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.
A/N:
What the--? How the--? Argh! I can't believe I gave the same name to two chapters…I must have been spazing that day…I am so sorry…here is the correct chapter…
Also,
I understand your concerns about bringing Legolas into a story with an elf-princess who goes to Middle-Earth to save the world—even to my ears, and I'm the author, it sounds like a Mary-Sue. But I assure you that, at least from my point of view, it is not. As the chapters progress she does make serious mistakes—mistakes that cost her lives and alliances. Either from pride, for she is indeed quite prideful, or lack of experience, she does make mistakes. A Mary-sue, as far as I can gather, is a character who is too "perfect." Pretty, smart, never makes mistakes, etc. With elves you have a slight problem since they are very wise and very beautiful, which is two out of three—but they still make mistakes. Also, it's less what I think is a Mary-sue as what you think is a Mary-sue. My personal opinion of a Mary-sue are those horrible, repetitive stories with shallow Legolas romances or "girl gets dumped it middle earth and falls for elf" stories, which drive me nuts. But for each reader, it is different. And I promise you, this is NOT going to be a romance—they do NOT fall in love—not by a long shot. When I say friendship, that is all I mean. If it seems like she's Mary-sue, please forgive me. By my opinion she is not but that means nothing because everyone is different. Some readers may think she is and some may think she isn't; but whatever you guys think, I do appreciate your comments. :-)
Chapter Six
Awaiting
Náriel waited long into the night for Legolas and Ninglor to return from their scouting. She refused to let the other elves see her worry, but the worry was there all the same. She chafed at the wait, wishing she had had more time to speak with Legolas before he had left. She was not truly very angry with him—a little annoyed but not angry. It would be terrible if he was hurt or killed and the last thing she said to him was to countermand his advice.
He was her friend. He had helped convince the rest of her companions to come with them back to Middle-Earth. He was one of the only elves in the group who had even been to Middle-Earth. Only Ninglor, Legolas' friend and distant kin, had lived in Middle-Earth. The other elves had, herself included, had all been born in Valinor.
"My Lady?"
Náriel turned as Robin approached her. He was not particularly handsome by an elf's standard, but he was certainly handsome by a human's. He had brown hair and light green eyes, and a rather innocent, babyish face. "Lady, the villagers and I wish to thank you for helping us to fight the bandits. Our losses would have been much more severe if you and your kind had not helped us."
Náriel could not suppress a slight smile. The alliance begins, she thought, not without excitement. "It was our pleasure to help our kin."
Robin's mouth dropped open in shock. "K-kin?" he stammered. "You—we—you're—"
Náriel frowned, puzzled. "Humans and Elves have always been close kin, closer than any other race of Middle-Earth. Surely you knew this? There was a time when we even intermarried, though such marriages were often laced with sorrow and doom."
Robin looked like someone had just bashed a rock against his head. He stared at her stupidly, a stunned look on his face. Náriel couldn't suppress a soft chuckle. "Surely, Lord Robin Goodfellow, it does not come as that much of a surprise?"
"But—but you're immortal—how could you—how could we ever be related to an immortal race?"
Náriel's smile faded as his comments on immortality reminded her about Legolas, who was still out there in the dark, alone but for Ninglor. "We are not immortal, Lord Robin. We can be slain, through sword or fire, ice or venom, grief or smoke we may die."
"But it is something avoidable," Robin protested. "Our mortality is inescapable."
"Oh, child of Men, there in lies your mistake. For nothing is forever in Arda, which you call the World. Everything must die sometime, even the elves. For in time immeasurable by your people, we will die. Our life is bound to that of Arda; as Arda slowly ages, so do we, and when Arda dies, so too will we die." She turned and looked at him, and in the starlight, she appeared to Robin as one far different from himself, clothed in starlight and moonlight, and with eyes that seemed to light from within. "Death comes slower for us, but it is no less certain an end than for your kind."
Robin was silent. This was all a bit shocking for him—if someone had told him a month ago that he was going to be talking to an Elven-Lady out of the stories of distant ages and being told that not even the Elves were immortal, he would have told that person to lay off of the ale. And yet here he was, being told just that.
"But what happens if you are killed here?"
"We go to the Halls of Waiting, where we are judged by our deeds in life. The greater the good we did, the quicker we are rehoused or reborn."
"Rehoused?"
"Put back into our bodies."
Robin jumped back, startled. "Sacrilege!"
"To you yes, for human spirits go elsewhere when you die. But for us it is part of life; we are bound to this world, we cannot leave it in life or in death."
"Oh…" Robin said weakly, and decided a change of subject was in order. "Why don't you come inside? It's very cold out here."
