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 Three
An Elven Emissary
Náriel returned broken-hearted from speaking with Mandos. The Vala's words had been cold, or so it had seemed to her. "Your father is being punished for the terrible, unforgivable crimes of killing his own kin," the Vala had said sternly. "It is not your place to demand he be released when the wisdom of Manwë and my own words forbid it. Go home, Princess of the Noldorin."
Aimlessly Náriel wondered Túna, the hill upon which was set Tirion the city of the Elves. Her face was bleak and her eyes distant as her feet took her first one way and then another.
Her father, a murderer?
She had heard the tales of course, of the slaying at Alqualondë, but she had always thought Fëanor had been provoked or had misunderstood or some such thing.
"I am the daughter of a kin slayer," she said aloud, and her voice was full of sorrow. "Does that make me one, too?"
No one answered Náriel as she stood on Túna, looking across Valinor.
* * * *
"Îdh ned sîdh, iaur mellon," Legolas murmured as he knelt by Gimli's grave. "May your axe be kept sharp and your wit no less cutting than ever it was."
"He is safe in the halls of his fathers," Galadriel said quietly behind him. "Working away on some new project to pass the years."
Legolas looked up and smiled, but there were tears in the elf's silvery-gray eyes. "Yes, Lady. But I miss him still."
Galadriel smiled sadly in return. "As do I."
"Legolas!"
Legolas turned as Náriel ran towards him. Her pace slowed and she paused long enough to bow to her cousin before turning to Legolas. He smiled and bowed over her hand. A fleeting smile came to her face; of all the elves in Valinor, she counted herself closest to the tall and handsome Sindarin prince from Middle-Earth.
"I am sorry to disturb you," she said. "But I need your help."
"I am glad to help you, Lady."
"Náriel, Legolas. Three thousand years of men you have called me Lady. For once, please call me Náriel."
"As you wish—Lady Náriel."
Náriel shook her head. "I can not win this battle can I? If you will excuse us?" she added to Galadriel before leading Legolas swiftly down the hill where his dwarven friend was buried and into the lush valley below. Legolas, realizing she was probably taking him somewhere quiet to talk, as she normally did.
She followed a woodland path under the trees, knowing it was where he loved best to be. The trees were not mallorn, but they were beautiful and ancient, and Legolas enjoyed the company of this forest. At last, they reached a small nook by a waterfall that poured into a small pond. Náriel dropped down beside the water under the shade of a willow.
"So what is it that was so important that you had to drag me across half of all Valinor to tell me, hmm?" Legolas asked, raising an eyebrow. Secretly he was glad that she had interrupted; as much as he loved remembering his dwarven friend, the memories were often clouded with sorrow—so much death in the elf's life, so much dear to him had been lost, it was sometimes difficult to face those memories.
But Náriel was no longer smiling, and her face was bleak with sorrow. "Morgoth has returned, Legolas."
* * * *
Fingolfin stared at his niece in complete and utter shock. She was slightly shorter than him, by about half a hand's width, but she could still look him firmly in the eye as she was presently doing. "You have lost your mind. You cannot go back to Middle-Earth!"
"I can and I will. I have spoken with the Valar; they have plainly said they will not keep me here. It is not for revenge, I told them, but to defend Middle-Earth against the return of Morgoth."
"You do not know that it was Morgoth who the eagles saw," Finarfin said sternly. "You could be going to nothing but your own death."
"I want to see the world, uncle! I weary of perfect here and perfection there. I want to see greed and anger and jealousy—all the things not present here!"
"All the negative things, things that by right have no reason to be in this world."
"Maybe they don't, but I want to see them nonetheless. It is my right."
"You are going into danger."
"I am not your child!" Náriel said hotly.
"I am your king," Fingolfin shot back, and that brought her up short.
"Will you order me to remain, my king?" she asked stiffly, her body erect.
"I ask you as my niece to remain."
"I am sorry, uncle, I cannot do that. Morgoth has come back, I know it. We must defeat him now before he catches a hold in Middle-Earth."
"You do not know it—and even if he has, the Noldor fought against him, elfling, and we lost! There is no force of elves large enough—nay, not even if all the hosts of elves in Middle-Earth and Valinor came together under one army, not even then could we defeat him. He is a Vala, too powerful to be defeated."
She turned to Finarfin, her eyes burning with excitement, not the least put out by her uncle's hesitancy. "You once told me, uncle, that there were only two things that could bring Morgoth back."
Finarfin looked uneasy as he nodded.
"Men and Eru, no?"
Again he nodded.
"Does it not work the same to say that Men could send him back?" Excited, she turned back to Fingolfin. "Together we could send him back to the Void! Elves and Men together!"
"First of all, you do not know that he has returned. Secondly, elves and men did try to send him back, and it was only because of the Valar that we succeeded. And even if all you say comes true and there is again an alliance between Men and Elves, not all men will flock to your banners, nor all elves. Have you ever considered how few elves there are left in Middle-Earth? Merely a handful, and they are dark and rustic folk. The ships have stopped coming to Valinor for millennia, child. And Men, men are weak. They will flock the banners of the strongest liar, and Morgoth is that by far. No, you have no hope of winning a war that may or may not be there."
Tears were in Náriel's eyes, dark tears of denial. "But uncle, I dreamt he returned and tried to take Middle-Earth! I dreamt that only one of the elves was able to stop him!"
"Dreams are fickle, child."
Náriel looked silently out the window for a long moment before turning back to them, her face set. "War or no, I will go to Middle-Earth, to see if all you say is true. If I am wrong then I will return. But if I am right, and I know I am, look for my message coming from the eagles." With that, the last child of Fëanor turned and forsook Valinor, taking with her a few small numbers of elves who desired to see the open world. Among them were Legolas Greenleaf and some of his kin, who desired to look upon Middle-Earth again. The Valar did not stop her, for they knew that like her father Fëanor she would go, forbidden or not—and for another reason also. They feared that Náriel's dream may well be a prophecy, that Morgoth had indeed slipped their nets and returned to Middle-Earth. If so, they needed to know and quickly, to prepare. Two of the Teleri came also with the fiery young Noldorin woman, and with one vessel, they sailed across the sea, back into the world of men.
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*
Îdh ned sîdh, mellon-iaur = Rest in peace, old friend.