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Title: Lillah's Story
Author: Fianna Leighton
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All elves of LOTR belong to the estate of JRR Tolkien and are used with respect and deep appreciation.
LILLAH'S STORY
CHAPTER TWO: Awakening.
The sounds of normal life drifted to her, distant, but growing louder - dishes clattering, voices, laughter -- until Lillah took a deep breath and rolled over onto her side, opening her eyes to find a gray-haired woman knitting calmly beside her bed.
"It's about time you woke up," the woman complained, her gaze concerned as she looked over the clicking needles at Lillah. "I was beginning to see why that elf had such a long face. Most men get irritable when their work goes wrong. Men or elves, it doesn't seem to make a difference."
Lillah blinked, her mind struggling to attach words and faces, memory and remembered pain. She rolled over onto her back, feeling her side. "The arrow is gone."
"Aye, not an easy thing it was either. The elf's face was nearly white when he finally pulled it free, with you screaming and Aragorn near as pale." The woman chuckled as she bent over her needles. "Nearly kicked the young elf at your feet, him thinking he had you all wrapped up in your skirts. Fooled him you did, you were a lot stronger than they thought." She sighed, folding her needles into the knitting to stare at Lillah. "But the elf threw that arrow head across the room like it came from his own body." She frowned as she shoved the knitting into a small basket, "or one of his people." She looked at Lillah intently. "He is distant and reserved most of the time, but he did what needed to be done. Between him and King Elessar, they did you a good thing. If they hadn't worked together, though, I don't believe you'd be glaring at me now."
Lillah blinked again and then stared at the ceiling, feeling both angry and thankful. She struggled to sort out which she felt and settled on anger, her grief too heavy to bear. "I did not ask for their help."
The woman rose, drawing Lillah's gaze, holding her knitting basket to her chest. "Of course you did. The moment you climbed on that horse you were hoping to get help." She walked to the door before turning back toward Lillah. "And do not try to tell me anything else. I will get you some soup. The elf will want to know you are awake as will the King. I cannot sit here babbling to you all day, there are things that must be done. Perhaps the elf didn't have much to do, to sit like he did for so long. . . " her voice trailed off as she disappeared, leaving Lillah even more confused.
Lying back into the mattress, she tentatively slid her hand beneath her gown to feel her ribs. They were tender, but nothing more. No scar, nothing hardly to show she'd been wounded so severely. She dropped her hand onto the bed wearily, just rolling over seemed to tax her strength. Had she wanted to live? She sighed as she stared at the ceiling. She had wanted to die. Or thought she did, perhaps it was the elf and his magic confusing her. She frowned, remembering his voice, words she could not remember fully. He had had a demanding voice, commanding her to surrender. Commanding her! She grimaced, plucking at the coverlet weakly. How insufferable. She had wanted only to die, to escape the grief that even now brought the heated burning of tears. She inhaled slowly with a shuddering breath. No, that was not true. She had wanted to live -- the desire had always been there if buried deep beneath the pain. Somehow, the elf had sensed it and forced her to accept it.
Only what was she to do now?
**
Haldir looked up from his book, watching the woman cross the room below him from where he sat on the balcony, her long hair bound in a thick braid behind her head, her pace slow and listless. She did not look up, nor around at any of the other people in the room, but made her way slowly past them seeming lost in thought.
He knew she was healing well enough, physically at least. Aragorn had told him she seemed unhappy.
Having a sound body, however, did not take away the emotions of grief, or the guilt one felt for living when loved ones and friends did not. That would take time, for some a lifetime. His sorrow was still heavy on his heart, but he had been able to push it out of his mind for the most part, until now as he saw hers. Her pain brought the memories back in a rush, a sharp ache that took away his breath, his well-being. It would not be good to linger here long, yet he could not leave yet. Something about the woman kept him close by.
Something about her nagged at him, a tiny detail he had somehow missed that was important.
He did not know why.
He lifted the book, but watched her as she stopped near a window, drawn by the play of sunlight on her russet hair. Such color was unusual in his world, although many in Imladris carried the darker tones of color - browns, blacks, even an occasional redhead from the line of Maedhros.
