Here we go. Aragorn will arrive in the next chapter, probably.
Italic are words in Adunaic
Bold are words in Sindarin
Enjoy and comment
By the time I can stand correctly again without headaches or a sore ankle, 5 weeks have past. I am fairly close to the Chief, Clirst and his family. I always stay with at least one of them. Nhatver, or Nat, and I get along very well. She takes after her father physically. Dark hair, brown eyes and a I-know-it-all grin. She is very forgiving and kind though, like her mother. Nahstor is another story. While he has fair brown hair and eyes, he is a true leader and fierce leader. He always keeps his people in mind. Nahstor, also known as Nas, has a strange way of showing affection, one I do not mind in the slightest. He always kisses Nat and I on the cheek and tries to make us laugh. He succeeds most of the time. Clirst tries to stay as serious as he can and Nas and I have made it a routine to try to break him from time to time. Make him smile or grin.
"Narw! Get back here!" I run at the sound of my nickname. I stole Nas' sword and we are to go scouting. He never keeps it on him in the village which makes it easy to steal. I climb on a tree silently and make my way to the rendez-vous point where Clirst is already shaking his head at me. The others who come with us, being 12 men, share a laugh.
"Father, she stole my sword again!" Nas pouts at his father not knowing I am on the tree.
"Keep your sword close, Nahstor. I have already told you this." I snicker and climb down. One branch makes a lot of noise so Clirst turns around.
"Get down here, Narw!" I hand him his sword. He takes it and grabs my hand.
"Let's go, you two." We start to move out. I kiss Nas on the cheek.
"Better?"
"Much. But stop stealing it."
"Alright. But only 'cause I love you little brother."
"I'm older than you."
"Hun, I'm 46 years old." Nas turns around then starts laughing.
"You're as old as my mother!"
"Yeah, so?"
"Narw, you're old!" I roll my eyes at him and let him have his fun.
3 years later...
"Can you tell us a story from Gondor?" Nat asks me with those pleading eyes that I cannot resist.
"Alright. Which one? Most stories are tragic ones."
"You promised to tell us the one about the promised Queen." Syndari reminds me.
"Very well.
Legend dictates that a long time ago, in a night of despair, the Steward of Gondor went to see a very powerful Witch, a descendant of the Valar himself. He begged her for an answer to the suffering of his people. The Witch told him that the Valar was not one to grant gifts easily and so the Steward sacrificed 2 of his children.
In exchange, the Valar promised that he would send a King and a Queen worthy of the throne.
The King would be of the bloodline of Isildur while the Queen would be of the bloodline of the Witch and an elf.
The Valar promised that in the darkest hour of battle, the identity of the Queen would be revealed. Together, the King and Queen would rule Gondor for decades maybe centuries to come.
But should one die, so would the other, as they were bound to each other like Sun and Moon. Light and Dark. One has no meaning without the other.
The only way to find or recognise the Queen would be through the wolf carved in her skin from birth.
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The Queen of Gondor
RandomHouse Stark of Gondor, the most loyal house to the blood line of the Kings of Gondor, is dead. All were killed in a night. All, except for the youngest daughter, Aryvia, who was kidnapped that evening. Alone in Middle Earth, she survives by the name...
