Nadya's fanfic: Hope Renewed- Final Chapter 11- fate decides

                                                                              Chapter 11
                                                                         Fate shall decide
                                                                    and Hope shall reward.


We watch in silence. Aragorn is dressed as a king. The boy whom Elrond had named Estel, after me, in Imladris, is outfitted, his armour bright, cape glossy and rich. His hair is combed and smooth. He waits as Gandalf holds up the Winged Crown of his forefathers. Usually the crown is passed, on the deathbed of a king to his firstborn, male or female. But Gandalf holds it high, above the head of Aragorn, in a courtyard of stone, where the White Tree of the King blooms once more.

He places it on Aragorn's head. "Now come the Days of the King. May they be blessed." Was all he said, yet it was enough to proclaim to all the Gondor and Arnor had a king once more. Aragorn, now Elessar, King of the reunited kingdoms. All stand and cheer loudly.

I smile as King Elessar speaks out. This day, he said, belonged to all. All swore allegiance to him, led by Faramir, son of Denethor, now Steward, and betrothed to Eomer's sister. Eomer, King of Rohan, had yet to be crowned, yet he and Elessar renewed their kingdoms' oath of friendship. Then came us all. The elves come forth, and awe ripples through the men and women present, at the sight. The children watch us, eyes wide, and petals rain softly as I come forth, wearing the diadem, which I had been crowned, in my finest robes- I had finally touched a loom in nearly a century.

Elessar bows, in deference, yet so do I. "This would not have been possible without your planning, Great Queen." He whispers. "I am glad to have shared your name, even for a while." I shake my head. "This would not have been possible save for you." I say. And Arwen. I do not mention it, for soon he will see her.

Did I feel pain that my loved ones were not here, the Kings of Elf and Men? If so, I would not recall. Thranduil steps forth, and after him, Legolas. He and Elessar place their hands on the other's shoulder, each garbed in finery. Then behind him, Elessar sees after a banner bearing the White Tree is placed out of the way, her. Arwen, his beloved, whole and strong again, radiant with beauty.
They kiss and others cheer. I smile. All is well. When they meet the ringbearer and the other halflings, the small ones bow, yet Elessar states, no, they bow to no one. Could I have agreed more?
We knelt to them, all present.

A small bump of good may yet topple a great evil. I can smile now at that.

                                                                            ***

Afterwards while others feasted with song and dance, I stand out at a balcony. I smile. How is it, after centuries, I am finally at peace? Yet the pain does not fade. It will never fade. I sigh. I can barely keep a tear from coming.

"Not joining the celebrations?" I turn at the sound.

Gandalf stands behind me. "Olorin." I say, and I smile.
"You must be the only one to call me by that name now." He moves towards me.
I sigh. "My memories are long. I remember you as tall and strong in figure, with a mane of gold and no beard. Your skin was smooth and taut. The pupil of Queen Nienna and the servant of the King and Queen of the Ainur." He sighs, "How long has it been?" he asks, resting his arms against the railings. "Too long." I say quietly. "I still feel the pain now, of all that has been lost, yet I accept that pain will not go elsewhere. I have done something right, at least, in Middle-Earth."
He was silent. '"What will you do now?" He asks. I say, " I will relinquish the title of High Queen, I only took it to unite my peoples for their lives." "And then? What will you do?" I was silent.
"Why not return home?" "I have no home." I laugh harshly. "Aman is gone from the likes of me forever, the Feanorian. The Lord Namo pronounced doom upon my blood. I can never return and even if I could- I cannot. It will not be the same-a mere reminder of what I have lost, despite my purpose being fulfilled. The Noldor will soon depart completely, without me."

"So you shall stay, to wonder and lament?" he asks."No elf holds your blood against you. Your purpose on Middle-Earth is done. This is the choice before you: Stay and fade or leave for Valinor.The Messenger said as such."

I was startled. "What messenger? Why was I not told of this?"
"Because he had just arrived," Gandalf smiled. "he brought news from Valinor."
I blink. Since when do news and messages arrive from the land of the Undying? Now all that go there can never leave. He looked at me, "A herald of the King Manwe and the rest of the Valar."
Now I am astonished. "Why would any message of theirs concern me?"

"Because you were innocent, yet you still chose to take on burdens, larger than yourself for the sake of all peoples." he replied."Because you have redeemed the actions of your kin, long gone."
Is that possible? I cannot believe.

Yet Gandalf looks at me and says, "They have ordered you to return. Your purpose on Middle-Earth is done."

                                                                                 ***

I stand in silence. I wait on the ship. It was lighter, narrower and more graceful than any made by men, painted white, and its mast shaped as a swan's head. Telerin. My mother's people. How could they have forgiven the Feanorions in Aman?

The ship needs little water to float, and less steering. The sail is down, silvery-white and we wait, anchored to the port of the Grey Havens. What will I find once I return? The Two Trees are gone, along with most of my loved ones. The Halflings arrive with Gandalf. Celeborn, Galadriel and Elrond stand before them and bow. "The Power of the Three Rings have ended. The time has come for the dominion of Men." Artanis speaks. Elrond says, "The sea calls us home." in the tongue of his fathers. All elves have in them a longing for the sea. I have longed for home, yet I feared what I would find- what I really wished for was the distant past.

Bilbo Baggins speaks, "I think I'm quite ready for another adventure." He moves forward and Elrond helps him on board. Artanis smiles at the halflings, and she and Celeborn board also. Gandalf then says his farewells. The halflings weep, but he states, not all tears are an evil. No? Well, he was the pupil of the Valie Nienna the Weeper, we learn from her, comfort and renewal in Hope. Was this her gift?

Gandalf turns and says, "Frodo, it is time." After saying painful farewells to them- did they know?- Frodo boards with Gandalf, he turns to them, smiling one last time, and how I wished I had said farewell to the ones I loved!

I am not the only one who watches this. Macalaure is here also, ready to leave at last.

The ship leaves. We sail between the two cliffs, towards the horizon. To Aman. To home.

                                                                         ***

Most of the journey I am silent. When we pass the cliffs, the light of the setting sun surrounds us. Frodo shields his eyes and covers Bilbo's. The blue of the waters meets the blue of the sky, then, all around us. We sail onwards, soon day changes to night. At first we think that the stars and sky were reflected below, then we realise that the waters and the skies of night were one. The water is the sky. We have entered Ekkaia, the ocean that encircled the world. Then we see a light, I fear that it is the star of Earendil, father to Elrond, for although I would greet Itarille's son, I could not see the star upon his brow- my grandfather's Silmaril. I turn and leave for the refuge of my cabin. There is a knock, when I sit upon my bed. "Uncle?"

"It is I." He opens the door and sits on my bed. He sighs. "You feel more pain, than even I. You were but a child. I was selfish to keep to myself and disappear, only lamenting. I believed if I were to remove myself, all those I loved would be better off, yet now I see that they suffer all the more for it."
He is silent. "Now we leave to Aman, I know not how others would react to seeing me." I felt shame that I should still fear the past, yet my uncle may still face the consequence of his shame. I remember that his wife and three children had left for Aman when they presumed him dead. They had asked me to come with them. I refused. I felt shame and knew the landing in Aman would be bittersweet. Besides my purpose had yet to be fulfilled, I sensed that. Yet now here we are. What now? Suddenly, a cry, "Tol Eressea!" Both he and I rush out. Artanis smiles and she is already there.
We see it.

"Tol Eressea." I whisper, as a child I had spent a summer there, with my parents. I see its port city, Avallone and it's beacon, shining towards us. We were in Valinor's waters. Artanis turns to me, her eyes shining bright. We return to our cabins to make ready. Now I wear a dress of my own creation, basic in original form, yet beautiful, it was white, cutting gracefully, narrowing at my waist, and my girdle was mithril with adamants, the same kind which fringed my gown, and minute diamonds dotted the surface. Why had I chosen this? And my circlet too, were delicate woven mithril and adamants. I knew not whether I should dress humbly, as a repentant Feanorian or as a triumphant queen. Yet that was ridiculous. What had I done? Eldar do not hold prejudices against the innocent. But do they forgive? Few of the Teleri had chosen to fight Morgoth after the Kinslaying. What of my uncle? What will any do? My hair is done in gentle waves, cascading to my waist in brightest pure copper, silver and gold. I brush it until it fanned slightly over my shoulders and wondered again if I should look repentant, not with tiny diamonds tied to many a tiny tress. I was being ridiculously fearful.

