Author's Note:

This is the really mysterious and suspenseful chapter! This is the part where heaps of dark and strange things occur, especially at the end (don't even think about scrolling down and spoiling the suspense!) but you will most likely be VERY surprised at how all the scattered bits and pieces of this story fits together at the end! Also, the strange occurrences in this chapter involve a certain character that may be familiar to you! *cackles wickedly*

Fëaruin Urulókë

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 2: A New Friend

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"We train tomorrow at the same time," Ninrusco smugly smiled, "…Urulókë."

"Shush, obnoxious one," Fëaruin waved as her brother left the clearing which was only part of the vast gardens of their abode, watching as he barely waved, only raising a hand.

After she was sure he had gone she cheered and ran as fast as her legs would carry her, heading towards no particular place. For she loved the beauty of nature, and appreciated it like her mother always had. She loved running beneath the sunlit sky, which made her mahogany-red hair shine ruby in the light, and breathe the air of Middle-Earth that blew above the trees, an invisible gift from Manwë. Particularly today she wanted to see the beautiful white weed that some servants had spotted blooming somewhere in that grassy clearing of Minas Tirith.

But as Fëaruin ran on, she seemed to see a dark shape hidden behind the trees that bordered the clearing. She turned her head towards it and for a short moment stared, wondering what it could be. Full of fear she became as she abruptly stopped and told herself to approach it, being aware of the many dangers Eärnur warned her about, though something told her she had to go see what it was. Horror filled her eyes as she realized it was a tiny child, no older than Fëaruin herself- and she was ten years old. She lay on her side, the child, and blood stained her raiment and her arms. The sleeves of her gown were completely torn to shreds.

Fëaruin knelt by the child who she could see was still breathing, which relieved her. Gently touching the sticky blood on the child's arms made the little one stir, and Fëaruin jumped back, frightened and alarmed.

"Who are you?" Fëaruin demanded, as the girl barely stifled the agonizing moan that escaped her clenched teeth.

The child began to rise, although as an instant reaction Fëaruin knelt again beside her, laying her back down onto the bloodstained grass.

"I… I don't remember," the girl whispered weakly, and suddenly passed out again.

* * * * *

Eärnur, Ellasil, Ninrusco and Fëaruin curiously towered over the bed where the little girl lay. She was beautiful indeed to behold- she had brown hair that was straight, which was very unusual for her kind, and her skin was creamy and fair. Her bloodstained gown had been changed, and her wounds had been treated by the Healers of Minas Tirith, leaving her very exhausted and now fast asleep in a guest bedchamber.

"I cannot say it is so, but this is most likely the work of the Witch-King," Eärnur sighed, straightening his back. "I do not believe he will give in until he is fully destroyed instead of merely defeated in duel. Although this does not explain the claw marks on her arm."

"Claw marks? That is indeed strange. What creature would have slashed at her arms like this? I do not believe it is an Orc," Ninrusco added.

"For a Hobbit, her straight hair is most unusual. A descendant also of Man or Elf, maybe?" Ellasil sat on the bed, brushing the girl's hair out of her face gently, and clearly in a motherly fashion. Fëaruin tilted her head, not fully understanding what her mother just said.

"What is a Hobbit?" she asked innocently.

But everyone ignored the question as the child let out a moan, a moan so painful and born of excessive anguish that it shattered the hearts of the four that watched there by her bed. The child's eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes like glistening twilight, and alarm filled them as she beheld the four that eyed her intently. She had no idea what had brought her here, where she was being examined by people she did not know at all, and wept fearfully.

"Ssh…" Ellasil soothed, brushing her flushed cheeks. "We will not hurt you. Tell us, who are you, child? And what happened?"

The child's cries died down a little, and she felt herself relax under the soothing voice, pausing before she answered. "I do not remember, Lady," she replied weakly, secretly admiring the sight of Ellasil's beautiful red hair. "All I know is that this hurts…"

"Oh, can we keep her, Mother?" Fëaruin pleaded, awestruck by the child's deep, beautiful eyes. "She remembers nothing and she has no one to take care of her. It will be better than to hand her to someone we do not know, especially since not many can be trusted with the Witch-King about. I can keep her company, and be her friend, and take care of her."

