(This story takes place before Lilleduil became Leutha Maethor in the Warband.)
The Lithûl screamed pure malevolence at her. Weary, staggering, for this was the third such creature she had encountered, Lilleduil’s guard dropped for the merest part of a second. The wraith’s dagger lashed out, catching her on her upper left arm. Ice immediately coursed down the limb and she was hard-pressed not to drop her sword. Instinctively, she channeled fire and that seemed to drive back the deathly chill for a moment. The Lithûl shrieked again. Lilleduil, despair washing over her, wished for nothing more than to die. Only Tinnugost, still slashing at the creature, snarling in fearful rage, refusing to surrender, kept her on her feet, kept her channeling power down her staff at the evil thing.
Suddenly, abruptly, the creature disintegrated, the last of its vicious cries echoing over the washes and gullies of Barad Gularan. And with its demise, Lilleduil was done. Finished. She sank to her knees and wept, shuddering, while Tinnugost crouched beside her and watched her with concern.
“We need to go, Fire Fang,” the cat said, laying a huge, velveted paw upon her knee. “Now, before another of the White Death comes.”
Lilleduil nodded after a moment, collecting herself. She had heard of Morgul-blades-did the Lithûl carry such as well? The arm wound looked like a mere slash, but she pressed hard against it anyway, hissing in pain. She encountered no hard obstruction, felt no shard, but whether that meant that there was none, or that it was already burrowing deep, seeking her heart, was unknown.
She pushed herself to her feet, awkwardly sheathed her sword and set off slowly for the canyon beyond Barad Gularan, where she had left Malleniel, the lovely golden mare the Rangers of Esteldin had gifted her. The cat walked slowly at her left side, occasionally peering up at her in concern.
“I can go no further,” the cat said, when they were at the entrance to the canyon. He knew well the mare’s fear and antipathy towards him. “The horse will not suffer me. Can you mount and ride?”
Could she? After a moment’s disjointed thought, Lilleduil nodded.
“Then go and do so. If you do not come out after a time, I will come in after you. It is not far to the Hidden Place.”
He was referring of course, to Gath Forthnir, the claustrophobic caves wherein laired the last of the Rangers of this land. It was not far, and was the most sensible destination, given her current state. But she had spent much too long in this poisoned place. She’d walked the streets of Carn Dûm, traversed the length and breadth of ruined Angmar. Now, suddenly, she found herself desperate to breathe some fresh air, to walk under a sunlit sky, to see trees and plants that weren’t struggling to survive.
“I am not going back to the Hidden Place,” she told the saber cat. Surprisingly, she’d found Tinnugost and some other animal friends here, though the cat had been the only one to accompany her on most of her adventures. His motivation had been understandable-his mate and cubs and most of the other cats of his kind he knew had been slain for their teeth and hides by the Angmarrim.
“Will you go then to that home you spoke of, Fire Fang? The one in the far mountains?”
Would she? Oh, how she would have loved to be able to do so! If wishes were wings, she’d be soaring off to Imladris at this very moment! Lord Elrond, she was certain, would be able to do something about the chill that seemed to have settled about her heart. Or perhaps just basking in the light that seemed to always surround Lord Glorfindel would do the trick. But Imladris was far, far away. She needed someplace closer to hand, for after fighting three of the Lithûl, there was not that much strength left in her. Her spirit felt quenched and dark, and she needed to leave before a fourth found her…
“Esteldin. I’m going to Esteldin,” she said, struggling to think. Tinnugost gave her a doubting look, but did not dispute her. Going slowly to one knee, she took the great cat’s head in her hands, with a pained hiss as the injured arm protested. “Are you well, Tinnugost?”
“I am fine. I took no hurt from the thing.”
Her hands gently stroked the cat’s cheeks, under his chin between the great fangs and behind his ears. “Thank you ever so much! You have been the truest of companions.”
Tinnugost’s icy blue eyes met hers. “It need not cease to be so. There is nothing to hold me here. I will come with you if you wish it.”
If she wished it? Wished to have the cat’s cool, lethal competence at her side beyond Angmar? The saber cat found himself being hugged in earnest, despite the pain it caused her. After a moment, Tinnugost reminded her, “We should go before another of the White Death come after us.” But there had been a suspiciously happy rumble in his chest before that.
