Well, after a hectic college move in I'm back! Now an official college student this girl here has survived orientation, first classes, and still somehow managed to finish another chapter for all her wonderful readers. I hope everyone's excited because this is the chapter where we finally get answers to all that's be going on.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine.
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"Here, drink this," Aragorn said as he pressed a cup into Legolas' hand.
The elf lifted his head from off his chest a bit, and looked at the dark, strange smelling concoction Aragorn had just given him. "What is it?" he inquired softly.
"It's a tea of Athelas, bayberry grass, and lelenthil leaves. It will help alleviate some of the after-effects of the Dragons Breath and give you back some of your strength."
Legolas shook his head. "I don't need it," he said as he tried to hand the cup of warm liquid back to the man. "I am awake now; I'll be fine."
Aragorn looked at the elf appraisingly for a moment. Though he had awoken shortly after returning to the Hall of Kings, Legolas was still obviously feeling the lingering effects of the strong sedative his kidnappers had almost succeeded in kidnaping him with. The prince was slouched forward in his chair, his hair falling down around his face in a tangled curtain of dirty blond tresses. His usually sharp blue eyes were distant and seemed unable to completely focus on anything for very long. Every so often he would force himself alert through a rapid dint of blinking, but Aragorn could see he was struggling against the induced weariness of the drug.
"You may not need it, but you will drink it," Aragorn said sternly, totally unconvinced by the elf's assurances that he was fine. Legolas shot him a tired but distinctly hostile look out of the corner of his eye. Aragorn met Legolas' icy glare but did not flinch or back down under the elf's piercing gaze. Over the years he had become quite accustomed with having to deal with Legolas' crankiness whenever he was tired or injured like this. It was one of the prince's stubborn pride things. He hated having to admit he needed help or having people fuss over him. And the fact that he already had to be carried back to the palace while unconscious was not helping matters at all.
Now locked in a battle of wills, Aragorn lifted his chin and crossed his arms across his chest in a gesture of impassiveness. Just to add a touch of smugness to his dominance in the argument, the man non-chalantly shifted his weight onto one leg and stared back at his stubborn patient almost dispassionately as if to say he was ready to stand there and wait for as long as it took until the elf decided to drink the tea.
Legolas stared back at Aragorn defiantly, his eyes screaming protest to the indignities the man was putting him through. Making him drink this brewed concoction of his like he was a child or some feeble invalid. He was a prince and full grown warrior! He did not need this man telling him what to do. He could take care of himself.
But Aragorn seemed unmoved by Legolas' silent protests. His eyes remained fixed on the stubborn elf, hard and steely, his stance betraying no sign of backing down. Under normal circumstances Legolas might have made his opposition more well known, but despite his attempts to down play his current condition, he was suffering just as much as Aragorn already suspected. He was just too tired to put up anything more of a fight with the man than he already had.
Heaving a sigh of begrudged resignation, Legolas shakingly raised the cup to his mouth and took several small sips of the warm liquid. Aragorn moved to reach out a hand to help steady the cup for the trembling elf but was immediately stilled by the warning glance Legolas shot him over the rim of the glass. The drink was faintly sweet in taste and pleasantly invigorating in smell as Legolas soon discovered. But despite its appealing qualities and the warmth and renewed strength it seemed to lend his drugged body, Legolas still had enough spite in him to hand Aragorn the cup back with a good third of the tea still left undrunk.
Wether Aragorn actually acknowledged the elf's subtle act of rebellion or not, he nevertheless seemed satisfied by the amount Legolas had drunk and turned away to set the cup down on a nearby table that was partially buried in an assortment of medicinal herbs and other items that usually contributed to the make up of a skilled healer's kit.
Now free of his self-appointed caretaker's fretting for the moment, Legolas slouched back forward in his chair and let his head hang tiredly back down the middle of his chest. He was tired and weary to the bones. Everything that had happened to him in less than the span of one day now felt like a thousand tons weighing down on his shoulders; the festival, the vision, the faint, the paranoia, the wraiths, the attack. All of it felt like some crushing force that was slowly smothering him under the weight of the whirlwind of mystery and unanswered questions. Unaware of his own actions, Legolas subconsciously pulled the blanket that was draped over his shoulders tighter around himself, as though trying to drive away some sudden chill that wasn't really there.