When I leave the cabin, the sun had begun to rise, and we saw the sight. Valinor. Land of my fathers.
There I see it, the mountains rising high, magnificent, crowned with snow. Taniquentil, home of the Valar rises higher than any. The waters have become bluer and sparkles and shine like gems, as do the sky above seem brighter. The green is richer than in Middle-Earth, brighter. The flowers like jewels from the earth. The sand is diamonds. We were home.

Taniquentil's peak shines high, like a beacon, signifying that this, truly was the Land of the Ainur.
When we reach shore the ship docks and the planks are pulled out for us. We disembark and as we do, I see a messenger, galloping towards us on a horse. He is Noldorin, and asks that we all leave for Tirion as soon as possible. Carriages are here for us. I stare at the vechiles invented by my gandfather, no horses needed. It has been too long.

When we reach the city. I manage not to gasp. Tirion. Just as I remembered. We mount the stairs and the city is deserted. I wonder if they wished to avoid me and my uncle.

Yet when we reach the palace and the doors swing open, I realise, it was otherwise. All of the Eldar, it seemed were here. And the Valar. I, in shock, manage to bow to them. Everyone claps, even the Valar and they cheer. I was stunned.

I then see another sight. An elf walks towards me, taller than any in the crowd. His hair is pure copper, blended with pure gold and his face is fair enough to be a Vala. His eyes were as mine, darkest blue, cut with a burning silver star which had been a harsh light in Carnistir, haughty in Tyelcormo's, mischievous in the twins, feverish in Curufinwe, yet gentle and kind in Macalaure. His light was gentle also, but strong, brave and true. Filled with love, and tenderness for me, mixed with pride. I knew who this was. But no, it cannot be....

My father. My king.

"Atar," I whisper.

He wraps me in his arms, embracing even as I weep. This I cannot believe. How can this be?

"My Little One," He whispers, drawing me close. "My Little Gem."
How can this be? The Lord Namo had sworn his Doom upon my father when he arrived in Middle-Earth. He had perished, my father, in a pit of molten rock. We could not even bury him.

He could not be brought back.

I whisper, "How can this be?"

My father leans back and whispers, "The Lord Namo may appear cold and merciless, but deep inside, he knows warmth, and he knows redemption and repentance. He is here, all your prayers heve been answered. Know then, that Eru and the Valar has always listened. You were never alone, not even as a child."

Tears appear in my eyes.
Another steps forward. I knew that radiance and beauty, that graceful walk, compared favourably to Luthien. I know the eyes, violet the richest and brightest kind, more deeply coloured. We were together, the family at last. The light of pure joy shines in her eyes..
My mother.

"Amil." I whisper. She holds her hands forward, and brushes my tears from my eyes. My mother, her eyes filled with love and tenderness. "Little One," She whispers, tears in her eyes. "We are here now and we will always be."

I see, through my tears, the light of smiling faces and bright joy. Macalaure is reunited with his wife and offspring. Tyelcormo laughs with his son and new daughter. Curufinwe smiles, with Telperinquar.
And I look at my father, now King of the Noldor in Valinor, as it should have been. All around, smiles are showing, joy and pride are mingled. Love and tenderness.

I would ask my father on Artanaro's fate.
That he did not know, he admitted, but he was hopeful that Artanaro may have been remade. He had yet to show himself. I smile, Hope is renewed. He mentions the man I also loved. Perhaps I might see him perhaps not, we were not sure. But at that moment I see the beautiful children of my memories, I may know the answer.





  



Top: arriving at the undying Lands at last. Second from Top Left: Aragorn/Elessar King of Gondor is reunited with Arwen. Secnd from Top Right: Gandalf in his true form as the Maia Olorin before he leaves for Middle-Earth. Above: Sailing for the Undying Lands Bottom: A View of the Undying Lands.

Nady's fanfic: Hope Renewed- Final Chapter 10- conquering fear

      
                                                                          Chapter 10
                                                                     Conquering Fear

We ride for Mordor, and the silence of the Men is grave. They know not of the plan. But they had triumphed, and now they trust Aragorn-Elessar, in the absence of their Steward, who fell.

The Steward's remaining son Faramir, brother of Boromir, who died saving two halflings, had recognized Aragorn, when he awoke, and called him his king. I knew than that he would not hold greedily to power as his father did and do instead what is right. He remained in the City, to oversee its recovery.

Thranduil and his son rides with us. Gimli rides with Legolas, and I know that if an elf and a dwarf could form friendship, than what is impossible? Aragorn rides dressed, for once, in the garb of a prince soon to be king, a cape swings from his shoulders, his armour is covered with black leather, bearing the White Tree of Gondor. The Time of the King has returned.

The Black Gates of Mordor loom forth. I fear them not. The Elves join us. My people. The Army of Gondor, and even of Rohan who saw the host at Helm's Deep are amazed. Few have ever thought to see elves whom they speak as creatures of legend, yet so many have come. Elrond is there with his wife's parents and his sons, Elladan and Elrohir. They had not succumbed to the sickness of Mordor. My uncle is there also. I ride out to meet them.

"Your timing is perfect." I state to the leaders, "I now hope that all goes well and according to plan. But that is for Eru All-Father to decide."

Galadriel-Artanis smiles. Celeborn bows his head. Elrond gazes for once with hope. As I turn, my captain says, "An emissary from Mordor is at the Black Gates, My Queen, Aragorn-Elessar asks that you may come with them." I nod.

"Go, " Artanis says, " We shall be here, waiting for your signal to move forth."
I ride off. Aragorn, Eomer, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli are already there, with two halflings, friends of those who marched into Mordor. When I meet them, we halt in front of the Gates and Aragorn shouts, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!" He masked the real reason for our gathering here. The Gates open slightly and a lone figure rides out, slowly, as if on a lame horse. He draws closer, his horse weighed down in armour, clothed in black armour and his head covered entirely by a helm of black iron, covered with a hood. I wondered how he could see us, when his eyes were covered. If only his mouth were. His helmet opened to admit only that, and it was foul. Larger than it should be and its teeth were long, sharp and diseased, yellow, and black covered with filth and with blood running down from its gums.

"My master, Sauron the Great bids thee welcome."His voice is a deep rasp. His tongue the colour of an open wound, otherwise his mouth was black with filth. I manage not to cringe in disgust at its filth. He cocks his head to one side, like an animal. We were silent. What words must we waste on one who is to be destroyed?  "Is there any that surround with authority to come to treat with me?"
"We do not come to treat with Sauron," Gandalf retorted, "faithless and accursed." The emissary turns to him and bares his foul teeth. "Tell your master this; the armies of Mordor must disband, he is to depart these lands, never to return." The figure guffaws, his massive tongue lolling out, now a ghastly pink. Disgusting. "Old Grey beard." He crooned as if to a child. Then he gasps with mock surprise, his foul mouth gaping and says, "I have a token I was bidden to show thee..." From the folds of his clothes he flings something ouut, and holds it. It is a shirt of sparkling mithril mail, for armour beneath clothing, although small. My companions are shocked into stillness. One of the halflings, in the plate of Gondor, breathes, "Frodo," and the emissary guffaws and tosses the shirt  to Gandalf who catches it. "Frodo!" The halfling exclaims. The emissary gasps, laughing. "Silence." Gandalf tells the halfling. "No!" Cries another halfling, from behind Eomer, dressed in Rohan's garb.

Gandalf repeats the command desperately. The emissary says, "The halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would have thought that one so small could endure so much..Pain? And he did, Gandalf, he did." Tears were at Gandalf's eyes. The emissary guffaws. Aragorn rides forward. The emissary turns. "And who is this? Isildur's heir? It takes more to make a king than a broken elvish blade." Aragorn draws the sword and with a cry, the emissary's head is sliced cleanly, perhaps the only cleanliness about him. "I guess that concludes negotiations." Gimli mutters. "I do not believe it." Aragorn looks at us each. "I will not."

"No," I agree, "for indeed treachery and deceit are Sauron's ways now. We must go forth. Remember hope has been renewed, Eru will not let it fall. A small bump of good may yet topple a great evil." I look up towards the gates. We ride back. The Gates are slowly opening. I ride to the elven host, nodding. They move forward, the leaders at the front, Artanis is in armour, for once. I turn to the elves, seeming to look at them each. "Children of Illuvatar!" I cry. "Now we go forth, now we fight for the lives of all on Middle-Earth!" I speak in Sindarin. " I call you children of Illuvatar, for you are as such!  As are we all. Forget your differences, for in this day, it matters not. We fight for the world, we shall die alongside one another, no matter how different, we shall fight and defend each other, now we unite. All things are possible. Remember, I despaired as well, seeing the hosts of Mordor and suffering the past. I have felt dread and terror alongside pain. Why did I fight? For Arda, and for I have never left hope." Now I gaze firmly upon them. "Now remember Sauron's defeats at Minas Tirith and the battles that we won. It is possible. Eru has decreed it. I shall go alone to fight alongside Mortals more vulnerable than we, more like to die, if I must, for you. Yet, you trusted me to unite, and Elessar of Gondor, amongst others trusted me with this plan. He believed the same. If mortals, who shall never be remade, are willing to die for the Earth, and we are not, why does Eru gift us with power, strength, immortality? You who survived are meant to fight this day. Brood not on the past, fight for the future. This world is meant to linger, as are you! If you believe it not, why have we survived?" I turn to the Gates and draw my sword, elves and mortals readied their weapons.