As Lilleduil rode south, Tinnugost was not within sight, or even close enough for the horse to scent most of the time. But Lilleduil knew he was there, and knew as well that he was hunting the odd enemy who crossed their path. Which was just as well, for she found herself still with that odd, chilled feeling, that slowed her thoughts and actions and made doing anything beyond the minimum of what the journey required impossible. As time went on, things did not improve. In fact they worsened. Her arm swelled as if it were festering with some fell poison and it was difficult to care for in her odd, feverish condition. Her vision seemed blurred and narrowed and her passage through the dark canyons like a half-remembered, evil dream. “Go home,” she kept telling her Esteldin horse, clutching her mane and riding on a loose rein. Malleniel, knowing the way and eager to be away from this evil place, was only too glad to do so.
When she broke out of the Ram Duath and into the open air and sunshine of the North Downs, Lilleduil almost fell to weeping again, the relief was so profound. What is wrong with me? she wondered, and was grateful that none of the Warband were about to witness her weakness. Though the day was sunny, and as warm as the Downs ever got, the warmth did not seep into her chilled body and though she was well aware of the open spaces, she felt closed in, trapped, as though she were still in Angmar’s darkling canyons, her vision tunneled.
Focusing intently as she was upon getting up the path into Esteldin, Lilleduil was startled when the sentry seemed to materialize out of thin air right in front of her.
“Hiril Lilleduil, are you well?” he exclaimed, peering up at her in concern.
“I…yes. No, no, not well at all…” she stammered. Her arm was throbbing and her head was suddenly spinning, rapidly expanding dark spots dancing before her eyes, as if a troll had clubbed her. She clutched the saddle bow, and fought the swoon off for one crucial moment longer.
“The…big cat. My friend. Don’t shoot him!” she managed, before darkness claimed her and she toppled off her horse.
There were voices in the haze, penetrating past the cold and pain.
“So…what do you think is the matter, Niphredil?”
“I’m hoping it’s not a Morgul wound.”
A heavy sigh. “That would be all we needed, would it not? One of the Nine overseeing things here in the North personally?” Then, a little more sharply, “Why would you think so?”
“It’s…there’s a feeling, a corruption over the wound that is similar. If it’s not Morgul, Halbarad, it’s something from the Enemy’s hand. I’d lay money on it. A poison or venom, perhaps?”
“Can you help her? I really don’t want to have to write Lord Elrond and tell him we lost one of his people.”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t have much occasion to be treating Elves. I’m not sure of the differences, other than that if she made it all the way down here from Angmar, she’s tough. It may come down to nothing more than that in the end.”
“Well, do what you can. And keep me informed.”
“Yes, my lord.” A sound of departing footsteps.
“Eirallyn?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Put both those kettles on the boil. And we’re going to need a lot of athelas…”
Lilleduil’s father died in Redhorn Pass, over and over again and she watched it happen, helpless, impotent. Her mother’s ship foundered, Ethillind trapped in the hold, drowning in pain and fear, never reaching the West. Her friends of the wild were slain-trapped, shot, skinned alive and eaten, one and all. Imladris burned, as she ran frantically about, trying to save the people, trying to quench the fires, never in time and never enough. Nightmare held her, trapped in razor claws like a desperate bird.
A sensation broke her free momentarily, silvered coolness sliding down her throat. But her eyelids were too heavy to lift.
“So-what is this ‘special water’ I heard your brother talking about, Eirallyn?” The healer’s voice.
“I got him to fetch me some spring water.” The healer’s daughter’s voice was low and calm. “ I put it in a silver bowl and took it up on the roof last night. I asked Elbereth’s blessing and left it under the stars all night.”
“I’d have thought you’d have been better served to call upon Estë.”
“I’m not so sure about that. A very wise healer once told me that the wounds of the Enemy cast darkness upon the spirit as much as they harm the body. Light is what is called for here.”
The very wise healer sounded a gentle warning. “I don’t know that it will do any good, my dear.”
“It certainly won’t do any harm. And if you never ask, you never get an answer.”