She reached out, carefully pushing open the window frame, leaning outside a moment, only to suddenly close it, as if she did not want to see the sunlight or hear the birds chirping outside.
He rose to his feet silently, setting his book aside.
She stood holding the latch tightly when he reached her, fingers nearly white with the strain, her eyes closed.
"You cannot shut it away."
She whirled around, her hand lifting to her throat with a gasp.
He had not meant to frighten her and felt a brief pang of guilt for doing so, having forgotten she would be edgy after what she had been through. "I am sorry; I did not mean to startle you."
She lowered her eyes, turning away, but he caught her arm gently. "It will get better."
"Will it?"
"Aye," he promised in a low voice, his gaze following the line of her throat, her chin, and then the sharp curve of her ears. "You are an elf," he said with a touch of surprise. Her ears had been hidden from him when he had first seen her, covered by the thickness of her hair. They peeked out now from within the russet strands, a definite reflection of her heritage.
She swallowed, taking a moment before she turned her head to look at him. "I was."
He frowned. "And what does that mean?"
She studied him; her eyes, he noted, were pale blue, weary.
"You would not understand." She looked away, and then glanced at him again, a sharp turn that was followed by a lengthy stare. "You are the one who helped heal me."
He nodded faintly. "You came for help."
She laughed mockingly, moving a step closer to him. He could smell the soft scent of violets that wafted from her hair.
"Did I," she asked, looking up at him, hardly standing past his shoulder. "Perhaps I came only to warn you that the orcs are yet free to do harm. Perhaps I had come to complain that my family is dead because they are yet free, perhaps . . ." She took a deep breath, and then as he watched her, tightened lips that trembled faintly. "Perhaps, I should not blame anyone but myself," she whispered.
He moved back a step when she pushed him gently out of the way. "I appreciate your kindness," she said quietly, "if not the healing itself." She moved slowly away, her steps silent as his, and then she paused and looked back at him. "How long does it take?"
He lifted his shoulders in a faint shrug. "I am still waiting."
Her eyes widened slightly, and then she nodded, sweeping out of the room to leave him alone in the midst of the crowd.
**
Lillah sank down on the bed, catching herself before she sprawled across it sobbing as she wanted to do. No, she could not; she had to push away the grief, the pain. The tears, however, began to fall, no matter her struggle to hold them back, long lines of dampness that darkened her pale cheeks.
She had nothing left.
She sighed miserably, rubbing a hand across one eye. She had a holding, a small farm worth nothing but grief. One she no longer wanted. It had been a gift from her father, an uneasy token of peace, of forgiveness, taken and accepted by both her husband and his family.
She had felt some remorse for hurting her parents, for leaving all that she knew for a life with a man who would die in her arms far sooner than she had ever thought. Had she bound her life with his, she would have been dead, arrow or not. Her grief even now seemed to threaten her life, what would it have been like had she truly given her soul to his?
Lillah could not imagine the heartrending pain that might have brought.
She had intended on binding with him, had planned on giving him the gift so precious to her kind at the birth of their first child. A child she would never have now. She had blamed herself for the lack of an heir for her husband. The long years that she had lain with him left them only with a treasured closeness, but nothing more.
He had pleased her well enough, and had said that only, perhaps, it was a matter for the Valar to choose.
She curled up on the bed, closing her eyes against the pain. "Why, why do this to me?"
"The gods never do what we want," the woman Anna said, bustling into the room with an armload of linen, her piercing eyes drawing Lillah from her melancholy. "But maybe, it is more what we think we want." She set the blankets down on the bed and then stood staring down at Lillah with hands on her hips. "You can cry all day, but it will not help, nor make the grief any lighter. I have lost two husbands to the orcs and this war, not to mention a son as well. It hurts, so much I think I will die from it."
She pulled Lillah off the bed, stripping the blankets. "But I have not passed on yet. The sun comes up, the day goes on and I keep going." She threw the soiled blankets onto the floor and then efficiently made the bed again. "And you will too," she continued, grunting with her exertions.
Lillah smiled faintly. "The Valar have given you much strength."