Close beside him to his left stood Gimli. Ever since returning to the Hall of Kings and retreating to Aragorn's private study, the dwarf had positioned himself there at Legolas' side like some kind of personal guard, protectively watching over the elf even after Legolas had woken out of his drugged stupor. The elf's subconscious act of insecurity did not escape the dwarf's close scrutiny. "Are you cold?" Gimli asked in concern as he placed a worried hand on his friend's slightly trembling shoulder.
"No, just shaken," Legolas replied truthfully as he hugged the blanket tighter around his slender frame.
"I am sorry if you thought my men were trying to attack you earlier," interrupted a heavily accented, but beautifully sonorous voice from the other side of the room as a tall, darkly cloaked figure of an elf stepped forward. "We did not know who it was there at your side, and thought your two friends may have been more enemies trying to kidnap you."
Gimli snorted brusquely. "We thought very similar things of you also. Any closer, and your men would have soon found their heads swiftly parted from their bodies," he said, suspiciously eyeing the dark-haired stranger and his four silent counterparts standing at a close distance behind their suspected leader.
"Again, my apologies," insisted the stranger as he bowed his head in earnesty. The mysterious elf's deep grey eyes slowly came to rest on the slouched over form of the blond elven prince sitting before him. "I fear we have much to explain..."
"Yes, you do," Aragorn agreed tightly as he came back around the side of Legolas' chair and stood so that he and Gimli flanked either side of Legolas, "And you can start with who you are and who those other men we saw in the gardens were."
"And why they were trying to kidnap Legolas," Gimli supplemented.
"Peace, please," begged the elf as he held his hands up in front of his chest as if in surrender, "I will answer your questions, but I can only do it one at a time." His plea seemed to have te desired effect. Aragorn and Gimli reluctantly relinquished their tirade of questions and quieted to wait for the elf to speak. Legolas groggily lifted his head from off his chest, eager to also hear the elf's long awaited answers to these troubling mysteries.
His audience now fixated onto his every word, the dark-haired elf began. "I believe I should begin with formal introductions. My name is Elendwë, as you may recall me telling you earlier." There came general nods of affirmation from his assembled group of listeners.
"This is Larlossë," Elendwë then said, gesturing towards a tall elf standing off to his side. "He is a skilled warrior and my second in command."
The elf in question was slender but of well defined build and muscle; his stature proud and tall. A flowing mane of wavy blond tresses cascaded down his back and over his shoulders. His hair was elaborately braided away from his face in a style Legolas had never seen before: two small braids – similar to Legolas' own – ran along the sides of the elf's head just above his ears before joining with the rest of Larlossë's brushed back forelocks in a highly complex braid that hung like a twisted coil of rope down the length of his back. A finely crafted hair ornament of silver fastened to the back of Larlossë skull held the completed coif in place while a simple metal clasp tied the entire thing off at the end. Larlossë's clear blue eyes stared back at Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli cooly, his gaze sharp and appraising as if he was silently measuring the three on scales in his mind. Gimli did not fail to note that the elf's cold gaze seemed to linger somewhat longer on him than what it did for his two friends, or think to imagine he saw something of a sneer beginning to pull at the corners of the strange elf's lips before he was abruptly looked away from.
"Gelion," Elendwë said, motioning to the next elf in line who was of a chestnut brown hair coloring with a small nod of his head. "Another of great prowlness in battle, but one unsurpassed in skills of the bow." Legolas managed to catch the other elf's pale grey eyes for a brief moment of time, and despite himself, felt an instant connection form between himself and his fellow archer.
"Aiwendel..." This next elf immediately struck the three as being the most striking of the group, for his hair was of a flaming red hue, a very rare and uncommon hair color among the elven folk of Middle-earth. But more startling than that was the stunning bottle-green color of his eyes.
"And Nendhros," Elendwë concluded as he motioned to the last of his men; a dark-haired elf with deep set, blue-grey eyes that seemed to stare into the very souls of those he looked upon.
As his name was given, each elf in turn nodded his head in acknowledgment to Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli. Finished with his introductions, Elendwë turned back around to face the three, his fair features a stone chiseling of grave seriousness. His eyes met Legolas' and held them with a strange, unwavering power as if he could see into the younger elf's very mind. "You now wish to know who those men that attacked you earlier tonight were."
