When Lily was a little girl, she'd celebrate Christmas. Similar to other children her age, she'd loved the gift-giving and the sweets associated with the season.
She especially adored minced tarts.
Her dearest companion, Nestariel, seemed to adore anything under the sun. After describing the flavour of the delicacy, her friend immediately began reaching for her outer cloak.
"Where are you going?" Lily asked.
"Berry picking," she tossed a thick bundle of fur at the girl, "and you're coming with me."
Two copperheads peered from behind the corner. "We're coming too!" Amrod and Amras. Of course. Lily wanted to smack at them for eavesdropping so indecently.
"No you aren't," Nestariel snipped. "You both cause too much trouble and give me head pains."
However, Amrod was already pinning his cloak about his neck as she spoke. A quiver full of arrows sat securely beneath the folds of fabric. His brother, Amras, strapped a small dagger to his vambrace. Their lengths to ignore Nestariel's disapproving stare held no bounds.
"You know the difference between berry picking and swashbuckling, yes?" Lily teased.
Amrod shook his head. His tufts of red hair spilled about him. "You are berry picking. We are to be your handsome chaperones."
Nesterial huffed. "I don't think so."
"You need protection. The wilds are not safe. Orcs wander those lands."
"I can protect us both." There was pride in her voice. "You needn't worry."
"Maedhros strictly ordered us to join you wherever you went. So that is what we'll do." Amrod said with finality.
Amras nodded in agreement, "if you'd like, we can disguise ourselves and pretend to not exist. You could share your deepest, darkest secrets and we promise to cover our ears."
"What a stupid idea, brother," Amrod chided, "you're making us look bad in front of the firíel."
"In his defence, I'd like it all the same," Nesterial quipped.
Lily stifled her laugh behind a mittened hand. Amras noticed the item of clothing, and his eyes widened. "What a strange thing you are wearing, Lady Lily."
"Yes," his brother crowed, "what is it?"
"They're mittens," she replied, "they keep you warm."
"How peculiar."
"Lily feels the cold much more than we do," Nestariel told them, "she is far too delicate for us rustic mud-dwellers. She should've been born a princess."
"Ah yes, Princess Lily. Queen of the mittens," Amras bowed tauntingly. Amrod snickered. "Keeper of the fur coats."
"If I'm a princess then you two are my jesters," Lily said, smiling. "Come, let's stop the nonsense and be on our way."
The boys agreed. Nestariel opened her mouth in protest, yet Lily shook her head. "If Lord Maedhros wills it, what are we to do?" If Nestariel held anything in high regard, it was her own pride. She chewed on her lip; her expression was reluctant. "Fine," she muttered.
The stables were located within the main gates of Amon Ereb. Wooden, sheltered and protected from the elements, they housed the loyal steads of the Fëanorion legion. Two speckled horses stood elegantly within the loft, their heads bent down to the scattered hay. As Lily entered, the scent of manure and wet wood greeted her. Whilst overwhelming, it was not unpleasant.
She watched as Amrod and Amras swung saddles across their backs, securing the straps below their bellies. Dark, leather headstalls were gently clasped down. The speckled ponies did not seem to mind the bridles. She saw Amrod pressing his nose against his stead's fur, murmuring softly.
Amras led his own horse out from the loft and into the open pen. He beckoned Lily towards him. "Come here, mitten maiden," he said, "you will ride with me."
Lily did as he asked. Up close, the horse seemed larger than ever. She reached up, stroking its thick, winter fur. "What's his name?"
"Her name is Astoquén," he corrected jovially, "Queen of the Dust."
"How eloquent," she said. "Does she approve of such a title?"
"She does indeed. Astoquén reigns high over dirt and gunge."
Lily laughed. "She suits you well, then."
"She does," Amras winked, and gave the horse a small smack on the rump. Without another word, he grabbed Lily by the waist and hoisted her up. Yelping in surprise, she gripped onto the saddle. "Move your behind," he teased, "I'm coming up."
With one foot in the stirrups, he swung himself over the horse with an enviable grace. "Now, hold tightly, Astoquén is a fast girl."
"You shouldn't spread lies, brother," Amrod heckled, guiding his own stead towards them. Nestariel clung on, her beautiful features shadowed by a terrifying scowl. "Ride sensibly, or I'll box your ears," she warned.
Amrod craned his head back. He smiled charmingly. "As you wish, my dear lady." He clicked his teeth, setting the horse into a canter. Tugging at Astoquén's reins, Amras followed.