"I fight not for a Ring. I fight for Middle-Earth. Objects, no matter what beauty and power, will never equal to me the lives and futures of others." As I spoke I thought of Thorin Oakenshield. "Beware the Arkenstone." I whispered to him. "For have not your grandfather acted strangely after acquiring it? Has not Smaug come soon after its discovery? Beware the dragon sickness." "It is the heirloom of my throne," he whispered. I shook my head. "The treasures of the past are not worth the lives of the future." He failed to remember and died in regret of tresuring gold and glory. "I will not live to regret." I say, and when Mordor's orcs and trolls march forth, we advance.


                                                                              ***

We fight. Archers rained arrows upon arrows on the foul creatures of Mordor. I saw Legolas, slay an troll with amazing skill and speed. Aragorn falls, but he rises. Galadriel, who destroyed Dol Guldur, with Nenya is incredible. I fight swiftly, slicing through hard flesh and strong bone, with the movements trained by my father, called the deadliest warrior that ever lived. His sword was an arc of death to the creatures of darkness and he was as lighning to doom them. After his torment in Angband he had grown swifter, stronger, more dangerous. As have I.

I cut them all down. A troll hovers near, it shall fall. It did. Screeches fill the air, the knights and riders scream and clutch their ears. I pause. This was the sound of fear. The Ringwraiths used it to immobilise. I gaze upwards. There up on great winged beasts, hooded shapes of what was once Men. The Witch-King is slain, by the hand of Eomer's sister. Eight remain, Khamul is their lead. No man could kill them, someone told me. No man. I was an elf and female.

What have I to fear? The past is gone, I can never undo it. I have naught to lose. Only the lives of those present here and Arda. I fear not death. Nor torment. I have faced pain and fear and found hope. My plans had worked. My great desire overcame my fear of anything.

I run forward.There is a cliff, I run past forces on either side, who stop in bemusement, turning to me. I grab hold of the rocks, I climb gracefully up, and when a ringwraith flies close, I grab the saddle-belt and swing myself up.

The ringwraith is surprised to see me. I lunge forward, grabbing his cloak, stabbing his face with a knife I had drawn, removing my hand before it immobilises me. I grab the reins and push the withering armour out of the way. I drive the winged beast to the nearest winged creature, forcing it to be slain by its own kind and jumping onto the other, drawing my sword. The ringwraith screeches. I was not afraid. Why should I fear? I deflect his blow, twisting my sword around his and flinging it from his grasp. It falls below, and I lunge for his face, quickly drawing my sword free. He is destroyed. I take the reins and force the beast unto the cliffside. It breaks its skull upon the rocks. I slide off his tail and jump, landing gracefully below, whereupon I cut down several of Sauron's minions- and crushed another.Then suddenly, the ringwraiths leave, and the gaze of Sauron's eye in his tower turns towards Mount Doom. What has happened?

Now he knows and we have little time. I pray to the Valar. I pray to Eru.

Screeches come, but they are not ringwraiths, I gaze upwards and briefly saw a moonmoth flutter away. Then a gigantic eagle lunges, tearing its talons at a winged beast, slaying its wraith. More eagles came. The Eagles of Manwe King of the Ainur. Never had I seen so many. They were slaying the wraiths. I turn and shout to the Elves. "See! The Ainur and the All-Father is with us! They will not let us fail!" They cheer loudly and I gesture to advance.

In the midst of the fighting Sauron's eye freezes, as if immobilised. It bursts further into flame, not the kind of which it is made, but destroys it, then the mountain rumbles and the Tower of Sauron's eye falls, colloasping on itself. I gesture for us to retreat. "Go back past the Gates!" They hurriedly do so, and I see the Men do the same, for then when Sauron's tower collaspes, a wave of shock rushes through the land. The land then sinks and while the creatures if Darkness try to flee, they fail and fall with it. I knew then what had happened. It was over. The Ring was destroyed.

  


 Above left to right: The Eye of Sauron,  Ringwraiths destroyed by Mount Doom, and the One Ring. Above Left: Elven Archers ready. Above Right: Elrond shouts a command. Bottom: Thorondor, King of the Eagles of Manwe- and the largest.

Nadya's fanfic: Hope renewed- Final Chapter 9- War

               
                                                                            Chapter 9
                                                                       Hope Renewed

It is done. Now High Queen of the Elves on Middle-Earth, now we go to war.
I turn to Elrond, "Before we march, you must go to Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Tell him to do as I did. Take up the mantle of his forefathers, if he wishes Sauron defeated, and bring him the sword." I nod to Narsil, in a sheath, by Elrond's side. " Give it to him, by the name of Anduril, Flame of the West, and tell him of any dangers he may face." Elrond nods gravely, he knows that Sauron, whilst sending orcs from Mordor and Haradrim from the South, also sends mercenaries, by ship. "The mercenaries will pass by the Mountain that lies in the end of the Dimholt road. You know what lies there. Isildur cursed them. Now they will answer to his heir." he nods again. "Then you must join us, at the Gates of Mordor. We shall draw him out." "So easily?" He shakes his head. I look at him, "If I know Aragorn-Elessar then he will do as I will. Sauron will not risk the peoples of the land uniting under one banner. He fears the heir of Elendil, just as he fears me and my kin." I smile grimly.
"In this fear he may forget. If he sees me riding out, with Aragorn-Elessar and our peoples with us, to Mordor, in his fear, he will forget that the Ring draws close to its destruction."

"He will fall." Elrond says wonderingly, for once, hope creeping back to him.
I nod. "Now you must go. Pray to the All-Father that the dead army and Aragorn will reach Gondor in time."

                                                                              ***

Garbed in armour, arms by our side, we left for war. for the second time the Avari and the Eldar march as one.
No ocean parts us. Now we will fight and die together, as Eru intended.

Dimly I remember one last thing. My previous plunge into further sorrow, after Sauron had forged the One Ring, before he wielded it. Elrond's twin was Elros. As half-elven they were given a gift- to choose between joining the ranks of the Eldar, or choosing a mortal fate. Arwen's uncle had chosen the choice she made. As a gift, he and his followers were given a life, longer than those of ordinary men. An island, its shape a star, was brought forth from the ocean, by the Valar, to be their dwelling. They named it Numenor, and for centuries, even after Elros' death, it had been a centre of culture, learning, beauty, knowledge and skill, amongst men. I remember the time I spent there, after Elros was made king. We planted seeds, of plants found nowhere but in our lands. We taught these men many things. Their only bar was that that they never sail westward to Aman. Yet centuries later, when his descendants, turned against Eru and the Ainur, as well as elves, the beauty of Numenor was destroyed. Only Elendil and his sons, Isildur and Arnarion had escaped, with those that followed them. Sauron allowed himself to be captured by them and whispered words of charm and power, influencing the king and convincing him to take a fleet, to conquer the lands of the Undying, for immortality, which they craved. They had done so, but then Eru rose in great power and sunk, not only the fleet, but Numenor. The cataclysm was so violent, the world had been changed. I remembered the panic of the children when the earth shook more violently than before felt. They believed the world would end. Yet it was simply changed, no longer flat, but globed. Numenor was gone, along with the work we had put into it, and the legacy of Elros. I remember that in grief. Also, Aman and its islands were taken out from this world. Now the only way to travel there, was through the Port of the Grey Havens, and taking a swan-masted Telerin ship by the Straight Road. So far away it was. Yet I can do nothing for it now. The only thing to do was fight, to ensure the remaining legacy of Elros- Gondor- survives. Numenor,  is gone, now Atalante, the Downfallen.

I cannot mourn now.

We march. We go on horses, but when we reach Mordor, we shall fight on foot, for elves do not condemn our animals to suffer pain in war. I ride at their head, Thranduil is at my side, riding beside me. Celeborn and Galadriel, and the leaders of the Avari are also here. But there is another, one that I had not thought to see.

Macalaure, my uncle.

