Author’s Note: Hey sorry this has taken so long, Ive been really busy, running 4 web sites *sigh* Anyways, here you go:
The sleepless morning haze startled Morinvala awake, what was left of the enchanted spell had left nothing but grogginess. She sat up quickly, aware of the strange room around her, her eyes widened in fright, there was no memory of how she came to be here. Her hands drifted over the soft fabric of the bed sheets, grasping them tightly she pulled them away. Morinvala stood barefooted yet fully clothed in the morning’s coolness. The room that in which she stood was a sight to be seen; spacious and filled with types of furnishings that had never once met her eyes. Strange and delicate, yet beautifully carved, she thought in marvelous wonder. Morinvala passed the furniture and came to the western part of the room, which in fact, was a complete open area. No doors, no walls, yet the roof held its place, shading the uncovered room. A dense forest could be seen farther away from the wall, but before the tree roots laid a small stone path.
Morinvala crept quietly from the room following the path, to her answers, she hoped. Halfway down the path, another building came into view, yet it was small and enclosed. Upon the outside stood an Anvil, weathered from years of use, suddenly it dawned upon her, she was in the house of Eöl, the Moriquendi Blacksmith who came to certain death in Gondolin. Morinvala shuddered, she knew Eöl, but he changed, and shut himself away from all Moriquendi, fleeing into Nan Elmoth. None had heard news from him for many years, until a message had come, telling of Eöl’s death in Gondolin. Raelin had been angered from the death, and traced the message, trying to find the hidden kingdom, yet, it came to be the message was from the Eagles, this despaired Raelin so.
“You are awake, and in good time as well.”
Morinvala froze, her eyes darting around, but no figure met her eye. Beside her, from the treetops sprung a figure that landed in front of her, however, not so gracefully. Morinvala stepped back in both surprise and retaliation. She held out her hands in defence, ready to use, she curled her lip at the stranger.
“Who are, and why were you watching me?” She snapped, though, wanting to fire off more questions to him, but she held her tongue and waited.
The man blinked and began to laugh, anger rose up in her. “Ce’nend!” Morin cried and a gush of wind hit the man squarely on his chest, but through the noise she heard him cry out, “Miloe!” And the wind died. His long hair was unkept from the wind, and his eyes wide with adrenaline, Morinvala slowly let her arms drop to her side. “Who are you?” She whispered.
Morinvala laughed, she could not help it, he was lying, he had to be. Her laughter died as he glared at her. “You are serious?” She said, surprised.
“Yes.” He replied simply.
“So, you, an Icrati-“
“Istari.” He corrected.
“-an Istari, the herald of Mandos?”
“Finrannie the Black. Finrannie the Black.” She repeated, pacing, then stopped, “Are there more of you?”
Finrannie shook his head, “I am the first, but there could be others, I am uncertain.”
Morinvala nodded impatiently, “So you are here to protect me?”
“From who might I ask?” She snorted.
“I cannot say.”
She glared at him, feeling the anger rise up again, “Why not? If I am to be protected, I must know who I am being protected from!”
Finrannie remained silent.
“If you will not tell me, then I cannot trust you. I do not know why I am speaking to you now, for all I know you could have been sent by Melkor himself.”
Finrannie winced at the name, Morinvala paused, her eyes widening. “To protect me from Melkor!” She cried suddenly.
Finrannie gave a curt nod. “But why?” She pressed.
It was now that Finrannir answered, “No more questions for now, we must be off. We cannot linger.” Finrannie stepped past her to the house where she had awoken in.
“Off where?” Morinvala demanded as she followed behind him.
“No more questions!” He called behind him. Morinvala watched him depart into the open wall, grumbling to herself she turned back to the small building in front of her. The words of Finrannie disappeared as the Anvil seemed to glow with a silent invitation to explore. Morinvala glanced back to the house, satisfied at Finrannie’s disappearance. She went to the door, and pushed it open, cringing at the sound it made.
The room was dark, there was no light, besides that which flowed in from the doorway. There were many Blacksmith’s tools around her, including a smelting, which she showed little interest to. Her attention drew to the back, which she began to walk towards. As she had guessed, lined upon the wall were many weapons; though the Swords were of great interest to her. One especially caught her eye, she slowly picked it up, and was surprised by the weight. Its handle was forged with Mithril, and the blade, sharp, yet light, a form of metal she had never seen before. She swiped it through the air a few times and found it to be quite satisfying.
“It shall be named Nenlaya, the White Blade.” She murmured to herself, as she stared at it in wonder.
“That blade has been made in Malice.” Came Finrannie’s voice drifting in through the door. “It will be of no use to you, for it shall betray you when you need it the most.”
Morinvala glared at him, and grabbed a sheath that laid astrewn on the ground. Morinvala sheathed the sword and attatched it to her belt. She quietly walked out of the building and brushed past Finrannie harshly. He sighed but started after her, Morinvala’s anger slowly dissipated, and as they made their way through the wood’s, they had made idle conversation. By the time they reached the borders, Arien was beginning to set, and signs of Tilion was near. They made camp just outsied the borders of the forest, it was not long before a fire was made, and a small meal was brough forth.
Will you now tell me of why I am to be protected from Melkor?” Morinvala spoke glancing across the firelight at Finrannie’s stern face.
Finrannie sighed deeply, “I had hoped that it would not come to this.”
“Come to what?” Morinvala replied, her voice rising in anger. Secrets, she hated secrets.
“Of whom took you from the castle many days ago was Melkor. I doubt you would remember much-” His eyes drifted to hers.
“I remember… a voice… shadows… a fire… and then, nothing.”
Finrannie nodded and continued, “Morgoth knows his rule is coming to an end, and in three days will the Valar be here, with wave upon wave of forces, to bring down Angband.” Morinvala’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Though, he has faith in Sauron, his servant, he desired for an heir. He chose you.”
“Me?” She asked timidly.
“What you posses, what runs through your veins, thicker than blood. Power. With what strength you hold, and all that he holds, he desires to bear an heir. And I am afraid I was too late.” He added quietly.
At this, Morinvala leapt to her feet. “Too late? What do you mean too late?”
“I was to acquire you from the castle, but you where gone. Upon my wandering search I found footprints, which led me to Himring, where I found you. You were alive but in a deep spell. You- you were not- fully clothed.” He managed to whisper.
Morinvala sat down hard, her mind buzzing with thoughts. She knew. Deep down inside she knew. She was carrying the child of Melkor, the Dark Lord. And somehow, she knew all along.
Author’s Note: Dum dum dum lol. Anywho, the language you read was not of Sindarin or Quenya, but of Moriquendi, which I put together since Tolkien did not devise a Moriquendi language ,-,