a long, aching process to move her broken arm through the sleeve. Sweat pooled at her forehead. Her teeth chattered. The chemise was soon tied with a knot. Then, the woollen stockings. Over the chemise she buttoned up the navy blue kirtle. Though worn, it was beautifully made. The sleeves hung elegantly, appearing like small streams. Nesterial wrapped the leather belt snugly across her waist, looping it at the front. Lily ran her fingers across the ridges, noticing small button holes. Perhaps they were used for pockets, or small satchels.

Lily reached for the outer grey cloak. It was sleeveless, hooded, and held two holes for her arms to slide through. Practical. She liked it very much.

After shrugging it on, Nestariel helped clasp it at the neck.

Sitting back down, Lily slipped into her boots and laced them tightly. They were a bit too large, yet she didn't care. For the first time in a long time, she felt snug and warm.

"Rolya." Nestariel tutted. She flitted about the room, re-making the bed and removing the empty cooking pot. She seemed restless.

"Nestariel," Lily spoke up.

Nestariel then looked at her. "Lily," she replied. Cradling the cooking pot and ladle in her arms, she crossed to the door and swung it open. She tilted her head, beckoning her to go through. "Lenna," she said.

"Lenna?" Lily asked. "Come?"

Nestariel smiled that sweet smile and nodded. She walked out and Lily quickly followed. Her head pounded, yet she swallowed her nausea. Curiosity swelled - she'd never glimpsed the rest of the complex before.

A long, narrow hallway greeted her. The same, heavy stonework lined the walls. Nestariel walked briskly, and Lily struggled to keep up. At the far end of the hallway was a wooden, spiral staircase, which Nestariel flitted down with ease. Lily took her time, her legs feeling like jellied marmalade.

"Lenna, Lily." Nestarial called at the bottom of the staircase.

Come. Lenna meant come. It had to. Lily wiped away sweat that beaded her brow, and joined the woman on the lower floor. She looked and saw it opened into a sparse, communal hall. A few other fair creatures mingled about, some dressed in elegant armour, and others with sophisticated kirtles. All dark-haired. All tall. All beautiful.

They eyed her as she and Nestariel passed by. Lily held her head back, refusing to feel small beneath their stares. A wooden door at the far end of the hall stepped down into a kitchen. Inside were more elves of the curious sort. Their gazes fell on hers. Some were folding pastry. Others were preparing vegetables. Nestariel called to them in her chirpy manner, and placed her pot into the massive washtub.

Lily looked around. The kitchen appeared truly mediaeval. Herbs hung from hooks, drying above the enormous fireplace in the far wall. Only a small, arched window brought natural light into the room. A wide assortment of candles lay along the walls, flickering quaintly.

A large cauldron was being stirred above the crackling fire. Whatever they were cooking, it smelled divine.

Lily's stomach made a loud grumble, and Nestariel laughed.

Turning away from the tub, she gestured to the surrounding elves. "Ilquen," she announced, "si ië Lily." She swung her ladle exaggeratingly. "Wenlélë ea harar as me ca."

A few noises of discontent erupted at her words. Lily edged back as a tall, dark-haired elf stepped towards her. He had stopped cutting his vegetables, yet continued to grip a large knife in his hand.

"Mana?" He growled. He looked grumpy and utterly terrifying. He towered over her like a giant. She cowered beneath his stare. "Aorco hína?"

Nestariel did not seem perturbed. She tittered sweetly and placed a hand on his arm, drawing him away. "Ui," she placated. "Ae Firya hína. Wenië engwa."

Hína. Lily had heard that word before.

"Firya samlta oa nestando. Manan tuluwen hí?"

Nestariel eyed him shrewdly. "Makalaurë mersa san, Arthion."

Her words seemed to placate him. Mumbling beneath his breath, he turned away from her and returned to his workbench. The others did the same. Lily let out a small breath.

Nestariel reached for Lily's hand. "Lenna, Lily." The she-elf led the girl through the kitchen to another door - a servant's one. It opened out into a garden. Lily's eyes were blinded by the sunlight.

Oh.

Had she forgotten what the open sky had felt like on her skin? She'd craved it more than anything during her captivity. She'd craved it more than life.

Vegetables, fruits, herbs and flowers were before her in a lovely display. They crept from the stone path all the way to the high, fortress walls. Lily quickly stepped onto the grass and craned her neck back.

She was in an embattled stronghold. To her left lay a watchtower that overlooked the expansive landscape, and to her right was the strong, fortified wall. It curved around the outer courtyard and joined another turret at the far end.

Lily felt breathless looking at it. She reached her fingers out to the stones, marvelling at how such a society constructed such a large, architectural marvel.

At the top of the right wing's turret, she saw a brilliant flag. It moved like a dragon against the wind, bending and curving like bright, slippery scales.

Lily looked at Nestariel, and pointed to the flag. "What is it?" She asked. "Who does it represent?"

The woman wandered to her side and gazed up towards the direction of the turret. She hummed in understanding. "Fëanorian." She said simply.

"Fëanorian?"

The elf nodded.

Fëanorion. Was that the name of these people? These elvish folk? Lily's curiosity was almost unbearable. She had to know. Yet, to know was to understand. And one could only understand if one could communicate.

She could learn it. It would certainly be to her advantage - if these folk welcomed her, she would have their protection. Such protection was crucial in a rugged, unforgiving world like this.

Lily remembered the whip of the beastly creature and felt suddenly ill.

"Nestariel?"

"Hmm?"

Lily tried to mime the words. She pointed to her mouth. "Can you teach me?"

The beautiful girl tilted her head in confusion.

Lily pointed to Nestariel's lips. Then, she pointed to her own. She moved her thumb and four-fingers up and down, miming a talking puppet.

Nesterial looked endearingly confused. "Quenya?"

Lily nodded. "Quenya," she pointed to her own lips. "You teach me Quenya."

A strange glint shone in the she-elf's eyes. It wasn't joyous, but mischievous. She nodded.

Then, she smiled.

Translations (Quenya)

Sí lenca. English: Slowly now.

Lortalë lestamendë. English: The dizziness will fade.

Car mer matila, hérincë? English: Do you wish to eat, little lady?

Hantalë. English: Thankyou .

Sifúmë. English: Sleep now.

Pelna caima, Lily. English: Return to bed, Lily.

Sáquet sámeldë. English : I will help you.

Nutui maurë e numbë. English: There's no need for modesty.

Ui. English: No .

Rolya. English: Much better.

Ilquen, si ië Lily. Wenlélë ea harar as me ca. English: Everyone, this is Lily. She will be staying with us for a while.

Mana? English: What is it?

Aorco hína? English: A goblin child?

Ui. Ae Firya hína. Wenië engwa. English: No . A mortal child. She is sick.

Firya samlta oa nestando. Manan tuluwen hí? English: Mortals have their own healers. Why bring her here?

Makalaurë mersa san, Arthion. English: Maglor wished it so, Arthion.