Nadya's fanfic: Hope Renewed Final prologue

                                                                   Prologue

A seed planted in such sweet soil can never forsee what rotten, bitter branches shall
spring from it's green shoot.

Nor can I, a princess and now Queen of the Noldor elves upon Middle-Earth, a child born
in the bliss and paradise of Aman the Blessed- of Valinor- would ever look back with-
out tasting the bitterness and lingering pain at what I have lost. The Light of the Two
Trees of Valinor is no more, Finwe, my forefather, father to my grandfather,
grandfather to my father, had been butchered in a way that made harsh storms
and strong elves tremble and long for the safety of a burrow-hole in the deep, dank earth.
Curufinwe Feanaro, my grandfather, whom the Sindar elves call Feanor, who in brighter
days such as those which are as fading dreams to many, forged the fair Silmarils,
and the mystical Palantiri, and devised our script the Tengwar, was given to the madness
of grief. My father Nelyafinwe Maitimo, he who was called Maedhros the Tall for
his shapeliness and his comeliness as well as his great stature, was given to the suffering
of loss and regret, and the bitterness of of torment by a dark enemy, whose dark might
seemed without limit, bestowing torment to my father as he hung from the peak of a
Thangorodrim, a foul blasted peak from which Morgoth, Dark Enemy of the World
enjoyed having a son of the fiery Feanaro in his dark and grim hold. Now most of my kin
are slain and likely doomed, whilst loved ones I have known only during my time upon
Middle-Earth are given to the winds of time to blow and toss until they shrivel and
weaken before falling to decay. Yet I remain

A curse and a blessing bestowed upon the Quendi- the elves- the first of the earthly races
to wake from the Sleep of Yavanna, during the time of Stars, the first to speak and the
only earthly race not to be ravaged by time. A blessing to those who have only ever
known as such. A curse to those who knew sorrow and saw joy marred by such bitterness
of grief.

Now the land grows once more with darkness, now the foul servant of Morgoth seeks to
claim his master's foul ambition, to be the lord of the Earth. Here I am bound by law to stop
him to defy his might, to ruin his plans and to destroy him if I can. Or to fail and fall to
darkness. Just as my father and grandfather and many of my kin had done.

I do not fear death. Even as many do so, If the Doom of Mandos takes me, so be it.
If the Vala Namo, judge of the Dead should declare me fit only for darkness, and my fea,
my soul, destroyed, so be it. Yet I shall not leave without attempting right.

My horse waits patiently, a bright newly minted silver, polished and burnished against the
dark of the leaves and grass- the scattered beauty the the Valie Yavanna Kementari,
Queen of the earth, had left before leaving for the bliss of Valinor, the land of the Undying.
A brook trickles, a small remnant of the power of Ulmo, Vala and Lord of the Waters upon
Arda. Its stark beauty is pale, compared to the radiance of Aman and the majesty of the
waters there. Yet I shall not let it fall to ruin, as it is home to many here, even as Valinor
is mine. I nod.

Silently, my warriors mount their horses. Their weapons are not blunted or dulled by age or
use, but sparkling, mirror-bright, a great brilliance against the sparse beauty that remains in
such times of darkness. Their armour does not creak, their horses do not shift, seeking some
comfort against the weight. We have waited for this day. For centuries now. I cannot deny
the bravery of such elves, nor begrudge them in their eagerness to do battle, although
I do not feel such an inclination. Yet I am ready.

I mount and I place the helm upon my head. Crafted by my uncle Curufinwe, as a gift
Its bright beauty masks most of my face and head and leaves the rest in shadow. Only my
vision is clear and unblocked, perfect for seeing a danger or knowing when to strike.

In the dark, were one of the race of men were to see me in this moment, they would only see
my eyes, the same eyes which had troubled Morgoth, and terrified his servants, such as the
one who now sits in Mordor, for they had known those to be the eyes of their greatest
enemies for an age. Eyes that give my warriors courage once more to send such foul
beasts into the dark abyss.

Feanorion eyes.