For the first few weeks out of bed, all Lily could manage were walks around the garden. She would admire the flowers, and inquire about their names and origins. Nestariel became her dutiful companion. Her eagerness to share language and dissolve barriers between them provided a steady source of excitement.
Lily learnt that the language - Quenya - was not the only language the elven people spoke. Sindarin was a more simple linguistic branch - spoken by other elven communities in the region.
Perhaps, once she returned to London, she could recount all her knowledge in a letter to The Times. The front headline would state: Young Lunatic Believes She Can Talk To Faeries.
It would cause quite the scandal.
Lily learnt that the gorse flower was called Aeglos, or 'snowthorn,' as translated from Sindarin. They were a bright white, and grew in large clumps beneath the high walls of the fortress. Brilliant marigolds also dusted the gardens, their petals like molten yellow beneath the morning light. Nestariel called them Mallos.
Out of all the flowers, Lily liked Seregon. Though it had no scent, its petals were a bright red. Similar in colour to poppies, they stuck out like hot fire against the pale whites and yellows.
"From Amon Rûdh," Nestariel said, watching as Lily twirled the red flower around her fingertips.
"Amon Rud?"
"Amon Rûdh," she corrected.
"Mar ëa Amon Rûdh?" Lily asked. Where is Amon Rûdh?
Nestariel smiled cheekily. She looked up to the eastern watchtower, and pointed towards it. "There," she said, in English. "Epeta," she repeated again, in elvish.
Epeta. There.
Lily nodded. She brought the flower to her nose. The scent was of old hay. Unpleasant. She scrunched her nose in distaste. "Lelya?" What distance?
Nestariel laughed happily. "Encë day ride."
"Encë?" Lily asked.
The she-elf held up her ten fingers, and pulled down four.
Oh. "Six," Lily said. "Encë."
"Yes. Six," she teased. Not for the first time, Lily admired the wits on the woman. Her mind was sharper than anything - how she'd retained certain English words so rapidly was beyond belief.
Lily found the elvish tongue a hard language to grasp. Her companion found English ridiculously easy.
"Hérye entulessë eä andúnë," she said happily, watching a butterfly land on a mallos bush. Lily followed her gaze, staring down at the little insect.
Entulessë meant to return, Lily was certain. And andúnë was when the sun fell down from the sky; the eventide. "Hérye?" Lily asked.
"Hér is lord," she said. "Hérye is…" she gesticulated her hands, as if to spread them out further. Nestariel meant more. A plural mannerism.
"Hérye means lords? Manenolë hérye?" How much lords?
"Manenolë hérye? Canta." She answered. Four.
There were four lords arriving tonight. Lily wondered if Nestariel meant them as the lords of the fortress - the Feanorians. She glanced up towards the westward turret, where the flag flew. The inner circle was patterned into a gold star. From where she stood, however, Lily could not make out much else.
"Ana harwë malalda?" Does your wound hurt?
That question was familiar; an annoyingly repetitive one. Lily shook her head. "No," she said. She smiled at Nestariel. "I am…márye."
"Márië," she corrected, her tone teasing. "Well is márië."
"Sorry, márië," Lily playfully rolled her eyes. Nestariel let out a noise of mock contempt. Reaching out, she flicked away the seregon flower from her fingertips.
"Ai you úpa!"
Nestariel laughed as she jabbed at her side. The she-elf bolted towards the vegetable patch, and picking up her bucket, Lily quickly followed.
The afternoon saw the kitchen in a frenzied state. Arthion, whom Lily discovered was the head cook, had been readying the slaughter knives and curing salts on the table whilst Melieth rinsed and boiled fresh tomatoes that Nestariel and Lily had brought inside.
"Limbë!" Quickly! "Lilye, nacett sulca nin."
Lilye. Melieth always spoke her name with that strange lilt.