The brother that was closest in heart, to my father, famed for his mighty voice, is here now. I believed he had perished- or faded. After the Silmarils had been taken, he and my father prepared to fight and to die, if need be. My mother had faded months before, after an attack on our lands, whilst she was with Artanis' brothers, believing that my father and I had died in the attack. I remember my father's rage and grief, more so than even Feanaro's had been. She had been there, always, as I was, to be the hand that healed all wounds overseeing the supplies for the Noldor, making them if need be, and a voice- despite my father's protests, to others, for alliances.She had been a true queen, yet she had been more than that. She strengthened, my father, soothed his hurts and healed him, of grief and despair, as well as the wounds he acquired. She was there even as I was. my father had gone mad for a time, and fiercely protective of me. I had been placed under strong guard, day and night. I knew not the deeds he committed in the madness of grief- although they were less worse than his father's- but it was enough for the Silmaril, that had been hallowed by the Queen Varda, so that neither mortal flesh, nor those unclean may touch them, had burned his hand, and he had thrown himself in a pit of molten rock, along with it. Macalaure, his brother, in all things, had flung his into the sea, and for many a century, he had lamented, wandering through the forests, grieving his losses.

He is here now. In the encampment, Elrond arrives, he is stunned and overjoyed to see Macalaure, as he and my father had been as fathers to him. Macalaure smiles and embraces him. Yet, I see the same sorrow in his eyes that he had when he embraced me. Artanis had sent for him. I had wept tears of joy to be reunited with him, he had also, his first joy in centuries.

He looks at me. I see sorrow, mingled with shame, for his deeds, yet also pride and love for me amd regret that my father and mother were not present. His eyes were Feanorian, like mine, darkest blue, nearly black with silver light burning bright, through its darkness. Yet it was a gentler, kinder light than his father's. The lights in the eyes of Feanaro's descendants had seemed different. His presence gave me strength. before I met with the elven leaders, we had discussed my name.

I told him, it had seemed a cruel jest that my father named me Eruvande, the Oath of Eru, when he would swear by Eru's name and much sorrow would it cause. Did I cause him any sorrow? My uncle shook his head. "No." he said. And it was joy to hear his famed voice, strong yet rich and sweet to my ears like wine, deep and clear, but not too deep and loud, strong, yet smooth in equal balancing amounts. It made me think of majestic woods, magnificent peaks, spectacular skies and valleys, and unequalled  seas. Aman.

"You gave naught but joy to your father. This you know. After many childless years, both he and your mother longed for one. He had gone to Taniquentil and at the foot of the mountain prayed to Eru that should they have a child he would pay homage to Eru in a way that Eru would find pleasing, for all years to come.  I knew not what it was- he told not even me, but you were conceived when he arrived back in Tirion and your father did such homage, even until his death." He paused. "You must have given him great joy and a cause to live, even after your mother died."

Macalaure's wife and children, presuming him dead, had returned to Aman in grief. It was better for them, he said, than to suffer the shame and pain that he felt, after the war with Morgoth. He had caused them much grief.

I pause. "And Estela? Why did my mother name me that?"

"Because you were proof that hope would would repay more than a thousandfold, she said to me. Because she foretold that you would be the strength when others have none and you would be their beacon, you would renew hope when times grew dark. So you have."

I was silent. Then a messenger heralded that all in the meeting tent were ready. I left.

                                                                              ***

Elrond confirmed that Gondor had been saved by the forces of Rohan, their own knights and, most of all, the dead that came once more, with Aragorn, Legolas Thranduil's son and Gimli, the dwarf. He mentioned it had been my idea, and I had reminded him that. "Estela- Hope." he said "You could have no other name. I was right to give Aragorn the name "Estel" after you when he came to Imladris." "But now he must be Elessar, King of Gondor, should Mordor be defeated." I say. Some of us, Thranduil and myself, for once, must go to Gondor." Thranduil nods at this. "Others must join us when we set forth for Mordor. One round of this war has been won. Eru has turned the tables against Sauron, but we must set forth before this window of oppurtunity given to us, closes."

So we did. Elf-horses know little distance, when they gallop. Soon we were at Minas Tirith. The gates of Gondor open to receive us, and people stare as Thranduil and I, along with the guards, ride to the top level.

In the palace, we were received by Legolas, Thranduil's son, whom the latter had embraced with great joy and relief. Then Gandalf came to greet us.

Robed in white, with a staff of the same colour by his side, he smiled to see us, "Hail Thranduil, King of what was Greenwood and what will be again. Hail, with the greatest of joy, to the High Queen of the Elves upon Middle-Earth." Legolas starts in alarm, and stares at us both with wide eyes, and his father confirms it was so, he then drops to one knee. "My Queen," he whispers. I shake my head. No, I would not have him kneel to me. I planned to relinquish the title when Mordor was defeated. Aragorn-Elessar, comes forth and bows, with Eomer, nephew to Theoden, now king of Rohan. I ask that we must convene in secret.

In the throne room, Aragorn mentions that he knew the idea had been mine, to summon the dead Army. Gimli, his dwarf companion stares at me with wide eyes, and I sigh and say, "I protested against such a curse, but now I see that Isildur has done one thing right at last. I am only amazed none remember it." Gimli shakes his head and mumbles that no one would wish to remember such instructions. I laugh. The sound creates smiles, from everyone. Even Aragorn and Eomer, the latter who had just lost his foster-father, and the former, who fears for his Arwen. At least she would be in good hands, even for a while.

I come up with a proposal. "I mentioned to Elrond that, if I knew you, you would do as I would; march to Mordor, before Sauron has a chance to recover his defeat and gather wits about him. I know the losses have been many, but we have little time, if we are to prevent more grievous wounds."

Gandalf and Aragorn nods. "That is exactly what they said!" Gimli exclaims. "They stated that we would draw out the armies of Mordor and give Frodo and Sam a chance to reach the mountain, but they have not mentioned how we would manage to divert Sauron's attention, when he is not easily fooled."

"Really?" I ask. "Saruman once told me that he held one of my grandfather's creations. He offered to return it to me, but I then refused. Gandalf, do you have it now?"

"Indeed, I do." He nods and draws from his robes, an object wrapped in cloth. It is round, and I take it from him. "Aragorn-Elessar, shall we cover the windows and extinguish the lights? We might as well get the others to leave this room, we do not wish Sauron turning his wrath to them." he nods, when the hall is dark and the others have left, I place the ball at the foot of the stairs to the throne. I look at him, and then remove the cloth, Aragorn picks it up, and we both cradle it in our hands. "Do you have the sword?" I whisper. He nods and is ready. Then, before long, something arises, a red-orange eye, made of flame, with a black slit for a pupil. Sauron's eye. "Do you know me?" Aragorn hisses. "Do you know me?" I hiss. "Do you recognize my eyes, from the time whence you were a mere slave of Morgoth? You feared them, as I recall, we are not all gone." I gaze straight into his, and I feel Sauron's fear born of ages past. Yes, he remembered those eyes. We could sense each other's thoughts. Aragorn steps forth, "Do you remember this?" he hissed and he holds up Anduril with the hand that bore the ring of Barahir, the heirloom of his line. I step back and the minute I do, Sauron regains some of his wits. Aragorn sees something inside the palantir and he gasps. Then he drops it. I throw the cloth to cover it. "What is it?" I ask. "What did he show you?"

"Arwen, " he gasps, "he showed me Arwen."

I was silent."He tried to make you fear him the way that he feared us. Mistake it not for truth. Hope has been renewed, you and I are such proof."

  

    

          







Top:Elros, Elrond's twin who chose mortality. Second from Top, Left: Sauron in the First Age, Second from Top, Right: Maglor/Macalaure the Mighty Singer Estela's uncle. Above: Maglor plays with twins Elrond and Elros, while Estela's father watches from behind. Bottom: Aragorn confronts Sauron in the Palantir, after Estela steps back.
                                              

Nadya's fanfic: Hope Renewed- Final Chapter 8- A choice

                                                                         Chapter 8
                                                                  A Choice to make

She runs towards me, and I am startled. Arwen. She leaps into my arms, and throws hers around me. She wears a travelling cape of the darkest blue velvet, its hood askew, thrown, from her hair, a brooch pins it at her breast, but it is half loose. "Arwen, what is the meaning of this? I believed you had left for Valinor!" She pulls herself free gazing straight at me. "I could not." "But why?" I ask aghast. She begins her tale. Riding with many elves, holding lanterns, flickering, of my grandfather's invention, she did not hear the elves all around, singing laments for the lands they would leave, the loved ones they had parted with, the hopes of what they would find in Valinor and asking the Queen Varda, to protect and guide them. She saw not the journey her horse was making. But she did see a vision. Something ran past them, something akin to a small child, or a small fawn. But it was a child, a young boy, wearing a tunic of billowing white, edged with silver thread and laces, and black leggings. He had ran, and she saw, a room, opening to a balcony, with pillars, all made of white marble, in the style of Gondor. A tall man was there, dressed in fine raiment, a tunic of dark velvet, bordered with silver and gold, and black leggings. His hair was silver-grey, as was his beard, but she saw it was Aragorn, her beloved. The boy ran to him, and Aragorn turned, holding out his arms, and hoisting the child high, both laughing with delight. Then the boy was set down, and more children, beautiful girls, ran into the room, younger than the boy. Aragorn had laughed and embracing them, held them high and fast to him. The boy wore a stone, she had given Aragorn. She knew then, who they were... Her son and daughters.