More dark dreams with no way out. After a time, Lilleduil became aware of a voice speaking, telling a story she’d never heard before of kingdoms rising and falling, of a long struggle against the dark-and a totally incomprehensible list of names that all seemed to begin with Ar-…
It was a welcome diversion, and allowed her to break free of the horror for stolen moments that were dearer than mithril.
“Eirallyn, whatever are you reading?”
“The Chronicles of the Chieftains of the Dunedain.”
“That’s in Westron.”
“I know.”
“You’re speaking in Sindarin.”
Amusement in Eirallyn’s voice. “I know.”
“Show-off.”
A chuckle. “I’d have given her Quenya, had I more than a few words of it. She’s Noldor from the looks of her. It might have served to get her attention.”
“If you don’t think she’s listening, then why are you doing it?”
“Because I don’t know that she isn’t. And if she is, then she will know she’s not alone.”
“You have good instincts, my dear. I’ll make a healer of you yet.”
“You know that I am always willing to learn, Mother.”
Lilleduil had come to rely upon the voice for those precious respites, to lean on it. She didn’t know what she would do if it stopped…
Another voice, a new one, male, deep, with a tone in it that said it was not used to being thwarted. “Niphredil, what is this business with you needing Eirallyn here? She hasn’t done yesterday’s chores, much less today’s!”
“This is more important, Erengil. It would be a blot upon Esteldin’s honor were this elf to perish and you know it. Halbarad backs me on this.”
The reading of the Chronicles did not cease or falter at all the while this was going on.
“He had some wild story about her keeping the elf alive. You’re the Healer here. Isn’t that your job?”
“We’re both working on her. But Eira seems to have a knack with this particular patient. You and the boys will just have to manage the chores until we’re done here, one way or the other.”
“Niphredil…”
“Erengil. Dear.” There was suddenly a world of authority in the healer’s voice. “Do leave before I’m forced to dose you with something really nasty.”
The voice was still there, but it had gone hoarse and weary. Lilleduil feared for it, and herself.
“Eira, you need to rest, dear. It‘s near morning and you‘ve been at this since early yesterday morning.”
“Mother, I don’t think I dare. Remember how quickly she failed when you sent me out for herbs?” Niphredil had actually sent a rider out to bring her daughter back, the situation had been so dire. Since then, Eirallyn had even recited loudly from memory while in the garderobe, and had read a sentence between every bite she’d eaten. She was almost out of Chieftains. Just Arathorn II to cover and he wouldn’t take long… She was going to need another big book.
“You know I got some rest earlier. Leave her to me.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it.” Eirallyn was gently obdurate.
“Very well then.” Niphredil suspected that she was better served by concession than by argument, which would only get Eirallyn’s blood up. And as matters turned out, she was correct. She said no more on the matter, puttering about her chores for a while, and when she turned back, her daughter was slumped in her chair, asleep at last, the elf’s slender hand gripped firmly in her large, capable one.
“So this is Rivendell. How lovely!” Eirallyn exclaimed, as she stood before the Last Homely House.
Lilleduil spun. The voice had finally ended, leaving her alone and in despair. But now, here in her mad world of flames and orcish invaders and wargs and screaming, dying elves, suddenly stood a young woman clad in the browns and greens of a Ranger, star brooch on her shoulder, sword at her side, shield and javelins on her back. Lilleduil recognized the voice that she had clung to so desperately.
“You need to help me fight!” she exclaimed, hope rising within her. Surely, with someone else helping her, some of her people could be saved!
“Fight what?”
“Fight what? The orcs! The wargs! They’re killing everyone!”
“All I see is a peaceful house under stars. All I hear is the sound of night birds and rushing water.” Eirallyn’s voice was soft, gentle. “Perhaps you should try to see it as I do? Take my hand.” She held her hand out.
Lilleduil backed away, disgusted at such cowardice. “You won’t help them?”
Eirallyn dropped her hand and shook her head. “I told you, I can’t see them. And I don’t think it would be a good idea to try, to be honest. I’d just be drawn in as well. Have you been able to help them, however hard you tried?”
“No.” The admission came heavily.
“That’s because it’s a trap intended to break your spirit. Perhaps,” Eirallyn suggested diffidently, “it is time to try something different?” She extended her hand once again.
The elf’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment she looked positively feral. “How did you come to be here?”