"Yes," Legolas answered, his eyes burning with that and a hundred other questions as he returned the other elf's unbroken gaze. "What did they want with me? Why did they try and kidnap me?"
"The ones you saw us battling earlier tonight – the ones that tried to kidnap you – were members of a secret society of elves known as the Brotherhood. They are lead by an elf that goes by the name of Thalion. He and his men are enemies of the Valar that have come here to Middle-earth from across the sea to seek you out and prevent you from fulfilling an ancient prophecy that was foretold long before the First Age of Middle-earth."
"This is much of what you have already told us," Aragorn said, letting his impatience for answers clearly known by his tone of voice, "What is this prophecy you keep speaking of?"
Elendwë paused and looked at the man in grave solemnity, as if he were about to pass judgement of death onto a prisoner. "I speak of the prophecy that foretells of the end of the world – The Second Prophecy of Mandos, The Second Coming of Melkor..."
A heavy silence filled the room as the elf's voice trailed off and left nothing but the ringing doom of his words to fill the void. For the breadth of several long heartbeats, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli stared at Elendwë in a silence, their faces blank from shock of any visible emotions.
Finally, as if regaining his composure, Gimli forced a nervous chuckle. "Surely you jest," he laughed, his skepticism of the elf's ominous prediction evident. Though doubtful, the dwarf nevertheless seemed slightly unnerved by the strange elf's words of doom and looked to his friends for reassurance.
Standing on the other side of Legolas, Aragorn seemed to harbor similar doubts. "That is a far-fetched story you wish us to believe," he agreed.
Elendwë slowly turned his gaze onto the silent figure sitting between the man and dwarf. Unlike his friends, Legolas offered no such refusal of acceptance and sat quietly hunched forward in his seat, his eyes downcast and staring with rapt fixedness down at the floorboards. Elendwë slowly took a step closer to the elven prince. "You know that what I speak is true, Legolas Thranduilion," he observed softly in an eerily disconcerting way, "You can feel it. The world is changing. Melkor is preparing to break free from the Void and return to this world. You have felt his darkness growing in the back of your mind. You have felt the unease of his presence growing more and more everyday, like a cold chill on the back of your neck."
They were not questions, but still Legolas felt compelled to answer. "Yes," he whispered softly in admission, "I have felt it now for several months; a strange growing of unease in my heart. At times it is so strong I can feel the very air around me tense as if in warning. But I knew not of what was causing it..." he trailed off. Legolas slowly raised his head and looked at the older elf, his sapphire blue eyes imploring more answers. Aragorn and Gimli both looked down at their friend, startled that he should actually understand what this elf was talking about. But Legolas hardly noticed their presence beside him anymore. All he could focus on was this strange elf that had come to him and seemed to hold answers to the dark feelings of unjustified fear that had been slowly growing in the pit of his heart.
"You are not the only one to have felt Melkor presence growing," Elendwë said, "Many other elves here in Middle-earth have also felt it, though they also do not realize what it truly is. Many are leaving these shores, seeking safety from his darkness in the West. But there is no such haven. The end of the world is nearing. With the return of the Dark Vala, a wave of death and destruction unlike anything ever seen before will sweep over the entire span of Arda, even unto to edges of Aman in the West. Melkor has been slowly regaining power in the dark depths of the Void where he was imprisoned countless millennia ago, and will soon break free from its restraints and return to this world.'
"The Brotherhood," he continued, "is the last remaining remnants of an ancient cult of Melkor's followers that were seduced into his control by promises of riches and power. After the final battle with the other Valar that ultimately banished their master into the darkest reaches of the Void, they fell into hiding. Known members of the Brotherhood were hunted down and forced to renounce their allegiances to Melkor. Many did and repented for their sins against the Valar, but many also escaped. Where Melkor's influence should have died out long ago, it did not, and the Brotherhood has survived through the ages by secrecy and stealth. And now that the ancient prophecy is beginning to come in being, they are determined to see that it is not fulfilled as it was told and that their Dark Lord is freed and returned to power."
"That may explain who they are, but you still have not told me why they wanted me," Legolas said in growing frustration, "Why did they want to kidnap me?"
"Patience, young one," the dark-haired elf calmed soothingly, "I will tell you, but you must first let me explain things so that you might better understand all that has happened and where you fit into all of this." Legolas looked about ready to protest, but reluctantly fell quiet again by the insistent look shining in Elendwë's ancient grey eyes.