Quickly rinsing her fingers in the washtub, Lily wiped them dry on her apron and set to work. Sulca meant potatoes. Nacett meant cut. Lying beside the bench, the dirtied roots sat haphazardly in a woollen sack. She heaved the pile up and onto a clear bench and grabbed a small knife.
She began to peel away at the malunions and offshoots, revealing the white flesh beneath. Her papa would always use potato skins to make hot chips. Not the deep-fried, American kind, but the oven baked. They'd always end up rather burnt, and rather tasteless, yet she'd loved them all the same.
As her papa aged, she'd made them in his stead.
Her thoughts meandered. There was a peculiarity she noticed regarding the elvish folk. They had no elderly amongst them. Over time, Lily began to imagine they hid them deep within the wine cellars. And perhaps the children too, for she never once saw a child running about the courtyards or the inner halls.
What was there to be said about that?
Curiouser and curiouser, indeed.
The surrounding elves spoke amiably in their language, and much too quickly for her to catch on. Content in her labour, Lily hummed softly to herself as she removed the skins from the flesh. Tonight would be nothing short of a grand feast; there was enough cabbage to feed an entire army. Maybe they intended to do so.
Perhaps, she thought wryly, the four lords intended to haul a herd of cattle through the fortress. It would be in vehement denial of core, elvish veneration. Were they not lovers of fauna and flora? Perhaps the old, English fairy tales of her childhood had led her astray once again.
Would there be music, in the least? And dancing? She hadn't danced in years.
Lily reached up, feeling at her hair. It had grown a little, yet still felt prickly beneath her touch. She should ask Nestariel for a headscarf, or some covering. Her brown, jagged locks had already garnered enough unwanted attention.
The kitchen preparations dwindled as the sun began to set. Lily and Nestariel were helping Melieth sweep off-cuts into the garden basket when a great horn blew in the distance.
It echoed from the far north of the fortress, and swept right through the open windows.
The lords had returned.
Melieth quickly shooed the girls from the kitchen. "Limbë!" She crowed, "Sáquetële! Manwa menimlë! Limbë!" You must prepare yourselves! Go, I will finish here!
Nestariel's eyes gleamed brighter than ever. Grasping Lily by the hands, she pulled the protesting girl into the hall and back up the spiral wooden staircase.
"Lenna, Lily! Not slow!"
Inside her quarters, Nestariel fastidiously smoothed her fingers over her own dark locks. She peered into the looking glass atop the shelf, pinching her cheeks to add colour.
Lily slowly sat on the bed. "Ma as?" What shall I do?
Nestariel quickly halted her primping and went to her side. Her pale, blue eyes searched hers. She ran her fingers over Lily's scalp.
"Thelm lye ae sesta telmë?"
Lily felt overwhelmed at her question. "Telmë?"
"Ah," Nestariel's hands gesticulated about her head. "Telmë."
"Hat?" Lily asked.
The she-elf grinned, and turning to the trunk, she pulled out a folded, pale cloth. Returning to Lily's side, she gestured for the girl to turn around. "Hat, yes?"
"Yes."
Nestariel unwound the fabric and shook it, before placing it over her head. "Good," she clucked happily. Lily sat very still as she secured the wimple with a thick, woollen band. "Lenna," she said, "come." She guided Lily to the mirror.
She had to bend lower to see her face's reflection within the glass, and saw a young, emaciated face staring back at her.
Her eyes, big and brown, looked dull and hollow. Heavy circles lay beneath them. When did she become so pale and corpse-like?
"You look fine," her companion said in elvish.
Ignoring her own insecurities, Lily eyed the headdress, and saw it to be an adequate covering. The pale fabric draped past her ears and lay comfortably down her back.
"Thankyou," Lily said, glancing back at her friend. She reached out for Nestariel's hand and squeezed it gently. "We shall go?"
"Yes."
