Nadya's Fanfic: Hope Renewed Final chapter 1

                                                                   Chapter 1
                                                                 Tales of old

Cuivienen


Here at last we brought the horse to a halt, dismounting and leading them to water. They need
no binding. These were horses trained by elf-hands and moulded by elf-minds, of the
Eldar. They will not go anywhere.

Removing my helm, I shake out my hair, a radiant flare of red, in the darkness of the night.
Here not even Tillion would allow the moon's radiance to penetrate the darkness of the wood,
but our eyes are sharp, too sharp, to miss neither friend, nor foe. To my warriors and horses
both, my eyes shine brighter than any star, the blue of midnight skies, yet bright with a
burning silver star, cutting through its darkness.

Now as we refresh the minds and limbs of weary horses, does my mind unravel,
trampling out like horses released from the stables of men. To ages past, does it go.
For this was the place where elves were born.

My father told me such a tale himself, when the eyes of elves first opened, while they had feared that they would wake to the terrors of the night, they had instead opened and gazed in awe and
wonder at the fire, majesty and beauty of the stars. For this do our skins reflect starlight,
as does our hair and eyes, whatever shade they may be, our garments, and our hands.
The light of stars had defined us, which is why the Eldar took joy in each light and loved
Varda, Queen of Stars, best among all the Queens of the Valar.

He had laughed once, my father, to tell me such tales, yet he had never refused me
so great a gift. Sitting me upon his knee, we would gaze, both he and I, into the open sky,
where Varda hung points of lights, brighter than the adamants forged by our kind.

"To give such a gift," my father had said, "is the greatest treasure I can give to you, Little
One. The gift of knowledge and wisdom." Atar Aranya. My Father, my King. For although
he held the title but for a little while, my father had commanded a love amongst our people
and those who had met or seen him. A love that was as deep and as great, as the waters
of the Vala Ulmo, Lord of the Deeps. In spite of the fell deeds committed by his father and
brothers, for his honour was without question.

In the land of Aman the Blessed, also known as Valinor or, to those that have not gazed upon
its wonderous radiance, the lands of the Undying, my father, my mother and I had been born.
Although I had never gazed with wonder and fear, the darkness of the lands my forefathers
abandoned, eagerness had held me in a vice-like grip, like those my grandfather had
used in his forge.

It had begun with nothing, yet ended with everything that was and now still is. Only Eru
Illuvatar, the Father and Creator of All, had been there. With the mere music of his thoughts,
He had created the Ainur- beings to whom the race of men refer to as angels- as well as
Ea,  the World that is,also called Arda. Then, a rock of desolate barrenness and poisonous air, where rivers and
lakes burned with the hot blood of the earth, instead of the cool clearness of Ulmo's blessed
waters. Yet when the Ainur arrived the world began to change. For under Eru's guidance,
they had breathed the cleaness of fresh air, to the flat and endless expanse, they planted the
beauty of the green, the grasses and the wood as well as the verdant hills and snow-peaked
mountains that rose, most marvellously, to the sky. The crystal coolness of the waters of
Ulmo had blessed the lands. Now the Ainur, divided into two- the Valar who held, amongst them,
the greatest power, and the Maiar, who served as companions, followers and friends- forged the
brightness of two lamps, mounted on pillars, which seemed tall to the mountains of the world.
Illuin, the Silver, lay far to the North, whereas Ormal the gold, had shone in the South. Now the
world was filled with light, yet, among the Ainur, had been one whose heart was darkened with
jealousy. Melkor, brother to Manwe, the King of the Ainur, had envied the might of his brother,
as well as his place in the heart of Eru Illuvatar. So the lamps were struck down by the Dark
One, and the world was filled with darkness, save for the stars of Varda.

