Chapter One:: Winter's Child:

‘My child comes this night,’ Élaine lay against the cold stone of a small cave. She had pulled herself as far inside it’s shelter as she could manage, before completely wearing herself out. She held a hand protectively around her rounded belly; the last hours of pregnancy. With no help around for miles, she pushed herself to angle her body for the birth of her child, clenching her fists on nothing but the air around her. ‘Min…tâd… nêl…’ She paced the words out in between labored breathing. Élaine was so determined to focus through the pain that she bit through one of her thin lips.

Élaine gathered her breath and her courage.‘Edtolo!’ She cried out in labored agony, as if the words would force her child out of her womb faster. ‘Edtolo…’ This time the words were whispered, trying not to let the strength to push the child out fade. Hot tears stung her face, trying to clutch on to anything nearby for support. Élaine screamed, pushing away all of the agony in the first explosion of such a powerful pain that could have knocked anyone to their feet at the sound. Below her was the rigid and cold stone, only a dark cloak to ease her baby’s passing over it. Through her pain she knew the birth of any child was not an event to be hurried along, however, as the moments passed idly Élaine grew impatient trying to endure it. For what seemed like an eternity passing, the birth of her child was moving even slower along. Desperately, Élaine tried to relax, keeping a steady focus to push through it. The baby’s head appeared, more fully this time, and this time to stay.

‘Nin hên tolo,’ Élaine whispered over to herself, letting relieved tears find their way down the soft edges of her cheeks. She held in one sharp breath and forced it back out, pushing the child along with more ease this time. Outside the harsh cold howled trying to force through the entryway that had let Élaine slip through in the first place. To anyone who could have seen the laboring mother now, perhaps would have looked on in disbelief at the effort she was putting forth to do this alone. She was as a flame, the heat tearing at her very skin and beads of sweat dripping with tears of agony. The worst was impending quickly; the child’s shoulders were forcing their way out.

As the minutes passed and the pain ensued Élaine began to relax, pressing down on her stomach. There was a breathless moment when it was finished; Élaine could hear the crying of her baby against the red cloak. There had been no time to start any sort of fire, and without the warmth of its exhausted mother, the newborn would die. She made hushed noises to calm the child, washing away at the face to have a better look.

‘Nin sell,’ Élaine let a soft smile spread across her lips, letting the last of her strength fade as she wrapped her small daughter tightly in what blankets Élaine could spare. ‘I would wish for a name to suit such beauty, but alas, I believe there is none.’ The new mother breathed out, tracing the edges of her daughter’s cheeks. ‘The Valar have surely blessed me; you resemble nothing of your father. Let us hope it stays that way.’ The newborn Moriquendë let out a weary yawn and a slight noise to indicate such. Élaine watched her new daughter fall into a quick sleep, thinking all that had passed was some sweet dream she had strayed into. ‘Rhîwhên I should think to name you, for you are winter’s child, and have survived against all odds into this world.’

‘Rhîwhên Minèstel,’ she put her tongue around the native words, ‘my daughter. I should think that I will never come to love something more in this world than you.’ The young mother relaxed her head back a little, holding Rhîwhên close in her arms for warmth.

Chapter Two:: Where Loyalties Lie:

As the months wore on, the winter grew even more bitter and cold than was thought to be possible. How Élaine and her child survived was beyond Meren’s comprehension. He made his way, alone through the endings of the pass of Cirith Ungol, with little clues leading him to the path they had taken. The shelter of the spider’s lair provided Meren with a temporary feeling of warmth in his hands and face. That was a rarity these days, if Meren felt anything at all. If there was any emotion left in him except for rage, or jealousy, it kept well hidden deep within him.

He pulled the cowl over his sharp-featured face, and the edges of his thick cloak in even closer. ‘Rhach le,’ Meren cursed in his native tongue at his quarry, wondering if it was all some elaborate scheme to set him off the trail in the first place, or if Élaine and her newborn had indeed passed through. For a moment, Meren found himself wondering if the child was male, or female. If it were a male elf-child, perhaps there was a chance he would spare the newborn, and raise it as his own. He would not consider rearing a female child; it seemed too wasteful to spare his time for one. Meren did not like the prospects, how long would he have to make such an idle journey, on such a seemingly wasteful quarry? Though, he supposed he believed in his own abilities of foresight. Even without the babe, he had to finish his brother’s wife from causing more trouble than she was worth. The thought crossed his mind as to what he was thinking the night he decided to pose as Morholt, at any rate. It only proved to be more nagging; just another mouth to feed. Pride, perhaps? The victory of murdering his twin; taking his wife for his own. A reminder, he concluded.

‘Élaine!’ Meren cried out against the howling of the wind. ‘This child is promised for death,’ Meren assured himself, a reminder in the back of his mind that he had promised the child as payment in loyalty to his Lord and Master, Sauron. If it were male, and he did wish to rear it as his own…perhaps he could lie, that the babe had been killed. Would his Master know any different?

‘Élaine! You cannot hide from me forever!’ Meren screamed out into the darkness, scanning his Moriquendë adapted eyes into the night. He saw nothing, much to his dismay. Perhaps the spider got to the child, and fed on it. Meren mused at the idea; it would certainly make his job easier.

‘I am Meren –’

‘I know who you are,’ replied his master. ‘Your reputation precedes you. Your prowess with wielding weapons is great, is it not?’

At this, the young Moriquendë made a note to bow low, and hide any sign of embarrassment.