"The Prophecy also speaks of a defender of good – the Light of Manwë. During the ancient battle in which the Lords of the West and Melkor battled for control of Arda, there was an elf who fought on the side of the Valar. He was the most powerful being of his race, his power rivaling even that of the Maia – the lesser Valar. It was said that he was so powerful that his eyes would actually shine with the light of his spirit. Because of this, he was given the title Fëaglin which means in the high elven tongue of the Eldar 'shining spirit.' No story now remains that can recall his given birth-name, for all those that knew him only remember him in legend as Fëaglin.'
"Your stories of the Great Battle may not say, but the power and might of the Valar was almost defeated on that final day. For many days, the battle raged, neither side gaining the upper hand. For though the Valar and their allies were great in number, so were the forces of the Dark Lord. Orcs, goblins, balrogs, and dragons were only some of the creatures Melkor's employed in his services. But there were none more terrible than the black creatures he created himself in the dark dungeons of his fortress known as Deathscrys. They were horrible monsters; tall, gangly creatures bred only for the destruction of life. Their claws and talons were like scythes; able to cleave a fully armored man or elf in two with no more difficulty than a knife passing through butter. Their skin was thick and difficult to pierce with arrows, and only vulnerable to swords in close combat. But by then, swords were usually of no more use to their owners against a Deathscry in such close proximity...'
"Melkor released his army of monsters on the Valar and their allies of men and elves in unending hoards. The bloodshed was horrible. Many fell in battle fighting off Melkor's armies. Towards the end, almost all seemed lost. The might of the Valar was great but not strong enough to battle past Melkor's forces and penetrate his stronghold of Angband. Finally, just before the end, as his hoards of unclean monsters began their final assault against the Valar and their allies, Melkor himself emerged from his fortress, dressed in armor and ready to lay formal claim of victory over his enemies.'
"But as the Dark Lord emerged from his fortress-dungeon, there stepped forward one single warrior brave enough to face him. That one was Fëaglin. They fought each other, the light of Fëaglin set against the darkness of Melkor. It is said that during the final battle, as the two fought and strove for victory, the world around them dimmed and the day was cast into unnatural night. But it was not of Melkor's doing. Though the Dark Lord wore darkness like a cloak and spread it wherever he could, it was Fëaglin whose power dimmed the light of the world. For in battling the Evil One, it was said that he actually drew the light from all that around him and absorbed it into himself. The ancient stories say that he shined that day with the very light of the Two Trees of Valinor, like a radiant star fallen to earth, so powerful was his spirit.'
"Melkor was unable to withstand the power of such a pure spirit and was defeated but not utterly destroyed. Manwë then took him and shut the Dark Lord away in the Void for what was suppose to be all of eternity. But while Melkor survived that day, the light of Fëaglin's spirit was completely spent. In driving back Melkor's darkness, Fëaglin sacrificed all the inner light of his spirit to rid the world of Melkor's evil and ultimately died."
Elendwë finally paused for a moment in his recount of the ancient battle of good and evil and looked Legolas straight in the eyes, his gaze unwavering from the younger elf's.
"The Prophecy of the Second Coming says that the One that defeated Melkor will return in the time of Dagor Dagorath and the coming of the End. That Fëaglin will return to this world and finish his battle with the Dark One once and for all. But wether Melkor or Fëaglin emerges as the ultimate victor, the Prophecy does not say."
"This is all an interesting history lesson, but what does it all have to do with me?!" Legolas cried, finally becoming so frustrated he could no longer hold back his impatience. "I want to know, right here, right now, why was this Brotherhood trying to kidnap me?" His eyes flashed threateningly in the low, flickering candlelight of the room as his sapphire stare bored into Elendwë, demanding answers.
The room grew deathly silent. Even the snapping of burning wood in the fireplace on the far side of Aragorn's study seemed to die away and fall silent under the intense pall of tension now thickening the air. The elves behind Elendwë shifted uneasily in the silence. Aragorn and Gimli stared at Elendwë as if in a trance, completely captivated by the mystical ambiance of prophecies, ancient battles, and gods this strange elf from across the sea had conjured up around them like a heavy mist of mystery.
Elendwë stood motionless, his pale grey eyes meeting Legolas'. He held Legolas' gaze undaunted, as if gauging the strength of the younger elf's inner resolve to finally know the answers.