Anna turned to glare at her. "Me? I have little of what you do. You have a long life to live, if you do not let the grief tear you apart. Would he want that? There is too much suffering and too many who need help. Put your grief into something worthwhile, my lady. It is what helps me keeping going."
She nodded, gathering the blankets, and then left the room as abruptly as she had come, leaving Lillah bemused and a bit startled. The race of men did so much living in such a short time -- it had been one of the things drawing her to her husband.
No, he would not want her to grieve long. He would have wished her to go on, knowing her life would not end with his.
Lillah sighed, wiping her face. She was not the only one who had lost everything. She still had family, hopefully, if they had stayed in Arda, and the orcs had not decimated their home. She ran out of the room, finding Anna a few rooms down, and stopped breathlessly just inside the door.
"Do you know if the elves are still on the plain?"
Anna looked up, blinking for a moment. "Some," she said with a faint smile. "I would ask that Haldir if I were you. He knows everyone it seems."
Lillah lifted a hand to her throat. "Haldir? Haldir of Lórien?"
Anna shrugged, not really paying attention. "I only heard of one Haldir. He is the one who healed you, along with King Elessar."
Lillah moved out of the way, as Anna brushed past her, with a shiver. "Haldir, you are sure?"
Anna sighed and lifted her gaze to Lillah's. "You cannot mistake the March Warden. He was nearly killed at Helm's Deep. The grief I see in your eyes is often mirrored in his. The rumors say they lost nearly half of the elven warriors he brought with him. You can ask him what grief is like, my lady. I am sure he can tell you very well."
**
"You are not going back to the elves?" Aragorn asked mildly, lifting a brow as he sipped wine from a clear crystal goblet that had been a wedding gift from Galadriel.
Haldir shrugged, comfortable in the chair near the fire, unwilling yet to return to the plain. "Are you tired of my company, Aragorn?" he asked, looking up from his book.
Aragorn smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement. "Perhaps, if I was the object of your attention, how many pages have you stared at and not actually read?"
Haldir's mouth curved slightly, caught. "Too many."
"Why do you wait? Is it the elven woman, Lillah? She seemed better today," Aragorn mused. "Did you realize she was an elf?"
"Not until today, I have not been that near."
Aragorn snorted softly. "Near, yet far. You have hardly left the healing house. Why are you so concerned? You told me, not too long ago, not to care so much."
Haldir sighed, rising to his feet, handing Aragorn his book. "Advice I have not followed, true. I cannot say why I linger, only that I must." He touched his heart with a slight bow. "Give my regards to Arwen?"
Aragorn smiled, touching his forehead. "Always, Haldir, I only tease."
Haldir smiled back, touching Aragorn's shoulder briefly, and then left the room. The ramparts of the highest level drew him, silently moving past the guards standing at attention at the door, walking slowly toward the wall that stretched out in front of him. The wind caught his hair as he leaned over to look down, lifting the long strands of silver, nearly white in the moonlight, to swirl around his shoulders. Below him, the city teemed with life, even late into the night.
**
"I have been looking for you," a soft voice said from behind him. Haldir turned his head slightly. Her scent swirled around him, caught on the drafts of air.
"Why?"
She sighed deeply, moving to stand beside him, bracing her hands on the low wall in front of her. "You were right."
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, the play of light on her features as she struggled to say what was in her mind.
"I had to surrender."
"You cannot heal otherwise."
She shuddered, closing her eyes tightly, and he had the sudden intense desire to wrap his arms around her, but he did not.
"I gave my life to him, willing to leave all that I knew behind for the temptation of a man, his way of life." She bit her lip. "I would have lived that life happily." She turned toward Haldir, lifting a hand to rest it on his arm. "You know what grief is, they say."
He tried to ignore the heat that he could feel from her hand, surprised by the catch in his breath. Even now, it was difficult to admit, to feel the pain that lay so close to the surface. "Yes," he agreed faintly.
"And because you understand, you have tried to help me with mine. That is very noble of you."
Haldir frowned. "I was not trying to be noble."
"Kind then," she said, lifting her gaze to his.