“I have no idea. Some of my folk can do such things, ‘tis said. I didn’t know that I could until just now. I do apologize. If I‘d known I could, I‘d have been here earlier.”
Lilleduil surveyed the Dunadan woman closely, but there seemed to be no mockery in her manner. “Do you know how to get out?”
“Not precisely,” Eirallyn admitted. “But I do have an idea and it could hardly make matters worse now, could it?” She beckoned with the extended hand and after a moment, Lilleduil took it.
“So what is this idea of yours?” she growled.
“Is there some place in this valley you like? Some place special to you?”
“There is. Hid Huinen. I used to go there when I was little.”
“Is it close to the house?”
“No, it’s out in the Vale.”
“Take me there.”
Lilleduil gave the burning Homely House one last look, then sighed, turned her back and walked away with Eirallyn.
“Tell me about Hid Huinen,” Eirallyn urged as they walked. The further away from the Homely House they got, the more quiet it became. Eventually, the sound of screams and roar of battle vanished completely. An owl hooted and there was the sound of a breeze through the trees. Lilleduil began to relax.
“I used to love to go there at night the best,” she murmured. “On nights when there was no moon, it was like being at the bottom of a bowl of stars. I spent a lot of nights there, sleeping alone under the stars.”
“How old were you?”
“A child, as my folk reckoned it.”
“And they just let you stay out there by yourself?”
Lilleduil actually found herself feeling amusement. “I didn’t exactly ask permission! I used to sneak back at dawn. And I first met Lintroval there.”
“Lintroval?”
“My eagle-friend.”
“I have heard that you have animal friends, and that they speak to you. That must be wonderful.”
“They are very dear to me.” Worry clutched her suddenly. She stopped in her tracks. “Tinnugost! The large cat! Is he all right?”
“You told the sentry that he was yours before you collapsed. He has been left alone. No one will harm him,” Eirallyn replied soothingly, tugging her hand so that they would continue walking. “The last I heard, he was gorging himself on young aurochs and slaying wargs besides, the latter apparently just for the fun of it. That will win him friends among us.”
They were making their way through underbrush and closely planted trees. Lilleduil’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t remember this being here,” she said, as they stepped through a screen of brush and found themselves suddenly walking on bare stone beneath a starlit sky. She stopped, and let Eirallyn’s hand go, turning about in a puzzled fashion.
“We’re here! Hid Huinen! But we should have had to walk a lot further. And swim, to get on the island.”
Eirallyn looked about. The rock they stood on was massive, and made up most of a small island in the middle of a small lake. “This is a dream. Travel is strange in dreams. You wished to be here and you were.” She looked up at the stars and smiled. “And you were right-this is truly beautiful.”
The stars burned above them, so bright that their rare pale colors shone. There was no moon and even the tiny, faint ones that could usually barely be discerned were clearly visible and lent their sparkle to the scene.
“We should stay together,” Eirallyn said, and took up Lilledul’s hand once more.
“What will happen now?” the elf said. She was so tired, worn down to her very bones...
“There is no harm that will befall you under Elbereth’s stars,” the young woman declared firmly. “And this has always been your sanctuary. We will wait for dawn together. It is not far off, and I will see you safely home.”
“You’re a Ranger.”
Eirallyn chuckled. “Me? No. A few watch turns on the wall do not a Ranger make.”
“You are dressed and armed as they are. And you wear the star.”
Lilleduil saw genuine surprise on the young woman’s face. She looked down at herself.
“That is rather extraordinary. I don’t look like that to me. Perhaps it was because you were wishing for armed help? Or perhaps there is another reason…” She looked up at the stars and rather oddly nodded to them, as if acknowledging someone. Then she turned back to Lilleduil.
“Let’s name constellations to pass the time. I know quite a few of the elven names, but perhaps not all. You might be able to tell me others.”
“I know some of the hobbit names for them as well.”
Eirallyn was delighted. “The hobbit names? I don’t have any of those at all! Tell me more…”
Niphredil kept watch throughout the night, as the elf burned alternately hot and cold, as she had since her arrival. She’d been fearful the elf would worsen as she had before, but for some reason it did not happen this time. Her daughter never let go the patient’s hand and Eirallyn’s face was oddly set and resolute for someone who was asleep. Niphredil knew Eirallyn had foresight at least in some small measure, besides being gifted with a formidable intellect, and she wondered if there was not something else going on besides just sleeping, if her daughter might possess some of the more arcane abilities of the old houses. But there was no way to tell.
