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 Four

A Big Surprise

            Robin looked out from the wharf and frowned. He did not have the best eyes of his people, but even he could see what the villagers were staring at. Theirs was a fishing community, small and out of the way along the coasts of Middle-Earth. Nothing this exciting had happened in the past three generations.

            "A ship!" someone shouted. "A ship out of the west!"

            Robin squinted and now he could see it better. A single white ship with silver sail and a prow shaped like a swan with wings just beginning to unfold. But the sailors he could not see, though he caught the glimmer of sun on metal.

            "Get the governor!" Robin shouted. One boy broke off from the group and ran to find the governor.

            The ship sailed closer and closer. At last, it turned broad side just out of arrow range, still too far away to see exactly who the people were, and there was a horn call, unlike any that Robin had ever heard. It was sweet and high, carrying easily over the waters. The ship's motion stopped and she stayed broad side to them. Robin squinted on the ship and his jaw fell open.

            "I'll be the son of a codfish," he whispered. "But those are the most beautiful people I have ever laid eyes on."

            "Humans!" a call came, feminine, but stern and commanding, and a tall figure could been seen watching them. "We ask permission to dock! Will you allow us?"

            At that moment the governor, a shrewd little man with an eye for money waddled up, and squinted at the white ship. "Let's hear your name first, woman, and then we'll decide."

            There was a pause. "Your manners are somewhat lacking, human leader," the voice said, dryly. "But my name is Náriel of the house of Finwë, last born child and only daughter of the Lord Fëanor of the people of the Noldor. Again, I ask permission to dock. Say nay or yea, and we will leave you in peace."

            The governor looked rather stumped at her list of titles and fair, ringing voice. It was a not a voice that belonged to a human. "Who are you and where do you come from, Náriel?"

            "I am Lady Náriel, and I come from across the seas, from the land of Valinor, where the Valar dwell."

            "A-and what manner of race are you?" the governor asked, looking like he was about to throw himself onto a horse and run for his life.

            "I am one of the Eldar kindred, the egladhrim, the Firstborn, or among your people, the Elves."

            The governor was good for small bandit invasions and the occasional feast, but myths reborn as living creatures, ships made from white timbers and sails spun from silver were too much for the little man. He keeled over and had to be carried away.

            Robin found his mouth going dry. He had heard tales of elves, of course, and sometimes you see one slinking about in a forest; but these were no rustic folk with stone tools. These were the elves he had heard referred to as the High Elves—the more powerful, and dangerous, of the elf kinds.

            "Answer me!" came the shout, annoyed now. "Nay or yea, we must dock today!"

            Robin found his voice. "Yea!" he called hoarsely. "You are welcome to dock, Lady Náriel."

            One of the men pulled him aside. "I don't care if you're the governor's son or not," he snarled. "What are you doing, letting them elves dock here? They could be dangerous!"

            "They've already said that they will dock elsewhere if we do not want them landing here," Robin replied.

            "Then let them dock elsewhere!"

            "Have some faith," Robin advised. "And be careful what you say. If these are the elves, returned after some thousands of years, then we will need to be polite."

            "Elves? There hasn't been elves in Middle –Earth for ten thousand years! You don't really believe all that mumbo jumbo, do you, Robin? About the elves and the dwarves and wizards and Halflings?"

            Robin nodded with his head to the white ship sailing towards them. "There is your living proof, Hared."

            Hared grunted and moved off, still scowling and less doubtful. Robin could barely contain his excitement. The elves, returned, after all this time? It was a dream come true!"

            The docking was swift and efficient. One man—elf, Robin reminded himself—sprang lightly from the ship and landed on the slippery dock with ease, helping to tie the ropes that would keep the ship in place. A ramp was lowered and the elves began to dock, looking around them and whispering in their own tongue. It was a lyrical sounding language, and their voices mingled sweetly together, low and high, deep and soft.

            Then all eyes were turned upon the ramp, for descending was an Elf-Lady out of the stories. Clothed in all white, her long dark hair flowing down her back and a coronet of gold upon her brow. Her eyes were dark and shinning, and her lips pale rose pink. She glanced upon the men and they flinched away from her. Less beautiful than queenly did she look, for they were all fairer than men. Some had silver hair, others gold, most raven. Their eyes ranged from silver-gray to nearly black. Complexions varied as well, but most were pale or fair. Two of them were more copper colored in skin tones. All were taller than the humans were, most over six feet by a few inches, none under five feet eleven inches.

            The Lady-Elf was escorted by a tall, blond elf with blue eyes and a very fair complexion. He stopped at the end of the ramp and glanced about briefly, and said something to the women in their tongue, before escorting her to the front of the humans, stopping a few feet away. The woman and her escort bowed their heads slightly; Robin did the same, though his men looked at the elves suspiciously.

            "Greetings, man-of-the-coast," the Lady said in lightly accented Common. "What is your name?"

            Robin had to swallow and catch his breath. Having so many eyes upon him was unnerving. "My name is Robin Goodfellow, my lady."

            "And are you this village's leader?"

            "Nay, Lady, our leader is…ill right now. I am his son."

            "Well met then, Lord Robin Goodfellow. I am Lady Náriel of the Noldor, house of Finwë and daughter of Fëanor."