The four passed through the wide, arched gates of Amon Ereb and traversed down into the snow-covered plains. Lily's heart pounded in excitement - she had not yet left the safety of the fortress. Gripping tightly to Amras' tunic, she gazed out into the wonderland before her. Small snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes, and she smiled freely. They rode past small shrubs and lone trees. Lily saw pale, wild rabbits and scavenging foxes. The plains dipped into small valleys and rose to gentle hills. The sky was grey, the sun shrouded, yet she felt more alive than ever. "Wild country air is good for the soul." Her papa had said to her once.
At her father's memory, she felt a peace within her spirit.
They entered the forest's edge at midday, and slowly navigated the horses around frozen streams and large fir trees. The leaves were bare. Glittering, white icicles hung from the branches, turning them from homely pines into crystalline artefacts. Deeply packed snow crunched beneath horse hooves. Lily ducked her head just in time to avoid a wayward branch.
"We shall stop here," Amrod announced.
Amras nodded. "Grand idea."
As the brothers unpacked, Lily began to scout the surrounding shrubs for signs of harvest. Nestariel crouched further away, her slender fingers dusting aside a snow-covered thicket. Nestled inside were small clusters of cherry-like fruits. "Ai," Nesterial exclaimed. "I found some."
Lily went to her side. Bending down, she picked a berry and held it out in her palm. "What are they?"
"Aipio," she said. "They are very sweet. Try one."
Lily did so. The flavour was incredible. She hummed in delight. Nestariel watched her, her eyes sparkling. "Do you think they will be good for your minced pie?"
"Absolutely."
"Then we shall collect a bundle." Without another word, she retrieved a small satchel and began to pick at the harvest. Lily joined her.
They worked in companionable silence.
Nestariel soon began humming to herself. It was a solemn, soulful tune. Lily had heard it before, when the woman mindlessly stirred cauldrons or pottered about the garden.
"What do you sing about?"
"Hmm?"
Lily smiled. "You sing that song often, sometimes without realising. It's quite beautiful."
"It is beautiful," Nestariel agreed, pulling at a stubborn offshoot. "Our Lord Maglor wrote it."
Lily was surprised. "Did he?"
"Oh yes, quite some time ago. In the land of Valinor," her voice was distant, soft. As though she were recounting sacred memories. "He sang it at my mother's tuilérë celebration."
"How sweet."
"Yes," she said with a smile, "he has the loveliest voice, Lily. I have never heard anything else like it."
"Perhaps we shall bribe him into singing for us tonight," Lily teased.
Nestariel laughed. "We shall make lovely pies and refuse to share until he pulls out his harp."
"Oh dear, who's bribing who?"
Lily startled at the sound. Amras and Amrod had appeared from behind like silent ghosts. They snickered. "Do not be frightened, it is only us."
She put a hand on her chest, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."
Nesterial looked perturbed. "A heart attack? That sounds terrifying."
"An attack on the heart does sound quite serious," Amras mused, his arm resting on his longbow. "Tell me, is it a romantic thing? Are you in love with me?"
Her cheeks suddenly felt quite hot. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"I couldn't say I blame you," he continued, giving her a boyish grin. "I have always received much admiration from the fairer sex."
Nestariel snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, Amras. You are as admirable as a beard is on an elf."
"Which is very admirable indeed, according to my grandfather."
Lily smiled. As the elves bantered, she tied her satchel shut and dug her hands into the snow by her feet. Smoothing a small ball, she threw it hard. It struck Amras in the shoulder. He stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. Nestariel and Amrod cackled with laughter.
He gingerly shook away the snow. "What was that for?"
"Don't be so alarmed. I'm showing you my affection," laughing, she screwed up another ball and tossed it. This time he ducked.
"Stop it!" She did not.
"Right, you're asking for war!" Within a heartbeat, he'd scrunched a snowball and pelted it at her. Squealing in delight, she bolted. It missed and thumped a nearby tree trunk.
Nestariel quickly joined in their antics. She flung a snowball at Amrod, and it struck him in the face. War did break out. Lily discovered that an elvish aim was a frightfully accurate one. Amras learnt Nestariel had a very short temper.
In the end, both drenched and cold, the four declared a truce. The return journey home was an unremarkable one. Lily's boots were miserably wet, and her nose wouldn't stop leaking. Her hair was a windswept disaster.