Náriel had changed into more earth-like colors now, wearing green and brown leggings and a shirt, with a vest embroidered with stars and forests laced loosely over the shirt. Her arms were bare to the cold sea breeze but she did not seem to be at all cold.
"Thank you Lord Robin Goodfellow, but I will wait until my kin return."
"Um, lady, it is really none of my business but…why did you come back now, after all these years?"
"I have told you before, Lord Robin Goodfellow, we have come back to battle the Shadow's return."
"But there have been no signs of the Shadow for thousands of years."
"My Lord Robin Goodfellow, can you see me?"
"Not very well no, Lady. It is very dark out."
"My kin can, though, for our eyes see many things yours cannot. But if you cannot see me, does that mean I am not here?"
"Of course you're here! I can hear you speaking!"
"And if you cannot yet see him, does that mean that Morgoth is not here?"
"If he has, Lady—if he has returned, what does that mean for Men?"
She slowly turned her head to look at him, and though he could not see her face clearly, he got the impression that her face was very grave. "It means that the Final Battle might not be far off."
"What?"
"At the end of the World it is prophesied that all men, dwarves and elves that have ever lived will return to life and be given a choice; to fight along side the Valar and defeat the Shadow, or fight with Morgoth and destroy all of Arda. Even the Valar do not know who will choose what side. If the Valar win, then all the world will become paradise. If we loose, all of Arda is lost in Shadow forever. I pray that this will indeed be the Final Battle, that the Shadow on Arda-Marred will be healed once and for all, but I think not. Nay, that day is still lost in the future somewhere."
At that moment, before Robin had a chance to think up a reply, there came a whinny of horses and the soft thud-thud of their hooves on soft ground. Náriel sprang from her sitting position and sped to the outskirts of the village, staring in the moonlight for any sign of Legolas on the bare and open hills surrounding the village.
"Legolas! Ha le?"
"Haim."
Náriel closed her eyes in relief as Legolas and Ninglor rode up. "What news?" she asked in a steady voice.
"We have located a group of elves who are willing to talk, half a day's ride from here," Ninglor said as he jumped lightly down from the horse.
"Where did you get the horses?" Náriel asked.
"We found them on the way back; they appear to be some of the bandit's horses. We brought them back to the village."
She smiled at them both. "A wise choice. Go rest, you have done much today, mellyn-nîn."
She slipped the bridles off the horse's heads and they followed her back to the village. Ninglor gratefully went ahead to rest, but Legolas hung back to speak with her.
"The elves are disorganized and afraid, Lady Náriel. They are willing to listen, but I am not very hopeful. Our kin have changed in the last thousands of years; they are rustic and wild, unpredictable, and their language is strange and hard to understand. It will not be easy to convince them."
"I suspected as much." Náriel stopped and Legolas turned. "Legolas…"
"Yes?" he said when she did not immediately speak.
"I am sorry."
"Whatever for?"
"For not listening to you earlier. It is a failing of mine; I always think I know best. And I am…" she stopped.
"Prideful?" A small smile crept onto his face and he stepped towards her. "Leaders often do, Lady, and you often follow the best course anyway. You at least know when to yield. But I sense that is not all you wish to speak of?"
Náriel hesitated. "Legolas, I just do not want to loose you. I was afraid you would not come back at all, tonight when you were late. You are my closest friend and my most trusted adviser. I would not be here without your help. If you were to die, I would miss you."
Legolas smiled outright now. "I must be late to meet with you more often, if I receive so many compliments on my character," he teased.
Náriel laughed aloud and cuffed him playfully. "Do not go getting yourself killed Legolas."
"As you wish, Lady Náriel."
"Stop calling me that."
"Yes, Lady," Legolas said impishly, and had to duck as she threw a horses' bridle at him.
"Your parents should have followed a human custom and spanked you as child!"
Legolas stifled a chuckle. "What makes you think they didn't?" he asked lightly, dancing back.
Náriel laughed again. "Well said, my friend. All right, truce for tonight?"
"Truce."
"Unless, of course, I decide to toss you overboard in your sleep."
Legolas' eyes danced. "I would dearly love to see you try, my Lady."
The two laughed as they put the horses away. And for one night at least, the elves from Valinor were happy.
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*
*Please note that when Náriel is talking about the Final Battle and the prophesy of the end of the world, there actually was an essay about that in one of the History of Middle-Earth series, that the world's fate would be decided in one final, huge battle with men and dwarves and elves choosing what side they would fight upon. If the Valar won, Arda would become paradise. I can't remember exactly what book it was in, it's been forever since I read that series…if any of you know what book it was in, do let me know in a review. I have twisted this prophecy slightly to use it in my own story.
Hale=is it you? Literally, Legolas, it-thee?
Haim=It is I, literally it-I.
mellyn-nîn = my friends, literally friends-my.