'Middle-Earth. I know a lot about it. I cannot say I live there though. I live on the outskirts. In a place no one knows about in Middle-Earth, except maybe a few elves, like me. I, myself, am Morantwen Ariamor. If you would want the ability to think of how I look visually then here you are: I look much like the rest of my family, straight hair down to my waist, the color of coals. My skin is the color of brown fall leaves. I am tall and, to other people, graceful. But my most amazing features, also according to other people, are my eyes. They are actually a jet black but at my will (or if something dreadful is coming) they can turn a blue as bright as the young hobbit's, Frodo Baggins, who I think has some part to play in the future. I am pretty smart, I am good at history, considering the fact that I have been on this earth since just a little after the fall of Sauron. I am pretty young. Oh, about 2,927 years old. I am not sure. I do not remember. For I forever look like I am seventeen. All right, so enough about me. Let me get on with what I think is going to happen in the near future. Now, I cannot foresee the future or anything but I have the strangest feeling that by some chance the Ring of Power will some how be found, yes, the Ring. The One Ring forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of Mt. Doom.'
(-Midnight-)
Morantwen awoke with a sudden start. Her eyes had turned the brightest blue ever and she was sweating bullets. She didn't have a dream or anything like that she just woke up. Morantwen got up and ran to the fountain. She washed her face and looked into the mirror. She was calm now, very curious, but calm. Yet when she looked into the mirror her eyes had gotten even brighter than before. Something must be wrong, she thought, never before have my eyes been so bright. Then, out of nowhere, she was in a trance, a somewhat dream.
Everything was a blur, zooming forward very fast toward a gently rolling plain. It was the Shire. Morantwen knew of the Shire since she had traveled along the borders many a time with Elenriel Greenleaf. Then it slowly went down a path toward a single hobbit-hole. But where it would of stopped, the scenery changed ... to Mordor. The sight went up Barad-dur and the Eye of Sauron then the sight zoomed to Orodruin. Then she heard the Black Speech from inside the Mountain of Doom.
"Ash nazg dubatuluk, Ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatuluk, Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"
Then in Elven tongue she heard in a low, hissing voice, "Morantwen, I know where you are. You cannot escape!"
Morantwen' s view came back to the fountain and her eyes continued to be blue. She was trying to catch her breath when her father, Lord Ringare, came toward her.
"Morantwen, lle tyava quel?"
-Morantwen, do you feel all right? -He asked in elven tongue.
"Yes, Father, I am fine. Just had a bad dream. Nothing to be concerned about."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes"
"All right then, but please try to get some rest"
Morantwen' s father walked away, leaving her to think. Hmm. The Shire. Why the Shire? How did this happen? Does Sauron really know where I am? She thought. Then a feeling of adventure flowed through her veins. A sudden urge to go to the Shire came into her mind. Yes, she decided, it was time for another journey that had no real meaning and depended strictly on curiosity.
Morantwen ran to her closet and changed into her riding clothes. Her clothing consisted of a dark blue-green, deep neckline top with sleeves that got wider as they neared her wrist, along with dark blue-green pants and black riding boots that went up to her knees.
The young elf ran to the stables to find a suitable and fast horse. But instead she found a very surprising sight. Instead of the beautiful candles surrounding the area, making light from all angles, she saw nothing. Darkness. The horses were dead quiet.
"Hello? Is there anyone in there?" Silence. Morantwen slowly lit the candles, glancing behind her after she lit each one. She walked toward the last candle. It lit up and she glanced around. She felt safe now. The horses were asleep in their stables.
"Hmm. One last test," she thought. She ran out toward the well not far from there. Morantwen glanced in to see her reflection. She focused on her eyes. They were jet black except for the thin strips of blue from before. Her tension eased and she fully relaxed now.
Then, out of nowhere, the hair of the back of her neck stood on end. Morantwen turned around but everything looked normal. She stared into the well. And into her nightmare. Her eyes. As she stared, the color in her eyes swirled like a pot of boiling, black poison. Then, a windmill of blue color came into the iris' concoction. The color grew. Until color of her eyes were the colors of the curved rivers.
"No," she whispered, "I must go now."