It was noticeable that the fëanorion lords had presented their game to the kitchen, as the smell of cooked meat permeated throughout the lower hall. Lily walked down the staircase, seeing that the candelabras had been lit and the fireplace stoked. Elves were gathered below. They mingled easily, possessing a strong, close-knit comfortability, as though they'd shared a millennium together. She watched as they talked, some joyous, others mellow.
Hunting bows and swords had been stacked haphazardly at long tables and she could see the mud that had been trekked in from their boots. Mugs of mulled ale were already being consumed. Lily could make out the sour stench from where she stood at the bottom of the staircase.
"Lenna." Nestariel led the girl through the crowd to an archway. It opened out into a small arsenal, where racks of weapons hung neatly for use. To the right were a set of double doors that had been wedged open. Nestariel took her through them and into the large, inner courtyard.
It was protected snugly within the high, fortress walls. Pretty, flaming torches lit the surrounding greenery, making it appear like a dancing shadow.
Lily looked up. Her breath caught in her throat. The upended bowl of the heavens stretched above. The night was black velvet, and the stars were small, finite sequins, pinned against the expansive nothingness.
The moon was full and her heart felt oddly light.
These constellations were not her own, yet the stars shone brightly. There was no Venus, but the moon was familiar. She took comfort in it.
The sound of quiet footsteps approached. Nestariel tugged on her arm, bringing her gaze back to earth. There, amongst the din, was a tall, dark-haired elf. Lily looked and saw his eyes, and knew it was the one who'd saved her life.
"Mae govannen." He said, his voice low and commanding. Nestariel gently bowed her head, and murmured her own greetings.
Without his armour, he appeared less terrifying yet no less noble. Lily felt as though he could capture attention without the need to speak at all.
"My lord Maglor," Nestariel said, almost fumbling in her speech. "Ci mael?" Are you well?
He nodded, his features shadowed beneath the firelight. "Ni márië, hante." I am well, thank you. Lily stole a glance at him as he spoke. Wide shouldered and narrow-waisted, he was dressed in a simple white tunic and dusty, well-worn breeches. A simple, grey cloak lay wrapped around his shoulders. His vambraces and boots were muddied, as though he'd carelessly trekked through a landslide beforehand. His long, dark hair lay in mussed strands, spilling down over his riding cloak.
"Ai," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "I winë nigol."
Lily knew what winë meant. Little. His tone felt rather arrogant, and she cared not for the way his eyes sparkled at her. Nigol, indeed. Was it an insult? She looked helplessly to Nestariel, who was trying to restrain her giggle.
Ah. She narrowed her eyes at Maglor. "Nigol? Umin hanyan." I do not understand.
His lip quirked. "Ma istal quet'Eldarin?" Do you speak Quenya?
Lily held his gaze. "Ná, istan quete," she hesitated, then added smartly, "winë." Yes, I speak. Little.
Nestariel laughed. "Lily parlim, hér Maglor." Lily learns quickly, Lord Maglor.
Maglor smiled softly. "Lily?" He said, "man esselya ná?" That is your name?
Lily nodded, feeling slightly flushed beneath his smile. He stared at her, his pretty eyes roving over her figure, before speaking once more. "Le mael? Ana harwë malalda?" Are you well? Does your wound hurt?
"Ni márië, im hér." I am well, my lord. Lily wished nothing more than to thank him for rescuing her, but couldn't think of a right way to say it. "Im hér," she started, "hanta le sáme ni." Thankyou for helping me.
The words were rudimentary and poorly constructed, yet the ellon understood her meaning. He placed a large, gentle hand on her shoulder. "Alatúlie," he said, softly. Lily could feel the warmth of his hand through her cloak. His sincerity was heady.
Without thinking, Lily reached up and brought her hand to his, curling her fingers around his palm. His eyes flickered. He slowly pulled away.
"Vandë omentaina, Lily." He said. It was a pleasure meeting you. The elf-lord turned to Nestariel, and murmured his goodbyes. "Márienna." To happiness.
Lily watched him go, feeling oddly bereft.