He saw the twinkle in her gaze, a lightness that had not been there this morning.
"Perhaps, if you like to think so."
She studied him, tilting her head slightly. "Then why?"
He stared out into the plain. "I do not know. I just felt I needed to be near."
She turned back to the wall, leaning on the stone. "I have to find my family."
"There are many still among the plain. You are from Imladris."
She sent him a startled glance. "Yes."
He nodded faintly. "Elrond still resides below. He is staying for several more days. I am sure he can tell you if any of your kin came with them."
"You do not know?" she teased softly.
Haldir flashed a faint smile. "I know many, but not all."
"But most know you," she countered evenly, staring again beyond the wall.
He lifted his chin slightly, bemused. "And do you?"
"Haldir of Lothlórien, March Warden, respected Captain of the Galadhrim, brother, friend to a King… Your list goes on and on."
He smiled wryly. "And all true, so far." He reached out to capture her chin with his fingers, gently pulling her to face him. "And you, Lillah of Rivendell, are quite…" he bent closer, watching her eyes widen. "You are quite intriguing." He smiled, and then let her go, moving back a step. "Why do you seek me out?"
She stared at him for a moment, and then bit her lower lip, her expression wary. "I was hoping you could take me to the elves tomorrow."
"It would be my pleasure," he said softly, controlling the urge to brush his fingers across the bruised lip.
She nodded, and then with a frown, hurried down the wide street into the city.
Haldir watched her leave with a faint sigh. He had just overstepped a line he had promised himself he would not cross.
**
Lillah should have known he would come. She had asked, of course, but had thought her frowns might have deterred him. Even now, the memory of his fingers touching her skin made her heart flutter.
As well as making her feel horribly guilty.
Her husband lay dead only days ago, and already another had touched her intimately.
Not physically, the simple grasp of her chin had meant nothing, but rather, he had touched her deep inside, a resonant echo of something she had never felt before. Not even with her husband who she had loved beyond anything else.
How could she feel something so soon? It was traitorous and disloyal to a man who deserved much more.
Lillah turned away from the window, away from the elf striding so easily toward the healing house, a long stride well used to the fields and forests. She could not help but smile, noting the murmurs his approach brought, rippling from those near the door to the back of the room. He was famous, a hero, but a reluctant one as he stood at the door, bowing over someone's fingers, smiling faintly at another.
Respectful, if very distant, to the ill and injured, he was a puzzle to her. How could he be so different from what he seemed?
Many thought him arrogant, men found him cold and haughty. She sensed it was something different altogether, a deep confidence as well as a shield to protect a heart buried deep inside him.
A heart that knew grief as painful as hers, if not more?
She watched him search the room, perhaps knowing she would be there, somewhere. She was, hidden from him by a tall screen, unwilling yet to move forward, caught in an inner struggle, a war of wants and desires.
She could not hide forever, though, and finally moved away from the screen, her gaze lifting to seek him out from beneath her lashes.
He saw her instantly, his eyes narrowing slightly, but not enough to hide a piercing gaze. She could imagine him in his element, a bow in hand, long fingers gripping arrow after arrow, a warrior, fearless and brave, willing to sacrifice himself for those in need, a hero, indeed!
He reached her, taking her arm gently as she waited, finding his eyes were quite stunning. Dark lashes framed the silver-grey, brows dark when they should have been light. His gaze had a startling depth, layers and layers she wanted to explore, to know, to touch.
She blinked, clearing her throat, pulling away slightly, annoyed at being so mesmerized.
"You have come," she said stiffly.
He smiled faintly, folding his hands behind his back, perhaps in deference to her retreat. "I said I would."
She nodded, moving past him, aware of him intimately, a level so deep she was shaken. Whatever was happening was unsettling. Another elf arrived at the door, his blond hair sleek, gleaming against the dark green of his tunic. She knew him, although he was not from Imladris. Few did not know the son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, as well as a close companion to Aragorn. Legolas searched the room, and spying the two of them, grinned, striding across gleaming tiled floor, unaware of the gazes that locked onto him, the wide eyes of appreciation. Lillah nearly laughed, amused by the glances, and then wondered if she had looked that way at Haldir. She prayed not, with a shiver.