Finally, just as the room seemed ready to burst with the charged tension of its occupants, Elendwë spoke. "The reason the Brotherhood was trying to kidnap you," he said in a low, foreboding voice, as if he was afraid of being overheard by prying ears, "is because you, Legolas Thranduilion of Middle-earth, are the reincarnation of Fëaglin. You are the one the Prophecy speaks of. The only one that can defeat Melkor and prevent the end of the world. In you burns the fëa of the same elf that fought on the side of the Valar and vanquished Melkor almost ten thousand years ago. You are the rebirth of his spirit. You are the One..."
For whatever silence that may have seemed so complete and unbroken before was nothing in comparison to the utter absence of sound that followed.
Legolas sat silent and motionless in his seat, staring at the other elf in an almost comical expression of surprise and stunned speechlessness. But the grave seriousness in which Elendwë had made such a claim of personage, drove away any such mirth from the room. For whatever explanation Legolas had expected to receive, this was not it. Off to his sides, Aragorn and Gimli mimicked similar responses: wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
For a moment, Legolas thought he had just become the butt of some cruel joke. But Elendwë's expression of utter seriousness did not waver. His face was a mask of heartfelt conviction. Nothing in the dark-haired elf's countenance belied the signs of any deceit or deception, only a sort of reverent respect and patience as he held the speechless prince's eyes as if in silent reassurance that what he said was true.
Sputtering for words to respond to such an outrageous claim, Legolas' lips moved soundlessly as his eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for anything that would prove that he had somehow misheard Elendwë. Finally, as if recovering from the initial shock, Legolas slowly regained his composure. "Uh..." he began, searching for words as the logical, more practical (and skeptical) side of his brain began to take control, "I think you may have made a mistake... There's no way I can be who you say I am – it's impossible," he said with the nervous sort of chuckle usually reserved for trying to hide unwanted emotions of unease or unsurity, "I'm sorry, but I'm not this Fëaglin, or whoever you say it is you're looking for."
"But you are," insisted Elendwë in his most patient voice, as if he were explaining a very simple concept to a small child. "The Oracle of Valimar prophesied that Fëaglin would return in the form of a galednel – a green elf – and that he would be born near the land in which he met his doom, but would not be found there when the time for the Second Coming was near. You were born in the northern realm of Middle-earth, were you not?" Elendwë asked, already certain of what Legolas' response would be.
"Yes, but there are thousands of other elves who were born in and around Mirkwood and then moved to other lands," Legolas protested defensively, starting to feel as if he was somehow slowly being backed into a corner. He looked to his two friends for support, but Aragorn and Gimli seemed too bewildered themselves by Elendwë's explanation to offer the prince any such help. "I don't even have any special powers," he then pointed out, "I was trained as a warrior. I have no skills in magic or anything else that would give me powers such as the ones you speak of. There is nothing special about me..." Elendwe's expression of complete conviction did not falter. "I am no different than any other elf you would meet here in Middle-earth..." he said, moving his plea to the other's of the dark-haired elf's party, hoping to perhaps convince one of them he was not who they thought he was. "There are many other elves more powerful than I..." Still none seemed to show signs of any dissuaded conviction. "You've got the wrong elf!" he finally exclaimed, panic beginning to show in his eyes.
Elendwë smiled patiently. "No. You are not the wrong elf. You are the one we have been searching for. I know it; I have seen the fire in your eyes. You do not know of your powers because they are hidden deep within you, lying dormant until the proper time for them to resurface and spring forth to defeat the Dark Lord."
Legolas narrowed his eyes in stubborn skepticism. "I don't believe you," he said simply, "You have nothing to prove what you say is true except your word. Why should I believe you?"
If the extremely tall, dark-haired elf had taken offense to Legolas' slightly brusque words he did not show it. Elendwë studied Legolas calmly. "What of your reoccurring dreams as of late? Or your vision at the festival earlier today?"
Legolas immediately perked and sat straighter in his seat. "That was you?" he exclaimed incredulously, his brain quickly inferring and making immediate connections, "You were the ones I saw in the stands?"
"Yes," Elendwë said apologetically, "We had to be sure you were the one we were searching for."
