The Halls of Lindon
Run. Faster. Away from the scene, away from her son, whom she secretly hoped to be dead, suffocated. Morinvala stumbled, but quickly steadied herself, the path was growing narrower, the sea below her left side roared and crashed against the cliffs. In the distance she could see a jutting land, what was left of her home, the last part of Ossiriand. She cried bitterly at the memory, the memories that plagued her since she left the cave, and came to blows with the servant of Melkor. Blinded by tears she continued forward, not knowing where she was going, and not caring either way. Morinvala paused, gasping for breath as a whistle echoed across the cliffs around her, followed by another one. In a split second she was surrounded by Elves, garbed in blue robes and silver mail. Their even swords pointed at her as they stared out through their foreign helmets.
“What business does an unguarded Elf bring to Lindon?” Asked one as he stepped forward, lowering his sword.
“Please… I am just passing by…” Morinvala begged wearily, her hands reaching forward in pleading gestures.
The captain stared at her thoughtfully, than nodded to the others, who all lowered their own weapons. “If that may be, than you shall accompany us to the city, a stranger is always welcome in the heart of Gil-Galad.” The captain turned and made his way towards a small group of solitary bushes. He pushed them aside, revealing a secret path. He motioned the others forward, and Morinvala started with them silently.
* * * * * *
“Your highness, there is a visitor.” The messenger said bowing low.
Gil-Galad straightened quickly in his throne, he waved his hand, dismissing the jester and other servants that filled his Hall. “Very well, bring him forward.”
“It is a she.” The messenger replied, departing from the Hall.
The captain entered the Hall first, Morinvala trailing behind gingerly. Her eyes drifted to the enchanting paintings that filled the walls and ceiling. Battles. Crops. History. Upon the ceiling she gasped in wonder, a depicting circle of the Ring of Doom, the Valar and Valier’s thrones encircled, their forms shown clear through the shadows.
“Welcome lonely maiden, to Lindon.”
Morinvala snapped to attention, the king stood in front of his throne, his joyful eyes dancing with silent laughter. He swept away his billowing green robes and descended the steps in front of her. He gently took her hand and placed on it a soft kiss. She could not speak. No courteous had she witnessed since the ending of her kingdom.
“I… I am greatly honoured to be in your presence.” She managed to choke.
“Pray tell me of your name.” Gil-Galad replied, ascending the steps once more.
Morinvala paused; she did not know is she would risk such a thing and give away her identity. Gil-Galad frowned slightly, “Do you not wish to say? Or do you not remember?”
Morinvala lowered her eyes, “I wish to say it, but I do not desire to have more blood shed over such a name.” She closed her eyes and looked up at Gil-Galad, watching him sternly. “Promise that no harm shall come to anyone if such a name is revealed?”
Gil-Galad sat down carefully, all laughter gone now from his charming voice. “If it does not associate with such a name as Morgoth. Then, only then will I promise that no blood will be spilt.”
“Than your promise I accept.” She breathed in deeply, and looked towards the ceiling, remembering her vision, who she was.
“I am Morinvala Craemui, daughter of Saleesa and Vannae. Sister of Raelin, rightful heir to the throne of Lothlann, and of the Moriquendi-“
Her voice faltered. Rightful heir, yes. Her brother was dead, but was there a throne to return too, now that Lothlann was destroyed? Was she all that was left of her kin? The Hall around them was silent, no intake of breath, no hoarse less whisper echoing across the walls. She closed her eyes and waited, lowering her head, waiting for the bite of sword across her neck. But no blow came, just silence.
“A Moriquendi? But your highness-” The captain had broken the silence, stepping forward, glaring at Morinvala.
Gil-Galad raised his steady hand, silencing the young captain instantly. “A promise I keep, Princess Morinvala.”
Morinvala raised her head slightly, “A Moriquendi indeed. Yet I do not wish to see destruction to such beauty indeed.” Gil-Galad got to his feet, his gestures noble to all who watched, peering through the cracks of the doorways. Knowing that they all watched, that they waited for Morinvala’s fate, he announced loudly: “Within this Realm, I pardon all histories that our races have dealt with. To start anew is my desire. A new alliance. A new beginning.”
Gil-Galad held his hand towards Morinvala, and she gracefully ascended the steps, and placed her hand within his. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed it gently. “A new beginning.” He whispered. “A new beginning.” Morinvala replied.
* * * * *
Morinvala closed the large door, shutting herself away from all prying eyes. She drifted towards the open balcony, the curtains swaying in the evening breeze. Closing her eyes she breathed in the deep salty air of the sea. She felt empty, no desire inside or out. Morinvala lowered herself to her knees, her arms crossed upon the marble ledge. She buried her face within her tattered sleeves, weeping. Of loneliness, all she loved was gone. She had nothing left but death, to look forward to. Though, she had one desire after all. To dwell within the mourning Halls of Mandos, to be reunited with her family, at last.
Morinvala lifted her head at the soft rustle behind her, a flash of blue robes that quickly made its way through her room, towards the closed door.
“Please! Do not go.” Morinvala cried, getting to her feet.
The elf stopped and turned to her. The young captain. “I am sorry to disturb you, your highness, I just came to apologise.”
Morinvala stepped lightly through the curtains, and into the room, “Apologise? What for?”
“For… my displeasure in… in-“
“In what I am?” She finished, sighing.
The captain did not reply, Morinvala lowered herself onto the poster bed, wrapping the silken lace curtains around her fingers. “I do not know if I am the last of my kind. And I do not know if I shall be accepted within this… this part of the world.” She looked towards the captain. “It was in Lothlann that I knew my place, that I understood my purpose. Now… all that I loved is dead, washed away by a such a desolate, but enchanting waters.” She lowered her hands to her lap and closed her eyes. “I am alone. Forevermore.”
The captain stepped forward, reaching out and grasping Morinvala’s hands tightly. “That will not be your way.”
Morinvala opened her eyes, staring deeply into his lightened eyes, “What is your name?”
“I am Falasna.”