I was silent. "Is this true, that you have foreseen it?" "Both I and my father, I am certain that we both saw it." I was silent again.

I thought of the things I had seen in Galadriel's Mirror, and the waking dreams and visions in my sleep. I thought of Bard the Bowman and Artanaro, the ones I had loved and lost. I thought of the beautiful children I saw in my memories. Feanaro's madness and rage, my loved ones whom I had lost, and the helplesness, due to my youth, to save them and my parents. I thought of how they all died. Save me. I lived, but what for? To see eternity in regret and lingering pain? Was it worth it, much better than death? for many times I had wished for release...

I looked at Arwen. In her face I saw resemblance to my mother her kin also. Before their parting, most of my uncles had forced their spouses ad children to remain. Carnistir had been particularly harsh with his wife and four children. Yet my mother insisted, and although both she and my father had wished otherwise for me, never did she regret coming herself. I recognized the likeness of Luthien, her foremother and my kin. She too had loved a mortal. Beren. And I had been cynical of that. All she had done was save him. He was given the task for her hand, she did most of it for him, and when he died for her, she faded, from grief. I thought him unworthy, of the price she had to pay, yet, what if she did not pay, would it have been worth that?

If I had given up, why do I still fight?

I turn to Arwen. "I know the pain of deep regret, I would wish it no enemy, save the one in Mordor, and Morgoth, now gone. You, I would never wish it upon- an eternity of regret is worth less than a mortal lifetime  spent in satisfaction. Do not regret, my child, not ever. Go to your father, confront him, and remind him of this..." I drew, from my robes, a book. I turned the pages and gave it to her. She read..

"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wonder are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be King."

I nod. "Tell him, reforge the sword. Only then, can the fire of Kings be woken. Sauron will fear the broken blade that caused his defeat. A whole blade, would extinguish him. For good."

I turn away, I know what to do.

                                                                           ***

Someone arrives, before we both can depart, I hurry to Arwen's rooms. Inside, she rests on the bed, paler than death. A lurch of fear strikes my heart. I run to her, dropping to my knees and taking the hand she holds to me. Barely with strength. "Arwen!" I know the cause.

Sauron. Ever does that name seem foul within my mind. My father had mangaged to trick him once, somehow, before he tricked any. His power now grows sapping Arwen of strength. The younger ones had already felt this. Arwen was but a millenia in years. Those who were born during the Time of Trees, or the First Age of the Sun, were more resistant.

Elrond arrives. Arwen says, "It is time." Her voice is weak. "You must go to Mirkwood."
I bow my head. I sense Elrond's reluctance, and my own, to leave her. But go we must, and so we ride.

                                                                         ***

Mirkwood looms ahead of us. Greenwood, it was once called, before the Giant Spiders, children of Ungoliant, arrived,and the orcs who settled at the edge of the wood. Darkness grows, the trees reach their tendrils and shadowy branches at us, as if pleading. The ground grows soft with murk. We shall have to go on foot.

The palace of Thranduil is ahead. The guards who welcomed us form an honour guard. Elrond insists on my coming first. "The Forces of Rohan are preparing to join for Gondor's aid, " he murmured.
He sensed their movements.

The doors swung open, inside a hall, Thranduil sits on his throne, but he stands, as do others, who sat in chairs, many of the Noldor are already here, as well as the Sindar and the Silvan, and some of my mother's people, Teleri, who arrived after Morgoth's downfall. The doors close. Thranduil steps down to greet me.

He says, "come", and leads us all to a greater hall, round, built of branches and live trees painted gold, and shaping rich patterns. In the middle is a fire, but, there are lamps here... And many more elves. They stopped their conversations and turned to bow.
Thranduil whispers, "Now you must speak. They have waited long to hear you. Not only the remaining Eldar upon Middle-Earth, but also Avari. Those who have never seen Aman. The Cuind, Kindi, Kinn-Lai, Penni, Hwenti and Windan. All elves."



Like before. Artanaro once stood here. I remembered. I was just behind him, giving him strength, as he spoke. Yet now it is me. And I am alone.
No never alone.

I step forward. "Those of you who hold great numbers in years present, may yet remember me.
Years before, in the First Age of the Sun, I stood behind him, Artanaro, whom others called Gil-Galad whilst he spoke to you all and convinced you to unite. Unite we did, we marched towards Mordor, to the slopes of Mount Doom, wherupon, all losses were in vain. Isildur, whom I called a Colossal Fool, fell to the power of the Ring. That foul dark thing, whose beauty masked only evil, for when Sauron first forged it, when the metal was soft and likely to stick, he cut open the part of the finger, which held it and placed part of his dark spirit within."

Murmurs of shock and fear resonate. Yet I keep going.


"Artanaro- Gil-galad- convinced you to unite and fight for your futures, for lives lost to enslavement, torment, and butchery were no lives at all, to unite was to stand strong, he said. Yet Isildur kept the Ring and evil survives. It seems indefeatable. Many times I question, was it worth such pain, such loss?" Murmurs resonate once more, agreeing with me. "I was bitter, I felt as if hope was worthless. Many of you know the history of my kin. I was but a small child, only twenty, when my forefather Finwe was butchered by Morgoth and Feanaro, my grandfather went truly mad, and committed fell deeds. His sons followed him. I was torn from the cradle of my childhood, and thrust into a world of darkness, to watch my loved ones fight an evil which seemed indefeatable, while still small and helpless, I watched as their names were darkened, and their lives were lost to torment- and later death, and few would help."

Pain, so much of it, was painted in my face, and one voice protested, "We do not question the honour of your father, my Queen, and we have know the pain you felt as a child- such evil cruelty- has never left you. yet you still fight for all on Middle-Earth."

"So I do. Yet now I feel another pain, one that may yet wound me unless, you, would wish otherwise." Shock. " I felt pain and grieved for the past, my fellow elves! Yet I should weep for another pain- the future. I lamented, questioned, yet now I know the answer! Think, the Avari, most of all, of how little children are now born to you, and of how the creatures of darkness still comes to devour you! How many children have you to lose now?"I challenged. "Do you not love them? Would you fight for their lives as well as their futures? Mistake me not, for I fight, not for vengeance against evil, that can never undo the past, as I learned. I have none left, but all the elves of Middle-Earth, whom I fought for on the slopes of Mount Doom, do you question the fact that I would die for you?" Denial. "Do you believe I would ask you to do something I would not?" More denial. "Then why must you hesitate? Hope never dies, it has been renewed.

" The heir of Elendil now rides forth, to defend Gondor, with Rohan. Should they triumph, they will march for Mordor. I intend, whether you come or not, to join them. I fight for all of you. Two others now journey to Mount Doom, they have the One Ring, and they intend to destroy it. They march with no army, no guard. Yet they still go, and so will I, for all of you, alone, if I must. But know this, a mortal life in spent in satisfaction to make a difference is worth more than an eternity in regretful pain, I learned. Yet you have not an eternity until the forces of Mordor devour you..."

Silence. I turn to my captain, " I shall leave now, you do not have to come with me." Shock. " I go for Gondor, to offer my services against Mordor. Stay with them, all of you." I walk away.
"Stop!" I turn. Shame and pain is written on their faces, but resolute. Thranduil says, "If they agree, we shall march with you, as a whole race." Murmurs of consentment. "If they also agree, you shall be our High Queen upon Middle-Earth." Now I am startled. Yet I acknowledge not that. he turns to them, "Do you all agree, for the vote must be unanimous." They shout, "Yes!" He turns to another, "Bring the crown." He arrives, in his hands, a diadem of Mithril, studded with adamants and other stones. Thranduil takes it. I kneel. He places it on my head, I then rise. Not formal, yet official still. "Rise now, as High Queen of the Elves on Middle-Earth."

I rise. We march to war.



