The River Snowbourn

Lily remembered glimpses of White Mountains. Snow-topped and serene, and beautiful. If these were the scenes of what lay beyond the world of the living, she gladly would have roamed free in it forever. Images of being underwater resurfaced. Bright-blue eyes and golden-yellow hair, with gentle hands waving her back to the surface and the shore. Dark green banners and white horses, and pain, too. A fiery sensation burnt from her leg and up to her spine. Feverish sweat poured out from her head to the palm of her hands. The bitter taste of medicine in her mouth that brought her in and out of slumber. Strange voices speaking with familiar words, and also strange words, as though it were words that were once long forgotten. Its sound rich and rolling, and yet as stern as a stone. And the sound brought her peace, knowing that she was not alone as her mind wandered over cloud banks.

The scent of wool and burning firewood filled her nostrils. She felt she soft touch of rabbit furs on the tips of her fingers, and the gentle touch of velvet on her breast. Memories drifting of seaweed touching her bare webbed feet. Of a glass dome under the Lake, housing her best friend. His dark hair dancing around him as he collected plants from the rocks, and his dark eyes meeting hers.

Lily, find me!

Lily's eyes shot open as Severus's voice echoed through her memory. 'Sev,' she quivered, and tears sprung in her eyes as the memory came falling back into place. The ring. The strong whirlwind of a current that had pulled them apart.

'She's awake, my lady.' A deep voice resonated through the room. The sound of swift steps and a swishing cloak followed, and before her kneeled a woman with a fair face, kind grey eyes and long pale golden hair. She wore a dark green velvet gown, like the green of the banners Lily vaguely remembered seeing, and the gown was embroidered with golden thread that shimmered in the half-light of the candles around her.

'Hello,' she said. Her voice was as sweet as her face. 'You can tell me who you are?'

Lily felt that her lips were still trembling from the painful memory that awoke her. 'Where am I?' Only then did she notice that her voice was laced with fear.

'My name is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund,' she said while placing her right hand over her heart. 'And you are in my room at the Meduseld. A band of our riders found you along the Snowbourn riverbank. Your leg broken, and the strange thing you were wearing torn. They have brought you here to Edoras so that I could look after you.'

All Lily heard were words and places she had never heard of and moved the woollen blanket away to see the damage to her leg. Her right leg appeared to be broken. It was wrapped up in linen and strapped together with rope and strips of wood to keep it in place, and several blankets were used to raise her leg up from the mattress. A sharp stinging sensation shot up as she tried to move it, and the bitter taste that lingered on the roof of her mouth made her realise that she was still under the influence of medicine.

'The riders who found you feared that you had hit a rock under the water,' Éowyn continued to explain.

Lily pulled the blanket back over her leg, as though deciding that it wasn't worth the trouble of her time right now. She looked around. Almost everything appeared to be made from wood and stone. The A-shape of the roof reminded her of old Viking houses. Handwoven tapestries adorned the walls, and they seemed to tell the stories of other times and battles and places and people she had never heard of. A small window, adorned with troubled glass above her head was the only evidence of the sun being out, as the room was lit with many candles, and a hearth burnt wildly right across from her, providing her with much welcoming warmth. 'Where am I?' she asked again, a bit bolder this time. There was nothing in the room she could find that showed any signs of modernity. Not even Éowyn herself, as her gown appeared to have been handmade, and spoke in ways that were not from her time. 'I think I'm lost.'

Éowyn took a hold of Lily's hand, and her touch was comforting. 'Please tell me your name, dear girl. And tell me of the place that you herald, and how you came to be here. And when you do, I might be able to aid you on your journey back home.'

Tears were welling up in her eyes again. 'My name is Lily,' she said. 'I'm from a workers town called Cokeworth in England. It lies along the River Thames. And I attend school in Scotland. I was swimming in the depths of the Great Lake with my friend until we found something shimmering at the bottom of it, a ring of some sort, and when he took a hold of it, we were spiralling away, and we lost each other.' The silent tears had turned into sobs, and she clasped her hands in front of her eyes.

The weight shift on the mattress let Lily know that Éowyn had set down on the bed. Éowyn wrapped her arms around Lily's shoulders and let her head rest against her chest. 'I fear I don't know where or what these places that you mentioned, dear Lily,' she said as she started stroking Lily's hair. 'But I do feel that your sense of loss is strong. Could you tell me more on this friend of yours?'