Amon Ereb was a warm and welcoming sight. Inside the gates, the twins secured their steads whilst Nestariel and Lily crossed through the gardens to the servant's door. Inside, the kitchen was toasty and warm. Dumping their satchels onto Arthion's workbench, Lily stretched her stiff, mittened fingers over the crackling fire. Nestariel hung her outer cloak and set about gathering ingredients.
"We need flour, sugar, butter, and egg," Lily began, "and to make the filling we need Aipio, apples, dried grapes, and nutmeg. Do you keep any spices with you?"
The companions spent the rest of the dwindling daylight preparing their tarts. When night came, the scent of their labour permeated throughout the lower halls. The tarts were small and golden brown. Nestariel took a bite, and her face beamed. "These are absolutely divine! Very sweet, but lovely all the same!"
Melieth entered the kitchens and her eyes narrowed at the mess. Flour and eggshells had been scattered carelessly. There was a suspicious stain on the wall. "What have you girls been up to?" Her eyes landed on the tray of delicacies. Lily smiled sheepishly, wiping a strand of hair from her cheek. Smoothing her fingers over her floured apron, she offered the woman a tart. "Here, try one," she said, "it's popular among my people."
She did so. "Ah, child, you've made my day." She covered her mouth as she chewed. "Consider yourself forgiven for that abominable waste of flour and egg. You must offer some to Nelyo and Makalaurë, for they've had an arduous day." Taking out a plate, she pulled two tarts out of the pan. "Here," she said, holding it out to Lily, "the boys are in their study."
Nestariel smiled, watching the pair. "Run along," she teased Lily, "remember to wheedle our dear lords for a song and dance."
Lily ignored her jibe and crossed the kitchen. As she left, she called out to them. "Have fun cleaning. I hope it doesn't take too long!" She quickly ducked out the door, narrowly missing a flying dishcloth.
Balancing the plate in her hands, she walked through the mess hall and up the stairs. The old, rickety wood creaked and groaned. The third floor, located in the eastern wing, felt forbidden. An elven soldier glanced at her as she passed by. She smiled, and he quickly turned away. The second floor's staircase was narrow and steep. It held no railings. Lily dared not look down as she made her way up it.
The highest floor of the fortress possessed only a cramped hallway. It was dreadfully dark. At the end of the passage, there was light flickering from beneath a doorway. Lily heard the faint sound of muffled voices and followed it.
The conversation was strained. Low.
Raising her hand, Lily knocked. Holding her breath, she waited as the voices abruptly stopped and footsteps came towards the door.
It swung open. It was Maedhros. His intimidating figure taunted her, daring her to meet his eyes. She did so. They were narrowed in annoyance.
Lily looked back down, and saw that his right hand was missing. Only the stub of his wrist remained, wrapped tightly in white muslin. How had she not noticed before?
The girl looked back up to his wan, ashen features and her heart filled with compassion.
"What do you want, mortal?" He asked sourly. "We are quite busy."
"Of course," she said softly. "I didn't mean to intrude," she held out her plate. The warm, comforting smell of spices drifted between them. "Melieth wished me to give these to you."
He looked bemused. "Did she now?"
"Yes."
Maedhros' eyes searched her own. Then, with a small grunt, he yanked the door back and stepped to the side. "Come in," he muttered. She did so.
A large, wooden desk and a warm, crackling fireplace greeted her. Maglor was leaning against it, swirling a goblet of wine in his hands. Lily's stomach quivered oddly when he greeted her. She felt her pulse quicken as he came closer; it was as though his mere presence made her skin tingle. It was a foreign feeling.
His eyes were dark and compelling. "What have you brought us, Edain?"
"A gift," she replied.
"Ah." He looked down at the plate. "You made this?"
"Nestariel and I both, my lord."
Nodding gracefully, he picked up the small pie and broke it in half. He offered the other half to his brother. "Hantalë." He bit into it. Maglor chewed, then swallowed. Lily watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "It is a strange flavour," he eventually said, "but not an unwelcome one." Maedhros hummed his agreement, moving to sit languidly onto the desk. He stretched out his arm towards the open door. "You may leave us now," the elder brother said. "Thank you."
Lily's cheeks warmed. She felt reproached. "I -" she began, but held her tongue at Maedhros' glare, "Alright."
"By the way," Maglor spoke up, "you have flour on your nose. It is most distracting. I suggest you wash yourself."
She glared at him hotly. "If it pleases you, my lord."
Unbothered, he poured himself another glass of wine. "It would please me greatly. Goodnight, little mouse."
Lily tried not to slam the door on her way out.
She returned to the kitchen, silently fuming.