  

         

     Top: Thranduil, Father of Legolas and King of Mirkwood prepares for Battle. Middle Left: Elendil, Father of Isildur, first King of Gondor and forefather of Aragorn in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Middle Right: Elrond and Artanaro/Gil-galad leading elevs in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Bottom Left: Bard the First-made King of Dale. Bottom Right: Eldarion, son of Aragorn-Elessar and Arwen.

Nadya's fanfic: Hope Renewed- Final Chapter 7 Fear None

                                                                     Chapter 7
                                                                  Fear No More

I curse. The Mirror of Galadriel was a hateful thing to me. I knew not what could be worse, the Palantiri or that. How could she? I rub my head. I had never thought it possible for elves to feel pain within their skulls, but now I do. Curse that hateful thing.

Galadriel looks at me. I glare. "Satisfied now cousin?" I snap. "For now I intend to retire. I wish to conver with King Thranduil in the morning, and he need not know that the queen he will speak to is half-crazed with visions of a mad and dangerous past!" I flared. I stalk away.

If any orc should see me now, they will flee for the look on my face must indeed be frightful, I think.
Yet the visions had indeed haunted and hurt me further, and what was the point in that?

Yet I plead silently, Eru All-Father, help me, for I know not what to do. yet would He answer? My blood had been a great offense to Him, and now I dare plead for His help? Why should he answer, let alone help? Am I even worthy to think about Him? No, I believed not.

What had I done, though, to suffer so? Why did I lose my forefather, my grandfather my grandmother who dwells still upon Valinor, my uncles, my father and my mother, most of my kin and the Loved Ones I met during my time upon Middle-Earth? What had I done? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

By the time I stumble into bed, as elves hardly do, my vision is blurred with tears, but I force the sobs from choking my throat. The pain of past memories finally cloud me until I wish deeply I were within Mandos. Please, no more, I wish to scream.

Yet more comes, after my weeping brings the repose of sleep. More memories. I see Artanaro. He smiling as he slips the ring upon my finger. The adamant flashes brighter, than even Nenya's flickering stone. The people cheer. He kisses me, and children jump before my vision, throwing flowers, even as the threat of Mordor loomed near, for now it is forgotten.

More memories now. I see children waving at me, hands high in the air. One had the eyes of Artanaro. They wish to know when we will return.....

Now I see us, him and I, riding, dressed in armour. I was one of the few females that took upon her the tasks of a warrior, Artanaro's second-in-command. We had gone all over Middle-Earth, healing chasms, forging alliance, faster than bridges, earning loyalty, and love. We had fought and defended others, I healed many wounds then, in the souls and bodies of men. Then came the Battle of the Last Alliance. When Elves and Men marched against the armies of Mordor. The orcs had hissed and snarled, foully. We shot arrows, in the distance I could hear Elrond shouting a command on Artanaro's and my behalf. The Elves raised their shields in a straight unbroken line. Others shot arrows at another signal, whilst others  readied their sword, freezing themselves in the position, that held without wavering, storms of orcs and trolls had come, yet we cut them down. The Men of Gondor were advancing, just as Artanaro had advised them to. They were jubilant, so close now, were we to victory and freedom. Then... a dark figure emerges, taller than even the elves and men of Gondor. Cloaked in black iron armour, bristling with the plate of spikes, a great mace is in his hand, of the same metal, and a gigantic helm covers its head. Sauron. Once Mairon the Admired.

On his finger, a ring of gold, brighter and more perfect in shape, no stone, only markings, red as the blood of the earth in Mount Doom, and in the form of the Tengwar my grandfather invented, but in  a toungue, foul to the ears of men,  elves and dwarves alike. He swings his mace and crowds of men and elves are flung far back. Artanaro shouts something to me, he wishes me to take the majority of our host, back.  But he goes forward, to distract, or stop Sauron. I scream his name, and no,
he heeds not my words, and wields his spear Aeglos and throws it at Sauron. But Sauron deflects it, and Artanaro draws his sword, Sauron swings his mace at him, and the sword breaks, Artanaro falls to the ground and Sauron picks him. Before he throws, Artanaro's eyes held mine, remembering the joy we both felt and love. He whispers farewell and of his love for me in my mind, for me alone, before Sauron throws him on the rocks of the mountain...

The scene changes. Now I sit at a campfire, alone save for a man. Bard, called the Bowman, whom Aragorn son of Arathorn, would remind me so much of..... He gazes at the fire, without expression, and asks quietly, "Did you love him?"

I start. "Why do you ask me this?" I blink. "What is any love of such within me to you?" He is silent.
"Did I love Artanaro, or not? What do you believe and why? Why will you not tell me?"

He finally turns to me, more pain and grief within his eyes. Grief, not of what he once lost, but what he has yet to lose. "Because, although I can understand as of why he feels love towards you, I feel naught but pain and envy that he has held your heart within his hand, even if it was just once, and long ago." Silence. "I had hoped, despite our differences..." he falters. "But no matter, it can never, nor will it ever be, even as I would long for death against the evil of Smaug, rather than this I feel."

I was startled."Do you love me?" When he refuses to answer, and closes his eyes, to hide the agony from mine, I grab his hand. "You love me, do you not? Speak the truth!" I was agitated.
He turns his face towards mine, and opens his eyes and I see the pain there, so clear, and the love.
I thought at once of Finwe. How he had loved, first my foremother, whose skill I now inherit, then Indis, The Fair. I think also of my kin Faelivrin, who had fallen first with an elf, then with the man Turin, and then of couples such as Beren and Luthien and Itarille with Tuor....

I remember the smiles and laughter, we shared, how he looked into my eyes... the children that played before us, running and laughing, one a girl whom I taught to sew.... What had happened to them?

Then I had left, when the remaining Noldor had called me to be a queen amongst them. To rule. I left Dale, now free of Smaug and in my journey, having faded to less of his former self, he had died....His last words were my name and how he would have wished to see me one final time....

                                                                     ***

The next morning, my meeting with Thranduil and Celeborn and my cousin went to place. After agreeing with what I had to say, much- I admit- to my surprise, Thranduil stated that he would like to to go to Mirkwood, his realm, to speak with the ones present, the ones, he said to me, I had to speak to, to convince them to unite. I can sigh at the mere thought of that. Artanaro and I had both done such tasks, to heal rifts, to build bridges and form alliances never tried, in order for all to march upon Mount Doom, in the Battle of the Last Alliance, in the Second Age. Now, we are nearing the Dawn of the Fourth Age of the Sun, and I am expected to do that task once more, to unite others, to fight with Mordor. But this time, I am alone.

I am still shaken from my encounter with Galadriel's Mirror, and the visions it had produced, then and after. I had not thought that such power could overwhelm me enough to make me lose all sense of time and place. Such was the Power of the Mirror.

I ride out, with my warriors, to Mirkwood, but first, to Imladris, or Rivendell, as Men call it. I had felt a burning need to speak with one that I loved. My foster-brother and cousin, Elrond, had wished it as well. Imladris soon emerges, in all its beauty and grace, but it is deserted. Few remain, when elves march to war, or leave for the shores of the Undying Lands, few remain. He is there to greet me. I see him now. He holds his hands out in welcome, and speaks, not in Sindarin, but in Quenya, my cradle-tongue.

"Welcome, my cousin and the sister of my heart." He states somberly, as he stretches his hands out and bows. I smile. Him I had known, since he was but a boy, with his twin Elros. They had been rased by my father, and by Macalaure, my uncle.

"Elrond." I say warmly. "But these were not the circumstances I had wished to meet you.
"Alas, if it were." He sighs. "I am glad you are here though, cousin, I wish to confer with you."
He is silent, before he continues, "Arwen has left for Valinor, last night. She took the Safest Road."
I was startled. "How did you manage to convince her to leave? She wished to stay."
He sighes. Galadriel, mother to his spouse had told him, I now knew, he was glad of my understanding at least. "I told her of the vision I had seen." As a descendant of Melian the Maia, he had such a gift. "I saw her future. Were Aragorn to survive, and Sauron to be defeated, she must still taste the bitterness of pain and mortality, when he dies. She will have none to ease her pain, for all others would have gone, even in Lothlorien, even here, in Imladris. She will linger, under the aging trees, until she fades from grief." He shakes his head. " I could not let such come to pass."

"And if Sauron wins, all will be lost," I murmured. "I understand cousin, you wished to spare her of the pain that is to come. One quick slice of the knife, heals better than a plunge through the heart, though scars remain." My wounds had never healed. This I knew. "You did what was best, cousin, now we must confer. "

And we did so. After our meeting, I walked through the gardens. Its fairness held no charm for me now, as I was- again- lost in time. The last I had been here, was when a company of Dwarves- with one halfling- arrived. I had seen him, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, as he prepared to leave- to retake Erebor. I had passed him and stopped, saying "Leaving so soon, scion of the line of Durin?"