"The horses are here," Legolas said, with a smile at Lillah. "You look much better, my lady."
She watched him kiss her fingers, startled by the gallant gesture. A heart breaker for sure, she wondered how many elven women fell to his charm, certainly a number of human women had, she had only to glance around the room to see the effects.
"Thank you. I can place the blame firmly on both of you, as well as King Elessar."
Legolas laughed softly. "I had little to do with it; I only held your feet."
She shuddered faintly, and felt a hand touch her elbow, sending spiraling warmth up her arm. It made her both chilled and hot, a complex series of sensations that confused her. She pulled her arm free of Haldir's grip, putting some distance between them.
"At any rate, I thank you all for what you have done." She sent Haldir a brief glance to find him watching her closely. Too closely, she wondered just what he saw.
Legolas smiled, moving back to wave an arm toward the door. "We will take you to Elrond. I have business with those of my kin as well, so have volunteered to join you and Haldir, although he did not seem pleased with my suggestion." Legolas lifted an amused gaze to the taller warden. "Being a Prince does sometimes have its reward."
Lillah could not help but laugh, catching the grim smile the March Warden bestowed on the younger elf. No, he did not seem pleased, which made Lillah overly warm again.
"Shall we go then?" Haldir said crisply, bowing slightly with a hand to his forehead. It was a respectful gesture, to her, toward Legolas. The young elf had made his reputation fighting alongside Aragorn. She had heard many tales of his heroism, his loyalty to the man who had become King. He deserved the respect, but did not seem comfortable with it from Haldir.
Youth versus age, the comparisons made Haldir seem quiet, if a bit stern, in reflection to Legolas's lighter air. Yet both had seen terrible calamity, death, had dealt with horrible hardships and had survived.
Just as she must survive.
She swept past them, moving toward the door, smiling at Anna across the room. The woman waved her eyes sharp as she watched the two elves. She was a woman who had much vision, Lillah thought. She saw nearly as much as the elf did.
The horses waited outside, a pure white stallion, her dappled grey and a tall dark creature that turned as Haldir stepped outside. The horse snorted, shaking the bells tied to his bridle in greeting. Haldir smoothed his mane, patting the horse gently as he moved past, taking the reins of her husband's mount.
"You ride a beast meant for war," Haldir said, lifting her easily into the saddle. "He is not yours."
Lillah accepted the reins, patting the grey warmly. "No, he is, was, my husband's." She pushed the grief aside stubbornly, lifting her chin. "But he has always liked me."
Haldir smiled in amusement, rubbing the horse's nose. "A good thing, he likes few others. The handlers in the stable have complained he has been a handful."
Lillah blanched, she had not thought of what they had done with him. "I must apologize to Aragorn. I did not mean to cause any trouble."
Haldir's eyes gleamed with amusement for a brief moment, passing beside her knee as he gathered the reins to his horse. "I did not say there was trouble, only a challenge that was met." He pulled himself into the saddle gracefully, hair sliding over his shoulder as he leaned toward Lillah. "There are always many challenges to face in this life."
Legolas snorted from beside her, his blue eyes watching them both. "I think Haldir finds you a challenge, my lady."
Lillah flushed. "Lillah, please call me Lillah."
Legolas nodded regally completely unaware of his grace. "If you would like, although it does not sound elvish."
She smiled, the memory of how her husband had arrived at her name, shortening the Sindarin Lalaith, twisting it somehow into Lillah. She had not minded and rather liked the sound of it. She would keep it, in respect to her husband, a reflection of her love. "Nay, it is a nickname my husband used. I find I like it."
Legolas nodded, easing his horse away from hers to allow her room to move. "Then that is what I shall call you. Haldir has no nickname," he said in a teasing voice. "Unless it is grouchy old elf."
Lillah could not help but laugh, sending the annoyed elf a glance from under her lashes.
"He would do well to remember I can thrash him soundly, prince or not," Haldir promised, kicking his horse to leave them behind.
"He has no sense of humor," Legolas complained. "I like his brothers far better."
tbc