Elenna-nórë
By Lily Rae
Chapter One—A Prologue, Of Sorts
You are probably wondering who I am, and why I am writing this epic tale. Well, who I am is not important. But this saga is important, and must not be forgotten. For it tells one important legend.
The West-folk have always been considered the greatest of the Race of Men. Their island, shaped like a five-pointed star, was Númenor; the Isle of Kings. At its peak her glory was not rivalled; her naval empire was like no other and even the Elves bowed down to the Númenóreans. These High Men had achieved wonders that others could not—the Valar themselves even granted the Men of the West a lifespan greater than normal for fighting against Morgoth: three hundred years or so.
Are you still not convinced of its greatness? Well, let's see—Númenor had her own language, Adunaic, and they also spoke Sindarin, taught to them of course by their close Elven allies. The kingdom was ruled by mighty Kings and Queens with the help of an executive branch: the Council of the Sceptre, composed of the Heir of the King or Queen and the lords or ladies from the six regions of Númenor. When a King or Queen inherited the throne they wore not a crown but carried the Sceptre of Annúminas.
But enough of this; more will be learnt of Númenor as my story goes on. This will be told through the life of Lothíriel, princess of Númenor, destined to become Queen Tar-Ancalimë II. One feature of her extraordinary life I will reveal now is that she became the first Man to form an alliance with the Race of Dwarves and match her ancestor's feats in shaping the history of Middle-earth.
Come, let us start from the beginning—a good place to start, I think.
The bells rang from dawn to dusk at the announcement of Lothíriel's birth. It was the first time in many, many years that a girl was born to the next in line to the throne. It was taken as a sign of good fortune; the people would have their Queen at last. Prince Galdor, to be King Tar-Pharazôn when his father dies, and his wife, the high lady Míriel, were the proud parents. A few days after the birth people from all over the Island flocked to the capital Armenelos to catch a glimpse of the newborn baby. The new parents stood on the steps of the King's House, next to the ancient White Tree Nimloth and waved to the excited crowd, whilst the bundle in Míriel's arms remained oblivious to all of her attention.
Lothíriel soon became the older sister of a brother, Prince Eldacar II, and she was also a personal favourite of her Grandfather: King Tar-Minastir II. She travelled with him to Middle-earth many times, visiting Rivendell, Lórien, Gondor, Rohan...and many other places. He was a great explorer and expanded friendships and allies even further for Númenor. Lothíriel's favourite places as a child were the Bays of Eldanna and Andúnië; she loved greeting the ships as they returned with various treasures from Middle-earth.
The Princess was devastated when her beloved Grandfather died; she was thirty years old and still very young by their lifespan standards. But, Númenor continued on and her father Prince Galdor was to be crowned King, as was the Law. Lothíriel, Eldacar and Míriel stood at the entrance of the King's House, facing down the grand staircase. Lothíriel's long fair hair twirled down her back and her magnificent dress sported the Númenor crest. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her head was held high, for her people had arrived in the capital Armenelos in their thousands. The crowd was cheering as far back as the eye could see but the very important guests were at the front. There was Lord Elrond of Rivendell, the steward of Gondor, the King of Rohan...even the Lady Galadriel, her husband Celeborn, Gandalf and Saruman were here to watch the crowning of the new King.
Her father swept forward with a long robe on his back as the crowd watched with baited breath. He walked up the steps towards the Council of the Sceptre. Their leader placed the Sceptre into his hands and then he knelt down before them, pledging himself to his Kingdom. He rose, and turned to face his people. Then everybody else knelt down, to bow to the new ruler. Lothíriel and Eldacar did this too.
And the mighty Kingdom carried on as before, prospering and thriving. Lothíriel soon turned seventy and her first seventy years were pretty standard: travelling Númenor and getting to know her people, travelling Middle-earth, studying with her Professor and, of course, being a High Captain to the Númenoreon Army.
Everything changed on that fateful day in the year of TA 2941 when awful news was bought to her in the dead of night.
"My lady," her lady-in-waiting had said, breathing heavily and her eyes blood shot, "the Queen Míriel...is dead."
And something in King Tar-Pharazôn snapped that night, as he held his dead wife in his arms. He was never the same again and Númenor would enter its darkest age.
A/N:
So, what did you all think of my new take on this story? Please let me know! :) The next chapter will be the proper start of the story and at the end (possibly) will have the introduction of our favourite Company of Dwarves too ;) thank you so much readers, I really, really, do hope you enjoyed this!