The child had gasped and clutched the fronts of her father's tunic, her eyes filled with the light
of fear, yet my father had laughed, and turning me, pointed to the silver light in the dark of the sky.
"Fear nothing, Little One," my father whispered, kissing me upon my brow, whilst his hand had
stroked the copper flame of my hair, the rare colour which we both shared. "For now we live
in the bliss of Valinor, and the light of the Two Trees bless us, by day and by night."
Thus, drawing me closer to him, he recounted the tale of how, when the Great Lamps had fallen,
the Quendi awoke. Elves call themselves "the Speakers" for they were the first to speak
with a voice, and to carve symbols of sounds, so that their words may live on, even as their voices
slept.

When the Vala Orome, the Master Woodsman had called us to live with them in Valinor, many
of us had gone, led by three kings. Ingwe, of the gold-haired Vanyar, Finwe, grandfather to my
father, of the Noldor of the sharp minds and the skilled fingers, and Elwe of the Silver-haired
Teleri, my mother's people, who loved the seas and coasts, and the
beauty of song and dance. The journey had taken nearly two hundred years to arrive upon the
shores of Valinor, yet not all of them had set foot upon shores, filled with sand of diamond
fragments and gems.

I had gazed in fear once more, upon the face of my father, who had, yet again, stroked my hair,
soothing such childish terror. "Little One," he whispered. I had
gazed uon his face, beautiful as my grandfather's, the fairest of Illuvatar's sons. His high
sculpted cheekbones, straight, perfect nose, and chiselled lips could have been those of a Vala,
surely not a mere elda, even those of a prince of the Noldor. All crowned with such radiant red,
with eyes, brighter than mere stars, shining through the dark of the night.

"The Avari- those unwilling to join in such a voyage- were given souls and minds by Eru."
He told me. "Do not fear for them. For despite their unwillingness, as children of the All-Father we shall
trust our Father to keep our brothers and sisters safe from harm, and as their siblings, we must
respect their choice, just as they had respected ours."

"But what of Melkor?" I whispered, once more in fear. "Has the Dark One not taken them into
his hold?" For the briefest shadow of a moment, my father's face had darkened. Yes, Melkor
had taken some of them, twisted their mind, corrupted their souls and distorted their forms, turning
them into monstrous beings, the likes of which we shall never gaze upon in Valinor. Terrors of
the Night, vile and savage, though brutish and stupid. Orcs. It was not for nothing that
my grandfather would rename the Dark One, Morgoth, Dark Enemy of the World. For such a
name suited him and his foul deeds, foul enough to be hateful to Eru, but these were no words fit
for the ears of the child. No, my father had merely spoken of the chaining of Melkor with Angainor, and the
destrution wrought upon his dark fortress, Untumno. The Vala Aule, the Smith, had forged chains
stronger than any elves could craft and stronger than the metals found deep within the earth.
In this my fears were soothed, all anxieties vanished. The Dark Lord may come again,
my father confessed, but now we live in the peace of Valinor, and we shall prepare ourselves
for when the time comes." My father had murmured, solemness in the majestic tones of his voice,
no longer teasing.

Yet readiness we had none, when Melkor was released and when he destroyed our peace
and dashed all remnants of joy. When he had butchered Finwe my father's grandfather and our
king, and driven Feanaro, my grandfather, into great grief. Now we were scattered, forced
to leave Aman, and now apart from Artanis, my cousin, I am the last
of the House of Finwe of the Noldor upon Middle-Earth, who had made me their queen, a task I had never
wanted, yet accepted for their sakes, to fight against the one who now dwells in the land of
Mordor. The Fallen Maia Sauron, who had turned servant to Melkor, and now calls himself
Melkor's successor. Once again we take up arms against an evil that seem undefeatable,
once again we steel ourselves against the brutish, clumsy blows of those foul orcs, and now,
my eyes will strike fear into the hearts of Sauron and his foul servants, just as my father's, those
of my uncles and my grandfather Feanaro's had once did.

This time, the battle cry of the Noldor will terrify the enemy and drive him into the dark void.

 
Top Left: Varda, Queen of Stars. Top Right, Melkor, First Dark Lord. Above: Nelyafinwe Maitimo/Maedhros the Tall, Estela's father. Bottom: The Valar.