‘That skill may be of use yet, but as for now proves of little use to you here,’ he went on. ‘I am to instruct you in art of sorcery, the black arts of magic, so it has been called. This it a test of your mind, and your heart; meager metal weapons will play no part! Sorcery; dark arts – that is true power!’

Meren accepted the berating without reply. He knew that the traits of his master were not to be questioned, and that both the black arts, and wielding weapons were the strength to a true fighter. Physical attributes played only a minor role in Meren’s style of fighting. Strong will, and designed exercises, everything his master apparently believed only magic-able apprentices could handle, won the duels that Meren fought.

‘I will show you many marvels in the next few months,’ his master went on, ‘artifacts beyond your belief, and spells of a power beyond your experience!’ The young Moriquendë dared not to interrupt his master’s stream of self-glorification. In all his years, Meren had learned of how magic-wielders managed to kill, quickly, and from a distance. If one could get in close to them however, they had little defense against the cruel edge of a sword. Meren tried not to sneer at the thought while keeping his head low in reverence to his master.

‘Tell me, Moriquendë. How do you perceive magic?’ When this question was posed, Meren knew that his master was no more interested in his opinions than his answer. ‘Has it not impressed you?’

With a grin, he made sure to answer tactfully, as hard as it was for him to do so. Truly the Black Arts had impressed him, but whether Meren would reveal that to his master was yet to be decided. ‘I find the art beyond my abilities,’ he put, ‘for others, it would seem a powerful course, but I believe my aptitude is more closely linked to the blade.’

‘Could your weapons defeat one of magical power?’ his master snarled quickly, trying to bite back on it and attempting not to tip off his intent.

Meren merely shrugged, ‘Each has its place in battle,’ he replied, hiding his own intents. ‘Who can say which is mightier? As with every combat, it depends on the opposing individuals.’

‘Well then, what of yourself?’ His master teased, ‘I have heard others speak highly of your talents. Could you stand against one of magical powers?’ asked the sorcerer, ‘against a master of the black arts, perhaps?’ the necromancer teased at the Moriquendë. ‘Let us learn!’

For nearly three more years Meren devoted almost every waking moment to the quarry he had promised. When all the hope seemed to fade in the Moriquendë, he made sure to move along just to make it through the winter. His hands were often shaking; cold and numb. He thought they would have been better suited around Élaine’s throat.

‘Meren, of the house of Môrelen, you expect a child; do you not?’

‘I do; what of it?’ Meren dared to retort in a tone. He wondered what the sorcerer had such interest in a child for. Did it threaten his position? Surely not.

‘If you question me, think twice next time!’ The voice hissed out, berating him in an extremely harsh tone. ‘I will teach you the abilities you seek, on one condition.’

‘Name it.’

‘The child – kill it. If you wish to learn, kill you’re first born in loyalty and payment to me.’

‘As you wish,’ Meren sneered this time, daring to look up at his master for an instant with an eager gaze.

If Meren had not needed to pass such a seemingly simple test of allegiance perhaps he could be back at his studies, learning instead of having his face bitten by the bitter cold. Meren dismissed the possibility quickly. He could not afford to worry about such problems. The Moriquendë would finish the simple task, and return without hesitation to the sorcerer. What was the loss of only a few idle years in the life of an immortal? A series of deep breaths cleared any distracting thoughts Meren might have had from his quest to find his wife, if that was what you would call her. Still, Meren was growing weary of his task.

‘I will do this!’ Meren clenched his teeth between his words, the irritation of it all growing beyond his control. ‘Surely a mother and her child cannot be as bothersome as I believe it to be.’ He tried to reason, ‘or is it I am truly that incompetent?’ When Meren heard the words spoken aloud by his own voice, the Moriquendë quickly brushed the unacceptable thoughts from his mind. Such thoughts were not an accord of one of his station, his house. Strength – capability. Any one of the house of Môrelen had proven themselves a survivor through and through. Everyone but his brother, he mused, sneering at the thought.

Ahh, this is the fan fic you were talking about ;) ^^ I really like it! It fills in some of the gaps (Gawd, I hate Meren)... I though Erelith was his first child? Or is this daughter of Élaine's Erelith?

If you plan on writing anything about Meren with regard to Élaine after Erelith's birth, especially the attempt Meren has on her life when she's pregnant for the 'second' time... can you tell me? ;) One of my character's stories entertwines with that bit, and it'd be nice for it all to fit in with each other nicely... :)

You're reminding me of my guilt for abandoning my fan fic I was writing before (It was called Clouded Glass) :( I really liked it, too. Maybe I should continue it...

Don't worry - Meren's just a ...*won't say word she's thinking of right now* ....{you can insert your own haha.} ...anyways, he basically gives Erelith her name and the last name Morelen, to keep her basically in 'association' with his line. Bummer...no? ;D I am glad you like it so far lol. No one's read it but you really.

Edit: Should I know anything before hand because I am writing the next few pieces of it now. Ere's mommie is making an escape and Maeldun is totally scolding Meren like he's five. Haha. It's cute. <3 I was laughing and being like 'Ohhh Meren's gonna get a whipping!' j/k probably not, but it would be funny to see him getting totally owned by his daddy. ;)

Hmm, it's hard to see Meren not breaking out in fury and start plotting evil schemes on his Dad or something just for that(I might not be surprised if he does) *frowns* I feel sorry for anyone's who's even mildly related to him >.<

It's all good... just let me know when or if you get to Élaine's death later on ^^ Mwahahhaaaa XD