Title:
The Last Daughter of the Noldor
Disclaimer:
Despite what Jesse says in this story, I do not have any contacts with Christopher Tolkien, and J.R.R. Tolkien did not write this story. All recognizable characters are Tolkien's and I do not own them. I am not making money off this. This story was written purely for enjoyment only. I do not claim that Legolas, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or any other names or places invented by Tolkien are mine.
Series:
None
Spoilers:
A few minor ones for The Silmarillion
Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com
Summary:
Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived. He had seven sons who went with him to Middle-Earth to reclaim the Silmarils from Morgoth, a fallen Vala. The Noldor declared war on Morgoth, and in the end, he was driven from Middle-Earth and locked away with the aid of the Valar—now his only daughter, some thousands of years later, must help save Middle-Earth from Morgoth's return.
Chapter Two
He Is Coming…
Náriel frowned as she came upon the softly speaking elves. "What is this?" she demanded. "Is what the mariners are saying true? Is he returned?"
The elves looked at each other and finally one spoke. "We do not know," he said. "We have heard only rumors."
"What do the Valar say?"
"The Valar are silent."
Náriel brooded for a second and then turned on her heel and made straight away for the docks of the Teleri, wondering if the rumors were true, and if they were what it would mean.
The Teleri were singing softly as they were want to do. Some were sailing in ships and some were pulling in nets of fish. None of them noticed the young, fiery Noldorin elf coming towards them until she spoke, startling one or two of them to spring into the sea.
"Teleri elves," she said sternly, "is what the rumors are saying true? Has he truly returned?"
One elf stepped forward, Círdan. His eyes were dark and thoughtful as he spoke. "This does not concern you, Noldorin elf. Go back to your people."
"It does indeed concern me, Lord Círdan. I ask you again; are the rumors true?"
Círdan glanced to one side momentarily and then met her eyes squarely again. "Yes, Náriel, they are true."
The elf hesitated. Then, "Both of them?"
Slowly, ever so slightly, he nodded.
Náriel had the presence of mind to bow to the Lord of the Teleri before turning away and making haste back to Túna, to Tirion, and to her people.
Her time had come; she had much to do if she was to be ready.
* * * *
Fingolfin looked upon his niece gravely. While he looked to be in body the younger of the two, he was in actuality many, many years older than the burning spirit standing in front of him. "Niece, this cannot be. I myself have only recently been released from the Halls of Mandos. Fëanor your father has long to wait yet before he will be granted physical form again."
"But the mariners said they saw him," she protested. "Walking along the coasts, young in body but old in mind."
"The mariners may have been mistaken," her other uncle and the youngest of the two, Finarfin, said gently. "You must understand, some of the things your father did…the Kinslaying at Alqualondë…these things the Valar do not lightly forgive."
"But the Valar do not deny it!"
"Nor do they affirm it."
Náriel turned away in frustration. "It must be true. Elven eyes do not lie."
Finarfin and Fingolfin exchanged concerned glances. The girl's words were too much like her father's for their comfort. "Please Náriel, trust us when we say that it is most likely an elf similar in statue to your father. One of your brothers, perhaps?"
"It is my father," the girl said stubbornly.
"Child…"
"Do not call me that! I have not been a child for more than a handful of ages!"
"And yet, seeming to us you are a child, for we are yet older than thee," Finarfin pointed out calmly.
Náriel ground her teeth. "I must find out if it is true." She turned to leave but Fingolfin stopped her.
"Náriel, please do nothing rash." He looked into the face of his niece, her eyes burning much as Fëanor's eyes had a habit of doing, and sighed. "Náriel, you are strong and young and full of life but I fear for you. Please, do not do anything reckless."
Náriel bowed her head slightly in assent, and then pushed past, heading towards the Ring of Doom, to speak with the Valar.
Fingolfin shook his head slightly as he sat down upon the edge of a resting cot, clasping his hands in front of him. His brother went to the window and looked out, allowing the cool breeze to run its fingers through his hair and out past him, his dark eyes glimmering as he stared straight and unblinking into the setting sun as he had a habit of doing, when he was thoughtful. Fingolfin smiled as he watched his younger brother; so grave, so wise…wiser than I, he thought with a quiet sigh. So much bloodshed I saw in Middle-Earth, so much pain. Why Náriel would wish to go there, I will never…
"She seeks more than her father, brother." Finarfin's words were soft but the echoed Fingolfin's own thoughts. "She seeks a reason behind his motives. She wants to know why he has waited so long, unembodied, in the Halls of Waiting. She wants to know what he did that was such an atrocity that no Teleri elf will speak his name aloud. She wants to know why the Valar are silent. And she wants to know why the elves left Middle-Earth to begin with."
"Brother, I could speak the answers to all those questions, but she will not hear me! She will not listen."
"Of course not," Finarfin said. "Like you would not listen to my council when I warned you that going to Middle-Earth would bring great sorrow down upon your people."
"You need not remind me," Fingolfin sighed. "I am only trying to protect her from making my mistakes."
"Sometimes that is not possible. Sometimes the young must repeat our mistakes to learn from them. She hears you, brother, but she does not understand. She must see before she can believe."
"So doubtful a child, so fiery a spirit," he murmured. "Daughter of Fire she was named, and well chosen the name was. She is the most alike of all Fëanor's children to Fëanor himself."
"And your favorite," Finarfin concluded with a gentle smile.
"And my favorite," Fingolfin admitted. "She does not possess his mindless anger at the world."
"She was born in a different time under different circumstances."
"Do you think that Fëanor would have waited for her to be born, if Nerdanel had told him that she was pregnant?"
"No. He was fey at the time; no word would have stilled him."
Fingolfin came to stand beside his brother. "I am glad. I would not have her in Middle-Earth, not have to watch her die from his recklessness."
Finarfin nodded slowly. "It is good that Nerdanel kept the girl here, safe, in Valinor."
"And now she yearns for the open lands of Middle-Earth. All of our tales of Middle-Earth are ones of sorrow, how could she want to see it?"
"To meet Middle-Earth's peoples, perhaps? The dwarves, the men, the elves there, our distant kin?"
"I have been there, Finarfin. Middle-Earth is nothing compared to Valinor."
"It is novel. That is all she cares about. And it is our first home, where we were born and, maybe, where we will die."
Fingolfin turned slowly to his brother. "You believe then, that Morgoth has returned? That someone summoned him back to Middle-Earth? But what force in Arda could break the chains set upon him in the First Age of the Sun? For ever Eärendil keeps watch upon Morgoth, lest he find somewhere out again."
Finarfin's face was troubled. "Two only have the power to rebuke all of the Valar. Eru, the One."
Here Finarfin paused for a long moment until Fingolfin finally said, "That is one, brother. Two you say?"
"And the other is the race of Men."