Winter Lily

Chapter 1: The King's Winter Lily

"My winter lily" was what he used to call her. His flower. Something of his that he seemed to never want to let go. Elinil was a tailor. Well, she was, before she became the King's lover. But was she really considered a lover if there was no love? Wouldn't she be a bedwarmer? Elinil knew her position, her place, as they whisper around her. She could never replace the Queen; she was aware of it. She saw how strong the King's love for the Queen was, lasting millenniums of anguish when he had lost her.

She hears it. In the way he whispers the Queen's name as they lay with each other. In the way he looks at her, yet never really seeing her. Only the shadow of a dead Queen.

Perhaps it was not a wise decision to get involved with him in ways a servant wasn't. To carry emotions never meant for a servant to her Lord. She knew what she felt, deep affection, bordering on love-or perhaps it was love. When he looks at her beneath him at night, she feels it. The ache in her chest, a tightness she spent years trying to figure out the name of.

When she realized, she knew she was in trouble.

She never knew if the King ever suspected just how deep her affections for him ran. She hoped he never realized. How her touches changed, how her eyes looked at him and only him, how obvious the emotions that swam through her eyes were. Love. It was a curious thing. One she never got to decide if it brought her happiness or sorrow. Happiness in which she felt during the nights he held her, even if the name from his lips was never hers. Sorrow that flooded her eyes during the days she realized she had no place beside him. Only behind him, with her head hung low, like the servant she was.

During one winter night, the King held her closer than ever, she didn't know what came of him. His face showed grave pain that worried her. "My king, are you alright?" she had asked.

King Thranduil never answered, only groaning as his face scrunches even more and his breaths trembles. He was in great pain. And she didn't know what to do. "Êlúriel" he calls out the Queen's name and Elinil bit the insides of her cheek.

Eventually, the king opened his eyes, and along with it, she saw half of his face melt away, the illusion placed on it uncovering itself. It was too horrifying, the remains of an old injury she presumed he was trying to hide. Did it hurt too much? Where did he get it? She doesn't know, nor does she dare ask.

She only cried, the glistening tears from her eyes confusing her suffering king. She reached a gentle hand, careful not to agitate the wound. "Are you afraid?" he had asked her and she wonders why.

"Never, my King" she told him, leaning in to place a soft kiss just under his blinded eye. She sees his eyes widened, and for the first time in years, Elinil feels that he was seeing her. The King turned away before pulling himself from her and leaving the room, leaving her all alone in the night. She cried even more. Cried for her King, and for herself.

Her relationship with the King became strained ever since that day. He spent fewer and fewer nights with her, the rumours of her losing the King's favour grew each day. Elinil doesn't say anything. But her smiles lessen, and she spends more time in her room. The room that the King had given her.

She doesn't cry ever since that night. But occasionally, some servants would notice the far-off look on her face as she sat by the window of the room, a needle and thread in her hands, yet her eyes remained on the lands beyond the window.

Another change came and the King started to frequent in her rooms. Rather than pulling her to bed, he would converse with her. Ordering the servants to bring tea. And they sat together on opposite sides of a small round table, as they talk about various things. Once again, leaving Elinil confused just what brought this change in him.