He was startled into stillness. "How do you know me?" I smiled. " You have the gaze, the bearing, and the stance of your forefather. And his walk."

"You knew my grandfather." I shook my head. "Nay, I never met him. I speak of Durin, your forefather, first of your line." he started. I said" Him I met, before he was king, at the Dawn of the First Age. " I paused, then asked, "Do you know me, scion of Durin?" He blinked, and stated, "I have not seen one of your like among your people, My Lady." "Indeed, for you knew not my people, nor my kin. Our greatness in Middle-Earth has waned, and most of us have left. Yet there are those that remain, and in the First Age, my people, and yours, were friends, in spite of all grievances any may have had. Thus, I met him, though I was but a child." I gaze at him, then, slowly saying, "I am Estela, child of Maedhros, grandhild of Feanor." His eyes widened, now surprised. Feanaro may have inspired mixed feelings among the elven kind, but among dwarves, he had inspired  naught but the greatest respect, not only for his deathless courage, but also for his skill. The one elf they had looked up to, also in stubborness and pride. I almost smiled. "I wish I had been there, when your people suffered, " I said with true regret, "Yet, in the North, Smaug had also come, before leaving for Erebor, and he had passed, searching for the Lonely Mountain. We tended to our own wounds, and when we heard of yours..." I shook my head. "Will you retake your kingdom?" he nodded, "After so many years, we have little choice, now is the time, no matter how futile it may be."

"I cannot fault you for that," I said softly. "I was torn from the land that I lived and loved, when I was but a child, my forefather was butchered, all by an evil, whose strength seemed without limit, nor equal. I saw my grandfather, given to madness and raging grief, the cause of his fall, and my father and most of my kin, were put to torment, or simply slain or both." I was silent. I felt for the first time, he felt sympathy for an elf. "Why do you not return to the lands of your birth?" "Because it is not my time for such. Although Morgoth is defeated, I sense I still have purpose here, in Middle-Earth. I am an elf, immortal, I may be, yet, my destiny was chosen and foretold by the All-Father. As one who have the gift of Mortals, you may die, but also, you may choose, how to live the lives and decide the choices you have been given. If you do nothing, for all your lives,I sense you will somehow regret it. Do not do nothing, son of Thrain, for you have a choice to live- or die without regret." he bowed, grateful, for once. "Yet I must warn you something....."

At this my memories are jolted out of my mind, for I see Arwen running towards me.

 



Top Right and Above Left: Imladris/Rivendell. Bottom: Battle of the Last Alliance.

Nadya's fanfic: Hope Renewed- Final Chapter 6 Love to lose.

               
                                                                       Chapter 6
                                                                    Love to Lose

"Restless night, cousin of mine?"
"Artanis." My voice is curt. I feel her moving beside me.
"How you manage to forget such memories, or act as if they existed not at all, is a mystery that befuddles me."

"I do not forget, cousin." She settles herself beside me. "I still remember the past long ago, when Finwe was slain. I remember your grandfather, your father and his brothers taking the oath they regretted more than any. I remember the Kinslaying, even though you saw it not at all, and I remember Valinor, and all the losses that we suffered." She sighes.

"Yet you seem to reconcile yourself well enough." My voice is bitter. "I suppose I cannot fault you for that, and I do not begrudge you your happiness, cousin, yet I ask what wrong I have done that Eru All-Father should wish to forsake me."

"He has not forsaken you, Little One." She strokes my hair away from my face. The use of the epesse all had used in my childhood stings me, I turn away. She sighes. "Come with me."

Together we walk, past the trees, and to a small shady clearing. Down the steps we go and I see the stand where a basin of silver is held. Nearby, a small stream, tumbles from a high bank of earth, into a waterfall, to rest on a small earthen platform, slightly beneath. Beside it, is a jar of lustrous chased and engraved silver. I knew that basin.

"Artanis, no." My voice barely manages not to shake. "Do not show me whatever you feel I must see. I cannot distract myself further from my task, or take on unnecessary burdens that will divert me. I will not see this!" My voice now trembles. For the Mirror of Galadriel reminded me of the Palantiri, the seeing stones, creations of my grandfather.

"Do you fear this cousin? I show you what you need to see."

"I will not see this!" My voice is more frantic with fear.

Artanis looks at me. She says, "You wonder if Hope is worth keeping, fragile as it is. You were the Hope and Joy of the Noldor, Estela, during the War of the Jewels, yet because you could not save your father and your mother, due to your youth, and your then lack of skills as a warrior, you believe that hope will do nothing for you." Her gaze is stern. "Yet I must tell you that you are wrong."

I shake my head and she sighs. "You must confront your demons Estela, to be strong enough for the task that lies before you, for as men will unite under the banner of Elendil's heir Aragorn-Elessar, so too must the elves of Middle-Earth unite under your banner." Her voice is firm. "The Noldor have chosen you as their queen. The Elves must choose you to be their High Queen upon Middle-Earth."

"As Artanaro was?" I laugh harshly to spite the pain stabbed in my heart by the name? "As Bard, called the Bowman, scion of the House of Girion was chosen by his people?" Another pain echoes once more. I glare at her. "The mere sounds of these names are my ghosts, Artanis, as well as the names of my father, Nelyafinwe Maitimo, and my mother Eleninear, my grandfather Feanaro, Finwe, Itarille who vanished, and my uncles, Tyelcormo, Carnistir, Curufinwe, Nityafinwe and Telufinwe, and all the Teleri slain, and the Noldor who died, in the War of the Jewels and the War of the Ring."
These ghosts will never leave me, and each one is a painful wound, and deep, within my heart and soul."

"Nevertheless,"she says "you need to look within this mirror, and I will have you do so, cousin." Her voice is firm. I grit my teeth together. It was, indeed, useless to defy Artanis. Even as the Queen of the remaining Noldor upon Middle-Earth, I knew, that to her, I must obey. I step forward and peered into the basin, filled with the clear water of brilliance, as if from the tears of the Queen Varda.

At first, I see only my own reflection. Yet, still, I look harder. Then the flatness ripples, and amidst clouds of colour, shapes were formed, as clear as the images found in a mirror or through a window.
I see once more...

"Valinor," I breathe, softly,and there it was. The skies more azure and piercing than the ones we see here. My imagination, immeadiately goes wild. I not only see, I also hear sounds, smell things, and even taste the things I once tasted there. I smell the sweet cool of the air there, fresh and untinged from the foul smells of Mordor and the richness of the deep earth, tinged with the fresh spice of the green. I hear the sweet chiming and sweet chiruping and cooing of the bells of crystal, glass, silver and gold, and the birds, of more beautiful melody and brighter plumage than the birds here. I see the green hills and valleys, a richer green than in Middle-Earth, the valleys more deep-cut, the mountains more magnificent and much higher, capped with snow. the majestic woods shining with a wild beauty and teem with animals, of all kinds, the bright blue of the waters there, the great rivers, springs, lakes and streams, even the oceans, shine as crystals do. I taste, once more the sweet fresh waters, and the richer, sweet honey and nectar there. The flowers bloom heartbreakingly beautiful. Their frangrances cannot be described. I wish to turn away. Yet I cannot.

Then I saw the sights of the past. The destruction of the Two Trees by Melkor and Ungoliant, the butchering of Finwe, Feanaro, my grandfather, threatening his half-brother, his rage in the Great Square, my father and his brothers, lifting their swords with him, to swear the Oath.

The images come faster, the Kinslaying at Alqualonde, looms before my eyes, the burning of the ships at Losgar, whereupon my father turned away from the rest, and the news came that Telufinwe, Grandfather's youngest son, was still within, when the ships had burned...

Suddenly, I am in Lothlorien no more. All around me, I see and perceive, what I had previously seen only in visions and in the Mirror. I see my grandfather, before him stands Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, with his flaming sword, and his fiery whip. A gigantic dark shape, and grandfather stands firm, holds his shield high, as well as his spear, casting it towards Gothmog, but the demon's whip....

My father is rescued, on the back of a Great Eagle, servant of Manwe, with Findekano, his cousin.
I remember Elrond and Elros, the moment they are introduced to me, young children still, the grandchildren of Itarille, and her husband the man Tuor...
Then I see the moment when the messengers tell of my father's death.....

All of a sudden, everything stops. I see grey all around me, the smog and burning of the ramshackle wooden huts, all burned now. The smoke fills my lungs. horses are around me, and elves upon them. Artanis kneels beside me, not now, but centuries before.