            "Welcome, Lady Náriel," Robin said, stumbling for something to say. "Ah, how was your journey?"

            Náriel's face broke out in smile, softening the mood of the meeting. "Fair enough, my lord."

            "Oh please Lady, I am no lord."

            "If co-ruler of this village you are, then ruler of some sort you must be, no?"

            "I suppose…Lady, if I may ask…are you one of the, ah…"

            Náriel waited patiently, but her escort laughed and said, "Are we Elves? Yes indeed we are."

            "This is Legolas of the Sindar," Náriel introduced. "And my friends, Gilwen, Rillîn and Cúron of the Vanyar." She motioned to the three elves with golden hair. "And this is Aurfaltho and Silivren of the Teleri." Two elves with silver hair bowed. "This is Bregolas, Ninglor, Talagan, Feredir, Lalaith, Lathron, Cenendril, and Niphredil of the Noldor. We come in peace."

            Suspiciously, one man called out, "And what do ye come for, Lady of the Elves?"

            She turned her piercing gaze on him and he took a step back. "To defend Middle-Earth from the return of Morgoth."

*     *     *     *

            "Surely you have heard the tales of Morgoth's hold in Middle-Earth during the First Age?" Náriel asked, shocked not only by the uncouthness of the men, but also their smell. To the sensitive nostrils that had, until as of late, smelt only the sea, clean air, and flowers, the scent of unwashed bodies was a little overwhelming. She sat stiffly in an uncomfortable chair, next to a wide-open window. The men were very nervous about this, and kept insisting that clean air was bad for you and that she would fall ill.

            "Well, we've heard some old, old tales, but we thought that they were merely that; tales." Robin leaned forward eagerly. "Do you really come from across the sea? Is there land there?"

            She nodded. "But it is a path that no mortal can follow."

            "What do you mean by that?"

            "No mortal man nor dwarf nor halfing can follow the Straight Road to Valinor, Lord Robin Goodfellow. Only the Elves now."

            "But why?"

            "It is a long story and one full of sorrow. I will speak of it later, if you wish."

            Robin nodded and hastily sent for some refreshments, mentally kicking himself for forgetting something like that. "We would be happy to put you and your—um—people up in the village, Lady Náriel."

            Náriel was a good actress, but even she could not suppress a slight flinch at the thought of staying in the smelly cesspool. Legolas, standing guard beside her, answered instead. "Thank you, Lord Robin, but I believe for now our people would prefer to stay somewhere more familiar, until we better learn your customs."

            Robin nodded. "Do they always behave so nervously?" Náriel asked Legolas in Sindarin.

            "Only when they are young. When they are older they try to bluff everyone into believing they are more important then they truly are."

            "Ah," Náriel murmured thoughtfully, turning her gaze back on Robin who was shifting nervously. "Is something bothering you, my lord?"

            "Um, well you see…there haven't been any elves around this part for thousands of years, maybe even longer. Folk are just a bit…"

            "Nervous? Seeing things long though vanished reappearing overnight?" Nariel guessed.

            "Yes, that too. But also, they want to know, why are you coming back just as the summons are starting."

            Legolas and Náriel exchanged glances. "What summons?"

            "The summons to join the army."

*     *     *     *

            Náriel hissed with rage, her teeth clenched as she stalked back and forth in her small cabin. Legolas was lying on his side on her bed, watching the Noldor with concern. "My Lady, the floors can only take so much wear and tear," Legolas said in that light, lilting voice of his.

            "I would love to tear them apart with my bare hands!" she returned sharply. "Summoned to fight with Morgoth? Are these humans daft, do they have no brains? Do they not even listen to what was just yesterday common history?"

            "My Lady," Legolas said, swinging his feet out from the bed and standing. "You think like an elf, as you have been taught. I have lived and fought among humans; time passes very quickly for them. Things that to us were done not long ago, for them are almost immeasurably long periods of time. Morgoth claims to be helping this kingdom of men rid of the kingdom of another—Morgoth's common tactics. Chaos, that is. If the humans are embroiled in a war with each other, he has time to settle his hold back into Middle-Earth again while the humans tear each other to pieces."

            "They seem very gullible."

            "Few have our powers of foresight." He hesitated. "Lady, we must try to locate the realms of Gondor and Rohan. They were ever the noblest of humans in Middle-Earth. Also we should see if any elves or dwarves remain here. We will need allies to fight this war."

            Náriel nodded slowly. "Yes, we will need aid. Do we have any maps of Middle-Earth?"

            "A few. I brought one with me, but I do not know exactly where we have landed. I must talk with that Lord Robin fellow."

            "He is not such a terrible fellow, is he?"

            "No. He seems to be the only one here who does not either run when we approach, or are openly aggressive towards us. I suggest we leave as soon as possible."

            "I wish to make an alliance with these men, Legolas. I must get to know them and their customs."

            Legolas' face was troubled. "Lady, it is not wise to long remain here. We must find our kin and swiftly. Only they will be able to help us."

            "I agree that we must leave soon, but not yet. We must—"

            Náriel's voice was cut off as their keen elven ears caught the sound of screaming. Talagan stuck his head into the cabin. "My Lady, the villagers are under attack!"