The arm wound had been weeping copious amounts of foul matter from the very beginning, the edges of the flesh corrupted and dying. There had been no way to stitch it when it was in such a state and if Lilleduil lived, there was going to be a nasty scar. But as Niphredil cleansed it periodically throughout the small hours, it finally began to respond to treatment, the swelling subsiding and the matter reducing in amount until the flesh showed cleanly beneath. The improvement was shockingly swift, and right before dawn, the elf’s fever broke at last.
And when the morning light penetrated the high set windows of the healing hall, Lilleduil and Eirallyn woke within moments of each other.
“There. You see? I told you. Safe home,” her daughter croaked to her patient, confirming Niphredil’s suspicions. Lilleduil merely looked about in weary relief and nodded.
“Get some breakfast, Eirallyn,” Niphredil commanded. Her daughter nodded and finally released the elf’s hand, rising stiffly to her feet. “And some real rest, in a bed. I’ll deal with your father.” The healer would get the particulars of what had happened from her daughter later, when she didn’t look half-dead from exhaustion.
Eirallyn hesitated before departing. “Will you be all right?” she asked the elf. Lilleduil nodded again and actually managed to speak, her voice a quiet rasp.
“I will be now. My thanks.” Eirallyn inclined her head and went in search of breakfast.
“Would you like some broth?” Niphredil asked the elf, before the slight frown reminded her that Lilleduil did not eat meat. “I’m sorry,” she corrected herself swiftly. “How about some tea with honey in it?” That got her a nod and she went to put the kettle back on the fire.
Three days later, Lilleduil was on her feet and able to walk about Esteldin slowly. Eirallyn had kept her company when she was allowed to do so-her father had her busy doing all manner of other things. But they had spoken of Imladris a couple of times and the Dunadan woman had come and read to her in the evenings when she was weary, for Lilleduil could not seem to focus upon a page yet herself.
“Firstborn, if I might have a word?” Lilleduil turned to find Halbarad standing behind her.
“Of course.”
The leader of Esteldin’s Dunedain gestured towards one of the campfires that dotted the courtyard, and she fell in beside him. There were a couple of Rangers sitting at the fire, and he dismissed them with a gesture; then, with another, more courtly one, beckoned her to sit in the one actual chair. He himself dropped onto a log.
“I wished to speak with you privately, and I thought to call you into the library, but it is dark there, and I thought you might have had enough of that.”
Lilleduil basked in the feel of the sunlight on her shoulders and nodded. “You thought correctly. Thank you, Lord Halbarad. And thank you and your folk for your care of me.”
The Dunadan dismissed that with a shrug. “Of course we would have done so, had you been any traveler that suffered such an ill, much less one of the Firstborn who had fought with us. We consider you as one of our own, Lilleduil, you know that. What I simply need to determine is this-was there some piece of urgent Warband business that brought you to Angmar, and if so, did you accomplish it? And if you did not, have you need of our aid to do so?”
Her face flushed pink, the heat racing all the way to the tips of her ears. To die of embarrassment was a phrase the humans threw about all the time. Now she felt in imminent danger of doing so. But she was Celeirgil’s daughter and she was Noldor and she would not be a coward, even in this. She looked over at Halbarad and met his eyes directly.
“There was no urgent Warband business, Lord Halbarad. If there were, they would not have sent one of the Neth Megil to accomplish it. I came to Angmar for my own reasons to prove that I could. That’s all there is to it-sheer stubbornness and pride on my part.”
Halbarad received this information impassively. He hunched forward on the log and rubbed his lip in thought for a few moments. Then he looked up at her.
“Stubbornness and pride that caused the end of three Lithûl. A deed to sing of, indeed, that the greatest among us might not have been able to bring off. But…” he hesitated a moment before speaking again. “Might I be impertinent enough to offer counsel to one who has many more years than myself?”
“Of course.”
Once invited, Halbarad took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I think…and perhaps I may be in error here, but so it seems to me, that your Warband and my people have much the same problem, that of trying to do too much with too few bodies,” he said at last, looking inquiringly at her and Lilleduil nodded.