Éowyn admitting to not knowing what or where England is, confirmed Lily's worst suspicion. She had not drifted off to a different country, or some unknown secluded settlement. She was somewhere else entirely. A whole different world, with different people and different places, and it made her start to weep. She did not know where Severus had gone. Whether he, too, was along the Snowbourn riverbank somewhere, lost and hurt. Or maybe he never made it to the surface at all and had drowned in the waves. Then her thoughts went to Hogwarts, and all her friends. They must be searching the Great Lake, looking for them. And her parents, and her sister Petunia, and even Severus's mother Eileen. The news of their disappearance must have reached them by now, and panic and chaos would strike. 'His name is Severus,' she said with great difficulty. 'He is my age, and he has long dark hair, and dark eyes. And he's been my best friend for nearly a decade. Have you seen him? Has someone who looks like him also been found?'

'The bitter truth is better than a sweet lie,' Éowyn responded. 'No-one that fits such a description has been found along the river. No-one at all but you.'

'I need to find him,' said Lily. 'I promised him that I would find him. I promised. And then we must find our way back home because everyone at home will be worried sick. And I don't want them to be worried because there are dark things happening to our world and I must be there to see it though. And I—'

'—Ssh.' Éowyn's shushing was kind but firm. 'You cannot be concerned with the troubles of others, when all you can do is be concerned about yourself. You are injured, and there is a great mystery to your origins. You must rest, and heal, and let the burdens of the world fall back onto your shoulders when you are strong enough to stand up straight again.'

Despite all the pain, Éowyn's words were soothing to the soul. 'Thank you,' Lily muttered. 'For all you've shared with me.'

'For what is the world without sharing,' Éowyn responded with a smile. 'It is vast, and dangerous, and beautiful, and what is the meaning of it all if we do not wander in it, and fight for it, and marvel at it together.'

Lily wanted to say something in return, but a jolt of pain shot through her leg, causing her to wince and bite her tongue. 'When they found me,' she said through deep breaths, 'did they find a stick on me by any chance? It's carved and made of willow.'

'They did,' Éowyn confirmed, and from the drawer of the nightstand she pulled out Lily's wand. 'I've never seen a branch of wood so intricately detailed. I could not figure out what was special about it, other than it being made by fine craftmanship.' She handed the willow wand over to Lily. 'Could you enlighten me as to what it is?'

Lily wanted to tell her, but the fact that Éowyn did not seem to recognise a wand also meant that she may not be familiar with magic, and it was deeply ingrained into her that talk of magic could not be shared unless it were amongst other wizards or involved Muggle relations. Holding her wand again did feel as though a severed limb had returned and reattached itself, and it calmed her down, though only a little. 'What do you know of magic, Éowyn?'

'Magic is a mystical thing,' Éowyn answered. Her grey eyes were still kind, but something in the depths of her was moving. 'And it exists in many forms. Through words. Through incantations. There are some who are known to have the Gift of Foresight. And there are objects, old and new, laced with magic, and the Easterlings are known to worship magic, and they have been enemies of the Free Peoples since the First Age. And I know of wizards and their staves, and with it they guide their magic.'

'You are familiar with wizards, then?' Lily asked. A little spark of hope had erupted in her chest. If there were wizards here, then perhaps they could help her find her way back.

'I am indeed,' said Éowyn, and the spark of joy in her eyes was extinguished. 'Only five have known to roam Middle-Earth. One lives far up north and east from here, in the realm of Rhovanion, dwelling in the dense and heavy woodlands of Mirkwood. He has not been sighted for many years. And there's a wizard that's often found in the west, for he has a great fondness of the Shirefolk. My uncle calls him Stormcrow, as he only arrives during times of trouble. And there is another wizard, who lives a mere three-day ride from here. His dark tower casts a great shadow over the valley of Nan Curunír, which was named after the wizard himself.' There was bitterness on Éowyn's tongue as she spoke of him.

Lily took note of Éowyn's distaste. 'And what of the other two,' she asked carefully?

'It is said they have gone to the far east and never returned,' said Éowyn. 'But why do you ask, young Lily? For what is the story of magic within your own life?'

Lily fumbled with her wand between her fingers. Éowyn spoke only of wizards, and not too fondly, either, but none of witches. 'And what about witches?' she asked. 'Are there no women who wield magic?'

Éowyn was taken aback by the mention of witches, and now eyed the wand in Lily's hands with great suspicion. 'All women bare great strength and magic,' she said as the kindness faded from her lips. 'But there are no such things as witches. For witchcraft is foul, and dangerous, and corrupts the souls of people.'