Becoming weaker as the night festivities lingered on, Lily sat herself within a nearby chair. She cradled a mug of warmed cider to her chest, savouring the spiced brew. Her broken arm would be fully healed within a month from now; she'd surmised. Perhaps by then, she'd grasped Quenya and Sindarin well enough to enquire about a possible journey.
If she could find the cave where she'd first entered, she could return home. Doors between worlds opened both ways, did they not? Her thoughts were halted as something small and hard sailed past her ear.
What in the - ?
Lily watched it plop into the grass. An acorn. Her brow furrowed, and she slowly craned her head back. There was nobody behind her. In the darkness, she could only make out the hazy shadow of a few bushes.
She turned back around, only to be smacked in the head by another acorn. This time, she heard a sharp, childish giggle. Of course, she thought wryly.
Pretending to not notice the assault, she continued sipping at her mug. Another pelting struck. Casually, she put her cup aside and stood to her feet. Brushing at her apron, she slowly meandered towards the darkened shrubs.
She peered her head over, and saw two pairs of eyes staring mischievously up at her. Two adolescent elven boys - both with coppery red hair and identical expressions. They looked positively evil.
"Mae govannen," she greeted in elvish. "Are you quite finished?"
They grinned shamelessly. "Not yet!" Seeing Lily's scowl, they scrambled away before she could grab them. She stormed after the pair. Unfortunately, she found that the further away from the firelit courtyard, the less she could see.
She couldn't believe it. How could she lose a pair of gangly teenagers so quickly? How had they disappeared so? Another giggle came from above. She looked up to see one of the boys swinging from a tree branch. He poked his tongue at her. "Here," he called, "atsa!" Another acorn was flung at her. It bounced off her wimple. Catch!
She glared up at him. "Why you -!"
"Amrod, Amras," a solemn voice interrupted. "Pusta." Stop.
Lily spun, her eyes landing upon an elven male. Tall and fair, he possessed the coppery red hair of the twins. It was long, falling down his waist like silken fire. His features were stone-like, solemn. She suddenly felt quite silly.
The boys - Amrod and Amras - lept back down from the tree. The slightly taller one slung his arm casually over her shoulder. "Nerlmë tallen, hanno." We were only playing, brother.
"Ná i tan?" Is that so?
"Yes." Amrod brushed the ellon aside, linking his arms around Lily's. "Le u annetya, fíriel." You are very pretty.
The shorter one touched her wimple. "Manan le skal cas imlë?" Why do you cover your head like so?
Amrod and Amras spoke so quickly she hadn't the time to answer either of them. The older Ellon was not amused by their behaviour. "Le du lengamára. Si ae aiano, ui ae huo." You should behave better. This is a guest, not a pet. He folded his arms against his chest, his mouth disappearing into a bemused, thin line.
Amros held his head back, a stubborn glint in his eyes. "Mendelmë lenamára yá le, Maitimo." We will behave better when you do.
At those words, the ellon's expression turned thunderous. The boys, sensing his rising temper, beckoned themselves away. "Ai, yá lú? Mendelmë boe ea apa men la." Would you look at the time? We must be on our way.
"Ná, ná." Yes, yes.
With their arms secured around hers, the boys hurriedly steered her towards the inner courtyard. Feeling his eyes on her, Lily craned her neck back. Despite the cacophony of the surrounding din, they shared a mutual silence. The ellon's stare was frigid. Vacant.
She knew that look - she'd seen it before.
Shivering, she turned to the boys. "Was that your brother?" She asked them in elvish, her legs and thoughts struggling to keep up.
Amras grinned down at her. "Yes. That is the mighty Maedhros."
"Your Quenya is awful," The other brother teased. "Why do you sound so silly?"
"I am learning, that's why," she said, feeling oddly defensive.
"No, it is because you are Edain. Edain cannot speak elvish well."
"Edain?" She felt even more confused. The word felt strange on her tongue. "What is an Edain?"
At her words, they howled with laughter.