“That is fair to say, yes.”
“The Enemy can better afford to lose a company than I a single man, and my brethren who hold other outposts of our people are in similar straits.” The Ranger set elbows on knees and peered into the pale daylight flame.
“As a commander, I have found that the best men I have are not necessarily the ones who are the greatest warriors, who seek to pull down the legions of the Enemy single-handedly. Those men tend to die early, and the tally of the Enemy they take with them is usually less than that of the men who are careful and steady, and who know how to work with their brothers in a way that the strengths of each are magnified, while their weaknesses are lessened. You did much adventuring alone before you were called to the Warband. They may be looking not for proof that you can do more and greater of the same, but that you can work with others as well as you work alone.”
Lilleduil considered this for a long moment. “There is much truth in what you say.”
Halbarad gave her a grave look then. “And if you feel you must make payment for your succor here, I would accept a promise from you, that you be more careful in future and not spend the bright coin of your life for anything less than something of great benefit to your people.”
Abashed, Lilleduil gazed into the flames herself for a few moments before turning back to him. “I promise, Lord Halbarad.”
His smile lit his saturnine face amazingly. “That’s good then. My thanks for that.”
“Eirallyn…” she ventured, more than ready to change the subject. “Eirallyn is steady.”
“She is indeed.” Halbarad’s brow lifted. “Did she speak to you of her desire to seek her star?”
“No. She just said she’d stood some watches, so I thought she might be in training.”
“Most all of our women to train to some extent, that they might hold this place were we all called away. Some few wish to become Rangers in truth. Eirallyn is one such, but her father has forbidden it. Erengil is a man of ancient lineage and a masterful man as well. He feels that as he has sired three sons who are either Rangers already or in training to be so, Eirallyn better serves our people as a wife and healer. I gather he has given her a list of young men he would consider appropriate husbands for her, of sufficient pedigree that they are suitable to ally with her house.”
“Surely he would not force her to wed!” Lilleduil had become aware in her travels that Men did such things, that marriage was not solely for joy and children as it was among the Eldar, that it could a matter of property and political expedience as well. But surely not the Dunedain…
“Oh no!” Halbarad assured her. “No one would make Eirallyn wed against her will.”
“Can you not intercede with her father?”
The Ranger chuckled. “Do you intercede with the thunderstorm you see blackening the horizon? No, you take cover! I would, did I think she was in danger of being harmed, but such is not the case. Erengil is a hard man, but a fair one, and he has the right to order his house as he will. There will be a price if Eirallyn chooses to defy him and it will be a clear price. The decision will be hers if she wishes to pay it.”
There was a clatter of hooves as a dispatch rider cantered across the courtyard towards them.
“Ah, this is probably something for me.” Halbarad got to his feet and bowed. “A good day to you, Hiril Lilleduil.”
She inclined her head. “And to you, Lord Halbarad,” and watched him go, before settling back with much to think upon.
“How did he know you were leaving?” Eirallyn asked, indicating Tinnugost, who sat outside the entrance to Esteldin at sufficient distance to avoid spooking the horses. He looked glossy and better fed than ever since she had met him, and was being admired by several Rangers-also at a safe distance.
“I called for him.” Several days had passed and aside from the occasional slight twinge in her arm, Lilleduil was feeling quite herself and eager to return to Imladris. The morning air was cool and brisk, her mare was dancing beneath her and she felt quite capable of covering a significant distance this day. She gave Eirallyn a sidelong glance. “Would you mind if I wrote to you from time to time?”
The young Dunadan woman beamed. “Oh, would you? I would enjoy that ever so much! I promise to write back.”
“I would enjoy that too.” She had never entered into a correspondence before, much less with a mortal. It would be interesting.
“Safe travels to you.” Eirallyn patted the mare’s neck and stepped back.
“Stars guide you upon yours, should you undertake them,” Lilleduil said; then, never a person for prolonged farewells, she waved to the assembled Rangers, turned her mare and rode away.
An odd journey, this, but ultimately a profitable one, she thought, as Esteldin faded into the distance behind her. I found danger and mortal peril, but ended with a valuable lesson. And a couple of good friends!