"Yes, that is a good idea," Eärnur placed a hand on the child's brow. "Go back to sleep, dear child. You're in good hands."

"What will you name her, Father?" Ninrusco questioned.

Eärnur smiled. "We shall call her Menellómë, for her eyes are deep like the dusk of the Heavens," he stated. "Elbereth must have truly gifted her with eyes like the home in which her stars lay. But that we will only call her until she regains knowledge of her real name… and let us hope that soon she does remember her past."

* * * * *

When Menellómë awoke again, she felt herself regaining her strength slowly, for the many hours of sleep had indeed helped. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes and her dark head, touching the wrapped wound on her arm. As she sat up she saw instantly beside her Fëaruin slept in a chair nigh the pillows, her brown-red hair laid on the edge of Menellómë's bed.

Fëaruin felt someone watching her in her sleep and stirred, yawning subtly before opening her eyes. She lifted her head from the Hobbit-child's bed and, seeing that she was awake, smiled a sleepy smile.

"Hello," Fëaruin mumbled, trying to stifle another yawn.

"Hello," Menellómë replied, returning a weak smile.

"Are you alright?" Fëaruin asked, genuinely worried about the child who nodded quickly, making strands of her hair fall over her eyes.

"I would not be, had you not saved me."

"Of course I could not leave you there, Menellómë," Fëaruin said humbly, innocently taking the girl's hand. "You were near dead, and the safest thing to do was take you home with me."

"This is your home? And who are you? For I forgot to ask," Menellómë gushed at the size and beauty of the place, when she realized what Fëaruin was calling her. "Menellómë? Is that my name?"

"Nay, I think not," Fëaruin licked her lips naïvely, "but no one knows your name, not even you, so my father named you Dusk of the Heavens in the tongue of the Elves, because of your sparkling eyes. I am Fëaruin, daughter of Eärnur and Ellasil of the Dúnedain. My grandfather Eärnil is King here in Gondor, and my father is heir."

"I am very pleased," Menellómë smiled, "to meet you, Fëaruin, and that I can rest for a while in the safety of your home. Friends?"

Fëaruin looked deep into the twilight eyes of the Hobbit child, who smirked back with growing strength becoming evident. At that Fëaruin lifted herself up from the chair, and shook the hand in hers.

"Friends."

* * * * *

=DREAM/FLASHBACK=

A lone Elf ran through many trees, a bow clenched so tightly in his hand that splinters were beginning to cut through the delicate skin. However, he paid it no heed, for he was growing very desperate. Two hours had passed since he secretly came to his lover's bedchamber to seduce her- and instead of finding her, he had found a werewolf in the room instead. The room was in a complete mess; sheets and books were strewn all over the floor, and his lover was nowhere to be found.

Fighting back tears of anguish he chased after the beast in the usually harmonious woods of the Elven Kingdom of Lothlórien, crying his lover's name in the quiet of the night. Finlos… Finlos… echoed the name of the snow-haired maiden who had won the Elf's heart, and birds and beasts of the night cowered back into the darkness as they heard the cries, and pitying the melody of grief that was threaded within them.

When he saw the fleeing beast before him leap out onto the direct dirt path, he strung an arrow instantly, quickening his step. When the arrow was released a much more painful cry rang through the trees, as it embedded itself in the wolf's back. With another wail, the werewolf fell before the Elf's eyes, suddenly metamorphosing into its original form. Horror overcame him as he saw the werewolf change back into a maiden whose body glistened silver in the light of the full moon, and the Elf dropped his bow, running to her.

"Finlos!" he cried, kneeling and cradling his limp lover in his arms, not caring about the blood that surged over them both. The poor Elf wept miserably as he kissed the bloodstained lips, holding her head to his chest. Images in remembrance of the times they'd spent together and the love they'd shared passed before his eyes as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle a fierce sob, cursing himself over and over again. "O Elbereth, what have I done?!"

"I… I love you," Finlos uttered. "I'm sorry, Legolas…" and thus she died.

To be continued…