She could keep her mouth closed and not speak of it any further, but Lily had a difficult choice to wager. She needed to find her way back to Severus, and a way back home, and she knew she could not do it without the use of her magic. And she could not do it without the help of Éowyn, either, who knew the ways and the laws and the roads of the land. And so, she would have to reveal for what she truly was and hope for the best possible outcome. 'Where I am from, I am a witch,' she stated. 'But we don't consider witches to be evil, and witchcraft is the same thing is all magic. And we can do incredible things with it that are powerful, and good.'

'That which holds power can easily be corrupted,' said Éowyn, and stood up from the bed. 'We shall speak of this nu further until I have sought council from my uncle, King Théoden, and his chief advisor Gríma. You will find a goblet with medicine on the nightstand to help ease the pain if you need it.' Without another word, Éowyn turned around and gently closed the door behind her, leaving Lily alone to her own thoughts.

Lily wished she had been able to explain it better, but Éowyn appeared hard to convince. And she had many questions. On what the Meduseld was, and what she had meant by Middle-Earth. Who the riders were that had found her by the riverbank, and if there was any way to contact the wizards she had spoken of. But for now, she had to turn her attention to her injured leg. She knew of a spell that could mend bones, but she had never tried it before, as it was complicated and rarely resulted in the right outcome. Brewing a Skele-Gro potion would've been best, but ingredients were hard to come by even at Hogwarts, and she sincerely doubted all the strange ingredients she'd need were available here. Braving the risk, she pointed her wand at her leg, waved a complicated pattern into the air and said, 'Brackium Emendo.' Not even a faint shimmer or whisp erupted from her wand, and her leg still felt the same as before. 'Brackium Emendo,' she said again, but nothing happened.

Perhaps I'm doing it wrong, she thought to herself. She blew out the candle that was nearest to her and pointed her wand at the wick. 'Incendio.' A mere faint puff of smoke, but nothing followed. Panic started to bubble up from the pit of her stomach. 'No, it can't be,' she muttered to herself. She placed her wand flat in her hand, already shaking by the thought of it not working again. Ever since she had come of age, she had figured out a way to find Severus on the streets of Cokeworth with the use of her wand. She had chased him down from time to time with her parents' car and had run down to the grocery shop if he was heading over, just to see if he was still alive. For his eyes to meet hers again, even if it were for a mere second. To check and see if the Severus she knew was still in there, somewhere. It would tick him off to see her there, and he would run away, and she would be relieved because he was here and not there among the bad influences of his life. 'Point me to him,' she whispered to her wand, as though whispering into its invisible ear. Her willow wand remained dormant in her hand, unmoving and unyielding.

'AAAGH!' With a scream and a fiery impulse, she hurled her wand across the room, missing the hearth by mere inches. It bounced of the wall and fell with a sharp thud onto the stone floor, unbroken but useless.

She was alone. No Severus, no Hogwarts, no magic. A stranger in a strange land, where she was cared for with kindness, but held at arms-length for what she was. Her leg broken and becoming more and more painful with each passing minute, and she'd have to let it heal the long and hard way. She whimpered and wept and wailed until her lungs hurt, her eyes could no longer form tears, and the sun had started to set.

She took a hold of the goblet that was there to help her ease the pain, as the pain from her leg had become unbearable. The liquid inside of it was purple, and from the scent she could make out that valerian, lavender, and the ever-bitter wormwood herb was used, explaining the bitter taste that lingered in her mouth. She remembered these ingredients from the Sleeping Draught Professor Slughorn had taught them to brew during their first year. Other ingredients were lacking, but at least the goblet held the evidence that plants were used for healing and other purposes.

No longer wanting to deal with the pain and loss of the day, she drank the whole goblet at once and slammed it down on the nightstand. Lily laid her head down on the pillow, her mind swirling and swirling out of control, until a small black dot burnt its way through her thoughts, and it grew and grew until the darkness had cast its anchor, pulling her under.

A/N The Rohirrim were largely inspired by the Anglo-Saxons and spoke (for as far as we know) Olde English. Since I don't want to break my brain trying to translate modern- to old English, I'm sticking to the Common Speech.
A/N The Easterlings were known as the Swarthy Men in the early times and are enemies of the Free Peoples. They live East of Mordor and allied with Sauron during the War of the Ring.
A/N King Théoden nicknamed Gandalf Stormcrow because he only seemed to arrive when trouble was coming.
A/N Nan Curunír was the name given to the southernmost valley of the Misty Mountains. Saruman named it after himself when it became his permanent place of residence in the late Second Age.