I held a child upon my lap, a child of Men. He is young, his brown hair singed at the edges, his eyes closed, face covered in soot. Artanis took him from me, and another elf emerged amidst the warriors.
"He may yet be saved." "I wish I could believe you, my Lord."
My words were soft. The elf knelt beside me and gazed into my eyes. He was young, and his eyes were dark, yet gentle, exceedingly so. Wisdom was held within its depths, but not the weariness of many years, that even the Eldar have. Strange...

"How many children, among Men can be strong enough to survive the present, as well as the future?" I sighed. "My Lord, hope has departed me at last..."

He was silent. Then; "the Princess Artanis has said that you are the very heart of Hope and Joy. If you were to stop as such, My Lady, we would all be lost. I pray you, for the sake of all, not to do so."
I smiled. He smiled also. In days long gone, Finwe compared my smile to the warmth and radiance of Laurelin and Telperion.  "What is your name, my Lady?"

My smile vanished. "You will not wish to know, My Lord. "
"I think I desire it greatly, more than anything I had desired ere this moment, save you." I stared at him. Then, hearing the sound of laughter, we turned and Artanis gazed at us with amusement. "She will not give her name so easily, she knows not your motives, nor your reaction should you discover." Artanis smiled. Unexpectedly, he laughed, and the sound warmed my heart. "I shall tell you my name, Princess. It is Artanaro, although the Sindar call me Gil-galad." He smiled wider. "And, in truth, I know your identity. I have seen you upon Valinor, although you noticed my existence, not at all. I had a bad habbit of following you, around, when I watched you play as a child, and hid, whenever you turned." He laughed with embarassment. "I hoped, even then, you would be mine someday.. even so.."He looked at me straight into my eyes, "You are Eruvande Estela Nelyafinwiel, daughter of Nelyafinwe, grandchild of Feanaro and scion of the House of Finwe."

I started. "If you knew, my King, than why did you ask?" I stared at him. "And why did you hide your identity, to play the part of a mere Lord and to come yourself, with no messenger, nor captain?"
He looked at me still, "Because I had heard from the Princess Artanis that you would be here, Princess, I wished to meet you at last, after waiting for nearly a thousand years, it has been far too long." I stared at him. At any time, I would call this empty flattery, mere pretty words, but his tone- and gaze- was sincere. It was shocking. "I believe you have left left Estela without words, my king, this is the first as such." Artanis laughed. "The child is stable, he will recover." With that she swept away, leaving us to gaze into the eyes of one another, I astonishingly, he with awe and love.

The world blurrs once more, before my eyes. I saw another scene.. A loom stands before me, and I sit on a stool. It was many years later, long after Artanaro and I had met... My hands worked quickly, with a fineness that was only seen in elder days upon Aman. The shuttle in one hand, with a spindle in the other, I wove. A spinning wheel stood at the corner of the courtyard, all voices around me were hushed or breathless with awe. The presence of Men surrounded me with their wives and children.

" See how quickly she works!" "I cannot see her hands, they are a blur," "This should take hours not seconds!" Now they speak and now they gasped. They were speechless once more, then they whisper, " What wonder is this? What magic?" "Elf-magic and the hands of an elf!" "Yes, surely, for she is the fairest maiden I ever saw, and the work of her hands!" "Almost as fair as she..."  I sighed and knew my work was finished. The scene seemed, especially to men, as true reality and most wonderous beauty combined. It was a mere landscape scene, with the Sun high above the valley and mountains, and the expansive plains, where deer grazed. Their fur seemed soft, softer than imagined, the sky was bluer and brighter than any gem, and the green richer and greener than emeralds, in varying shades. The sun and its rays were as gold to them, yet I had used only yellow, blending the colours, contrasting it with the darker tones. It seemed real to them and yet more breathtaking and magnificent. They said if but one of the broideries of Miriel Serinde would ever be seen upon Middle-Earth, it would hold more value than a kingdom's worth.
The Queen Vaire the Weaver, wife of Lord Namo, had indeed given me a gift. She had taught me, and murmured once, "Yours is the gift of your foremother's. Take care to cherish it, but do not be blinded by pride and such beauty."

Then I sensed the movements of more men coming forwards, I turned and lifted my head, pushing the radiant flare of pure copper, with silver and gold, flashing in my hair. They had gasped, these people to see my face, and the brilliance of my hair. I paid them no heed, instead focusing my attentions on what appeared to be a leader. A man, young was he, even by the standards of men, dark hair had swept over his brow and his skin was the colour of rich honey. His eyes, dark and piercing stared into mine's and his face held a perfect, straight thin nose, high cheekbones and sensitive lips. The beauty of Men will fade, this I remembered, never will his flame burn forever, lingering within this Earth. Like a blossom when winter comes, he will shrivel and die.  I stood, and raised my brows, the men around him murmured, rather absently and not so soft, "She is an elf." My ears must have been exposed then, for these men to confirm it, but I sensed they would have guessed anyway. "Yes, I am one of the Eldar, " I replied, my brows raised. "My work here is done, do you like such things?" I asked. These men must be warriors, for they carried swords in sheaths as well as knives and shields, and the lead one had a bow, and a quiver strapped to his back. All of the Eldar loved beauty greatly, yet never did I believe that all men, even warriors would appreciate weaving.

The lead man answered." Pardon us for intruding, but until such a moment, we have never seen such a sight. " Yet his eyes were fixed upon mine and my face, rather then the tapestry. "Surely, " I said, "You have seen women amongst your people weaving. If I may ask, where do you come from?" "From Dale, Lady." He answered. "Dale!" I exclaimed." I believed the people there had left, when Erebor had fallen to the greed of Smaug the Dragon!" "They have, my Lady, but they will return someday, and rebuild what has been lost." He answered evenly, his eyes never leaving mine. He is undeterred from this, his mission. I realized. He stands tall, he is proud, yet not too much so, and he is strong. He has courage, and this is a man whom many could call king.

"If I may inquire as such, what is your name?" I gazed straight at him. He answered, drawing himself straight, as men do when others ask them as such, others they wish to impress. But he was not the boastful kind. "My name is Bard, scion of Girion's House, he who was the Lord of Dale, before Smaug took the mountain, and destroyed our homes." Pity swept through me. "Ahhhh.." I sighed. "You are young, and not likely to have ever seen or remembered Dale, yet you must feel the pain of such a seperation from safe refuge and happiness, as well as the burdens of leading your people and the fate you have chosen for their sakes. I too have lost a home, and so my kin and I were sent from safe refuge to fight an evil whose strength seemed without limit, even to elves." He stared at me. " You have known exile, Lady?" I nodded. " But who would exile you? What darkness would be so foul an evil, to do so unforgivable an act?" I was amazed at his incredulity. " A terrible darkness, which not even Smaug the Dragon could compare, good Lord of Dale, for he had dragons aplenty and he used them to the most terrible affects, as did he his other minions." My voice darkens in forewarning. "I wish you well, Good Lord, Bard of Dale, for I hope you can do what I cannot yet as such, return to your home, and place your people in their rightful places, as I hope the Dwarves of Erebor would one day do the same." They stared at me. "An Elf-Lady would wish the dwarves well?" One of them asks in incredulity. I laughed. He reddened, but I notice that all around smiles have spread, without meaning to, even the grimmest men seemed bright with joy, and a flock of birds started to sing. Even the lead man could not help his smile, and I return it as such. Brightness seemed present. The voices of the elves have ever been so pleasing to many, even beasts. "The Dwarves were friends to my people when we first arrived in Middle-Earth. In the arts of craft, we shared much in common." I sighed. "Even if they do not remember. I arrived in Dale once, and the village, grew to a town, and then something greater. I was there and I first taught the women to spin and weave on their own." They blinked. One asked, "How can this be, Lady, for you are but as young as twenty, at most!" "You dolt!" Another said "She's an elf, she's immortal !" Many of the people stared at me, "Are you?" a woman asks, hand on her heart. I look around, faces like blossoms, to me, before winter comes. "Yes." I reply. "The Life of the Eldar lives within me, as do my youth. My people mature slower than Men, and at twenty you would have thought me seven. But our kind do not wither when the years have passed." They gaped at me, but Bard looks pained and torn. "Ah," he said, "you are a star, born in ages past, a light that will never fade. I am but a candle, gazing upwards at you, the brightest in the sky and I can never reach you." His voice held pain and hurt. More than than the words he would speak of his slain kin. "My light will dim and fade, though you shall burn bright, and I can never reach you."

  

 Top: Artanaro or Gil-Galad, High King of the Elves and the Noldor upon Middle-Earth. Top Left: Bard the Bowman, later first King of Dale, Top Right: The Mirror of Galadriel/Artanis. Bottom: Valinor.