"Then it was you that made me faint and see that horrible vision," the elven prince deduced with a small stirring of anger in his voice. Elendwë tipped his head forward in affirmation. Beside Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli shifted slightly. Through much of the conversation thus far the man and dwarf had felt distinctly out of place and disoriented by all of what was being said. But at the mention of the friend's sudden fainting spell and collapse earlier that day at the tournament, they finally felt they could understand something of what was being explained. "What did you do to me?" Legolas then asked, his tone low and accusing.
"What you saw was less a vision than it was a memory," Elendwë said slowly, his voice calm and filled with age and knowledge of an ancient past, "... or perhaps a glimpse at what will become of the world should Melkor return to power," he added ominously in a low whisper. "In order to make sure you were truly the one we sought, my companions and I sang an ancient chant recalling the final battle between Melkor and Fëaglin. In doing so, we awakened in you long repressed memories of your past life..."
He paused, his pale grey eyes staring into the depths of Legolas' soul. "I know without a doubt that you, Legolas Thranduilion," he said softly, "are the One. I saw the spark in your eyes that told me so. And I know that deep down you believe me."
Breaking eye contact with the other elf, Legolas shakingly got to his feet. The blanket draped over his shoulders had begun to slip off on one side but was kept in place by one of Legolas' hands clasping the two sides of it together in the center of his chest like some haggard beggar. He did not look at Elendwë or anyone else as he slowly walked towards the nearby fireplace burning brightly on the other side of Aragorn's study and stood before it, staring deeply down into the dancing flames as if lost in a trance.
"You have seen the devastation of Melkor's evil in your vision," Elendwë said softly to the elf's turned back, "And you have heard the screams of his victims in your ears. You know of what horrors Melkor will unleash on this world again if he is allowed to return to power..." Legolas relented nothing and merely continued to stare down into the flames, watching as the reds, oranges, and yellows of the fire danced and flickered before his eyes in an endless terpsichore of light and movement.
Just like the flames in his dreams... always consuming... always destroying...
He stood there, silhouetted against the dancing orange backdrop of flames for several long moments of silence, like a soul standing on the threshold of hell.
"How did you know of my dreams?" he finally asked after a time in a hushed voice over the soft crackle of wood. He did not look back over his shoulder or turn around.
"I honestly did not. But I assumed with the growing presence of Melkor in your mind that repressed memories would begin to resurface in the way of dreams." For a long while, Legolas said nothing and continued to stare into the dancing fire, watching as the flames slowly licked and ate at the thick logs burning in the pit of its fiery belly like some kind of sacrificial offering. Staring into the flames he suddenly felt tired. Like everything being told to him was physically weighing down on him.
"Why did you not just come to me?" he then asked into the flames, his voice distant and almost resigned.
"We did not want to expose our presence to you before we were sure you were truly the One," Elendwë said, "And we could not risk letting the Brotherhood know we had found you." He paused and stared thoughtfully at the young elf's turned back. "But even if we had come to you, would you have believed us?" he asked softly, letting a hint of sarcasm taint his fair and mellifluously voice.
Legolas gave no answer but clutched the blanket draped over his shoulders tighter around himself. "The Brotherhood now knows who you are," Elendwë's voice then said somewhere behind the elven prince, "They will now stop at nothing to see that you do not fulfill the Prophecy. If we had not stopped them earlier tonight, they probably would have killed you. My companions and I will protect you, but Thalion and his men will return and try to finish you. They cannot let you live to fulfill the Prophecy. That is why we must hurry and take you to the place where the ancient Prophecy foretold the Final Battle will take place."
"And where would that be?" Legolas questioned, his voice low and apprehensive.
"To Mordor, where the Dark Lord's servant once resided and continued his master's work even long after he was sealed into the Void..."
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TBC...
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So... was that what anybody was expecting?
I know I kind of took artistic liberties for my version the Final Battle between the Valar and Melkor, but Tolkien actually wrote very little about it in the Silmarillion so I felt there was a lot of room for interpretation. I know some people may be wondering why Elendwë and his men are now going to take Legolas to Mordor when by all accounts they should probably go to Angband in the north, but that will be explained in later chapters.
Before I go, I just want to give kudos to my one reviewer Kit Cloudkicker for the awesome line: "You've got the wrong elf!" Ha ha! That was so funny when I read it that I knew I had to somehow fit that line into my story.
Oh, and thanks to Gwyn for your wonderful encouragement and support. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long for the update or disappoint you!
'Till next time!
P.S. Can I please have a review? Please...?