Author Note:

1: This story is based on the Altered Fates Universe concept established by Jennifer Adams, however I’ve taken some artistic liberties so this story doesn’t strictly adhere to the rules Jennifer established.

2: This is also a fanfic of the J.R.R. Tolkien world of Middle Earth in an untold tale of the First Age. Please note; I didn’t stay completely true to the Middle Earth that Tolkien set up. This is my take on what Middle Earth in the First Age might have been like.

By the time Logan and Molly had picked out sleeping alcoves to stash their gear Othon had started working on dinner. Logan watched as he passed his hand over a few stones noting the sigils carved into them, and chanted softly. She could feel something emanate from Othon and the sigils respond. Then the stones started to glow and Othon set a pot on a tripod over the glowing stones.

“Magic,” Molly asked, causing Logan to jump. He’d come to stand next her while she’d been focused on Othon and she hadn’t sensed him. Logan mentally chided herself on this lapse.

“Yeah, makes sense, they wouldn’t want to start a fire down here, the only ventilation is the stairs and we have to use those to get in and out.”

“I think I’m going to go up top and see what I can see.” With that Molly grabbed his AK, checked to make sure it was loaded with a fresh mag, double checked his side arm to make sure it was ready and then went up the spiral stair. Logan had considered following him but then discarded the idea. Instead she sat down on her backpack and spread out all of her gear. For the next few minutes she did a quick inventory, checked and cleaned her weapons, and counted her remaining ammo. She’d expended about a third of it during the firefight last night and then the altercation by the river. At last satisfied that her gear was in as good a shape as possible Logan took off her boots. Her feet had dried out during the hike after the river crossing. But the chance to let them air out and then put on fresh socks was important. One of the things she’d learned over the years in the field was to take care of her feet.

By the time Logan was lacing her boots back up Narmartë had returned from the side room. She paused to look around and then came over to Logan and as she approached Logan stood up.

“I’ve contacted the Knight-Commander of the Ondolindë Ranger Crops, Sir Helcëtôr Thlim Ith Mindon. He asked me to extend an invitation to you and Molly to meet with him at the village of Lindornëa.”

When she said this Logan got the impression of a village nestled in the boughs of hundreds of Oak trees. “I thank you for the hospitality, but my friend and I, must make plans to return to the gate and through it to our world.”

Narmartë looked troubled at this but nodded, “Very well.”

“Um, is there someplace where I might refresh myself?”

At this Narmartë looked surprised and then embarrassed, “Of course, where are my manners. Come.” With that she led Logan through the door she’d used earlier. The room beyond was small and had been part of the cave before someone had walled it off. It was now being used as a storeroom. There were shelves along one wall containing a variety of food stuffs, jars, and containers. There was also a weapons rack, holding enough weapons to outfit a Renaissance Fair. At the far end of the room were two doors and Narmartë indicated the one on the right.

“That leads to the scrying room. Please, do not use it.” Then she pointed to the one on the left. “Down a short flight of stairs you’ll find a small room with a pool and a waterfall. You can wash there. The current is slow and steady and since it is below the level main camp there is no need to worry about bathing in our water supply.”

A few minutes later Logan was standing in a small room lit by a single crystal above the door. She sat her backpack down and dug through it until she found a camp towel, fresh underwear, a set of khaki cargo pants, and clean t-shirt. Then with one last look at the open doorway Logan stripped out of her grimy clothes and grabbed a bar of soap and headed into the pool.

She let out a sharp hiss at the cold temperature, “Well, this is going to be a quick bath!” Logan felt her skin prickle up in reaction to the cold water and she glanced down to see her nipples standing out like ice chips from her breasts. “Fuck, this is weird.” Logan muttered and then ducked under the water. Even though it was cold it felt surprisingly good. When Logan came up out of the water she could feel the tattoo on her back move around. It was almost like it had a life of its own.

Then as if by some instinct Logan tried to mentally touch the tattoo. In response the image of the sexy witch-demon appeared in her mind. The demon was looking right at her and it spread its wings and then settled them behind her back so Logan could hardly see them.

*Bene, occurrit. Ego Melchiresa filia luciferi, et magistra, ignis, et metalla.*

Logan’s breath caught, she could hear the words clearly, yet no one had spoken out loud. It took her half a second to figure out what had been said, and then it came to her. ‘Well, met. I am Melchiresa, daughter of the morning star, and mistress of air, fire, and metal.’

*Frigidus es, fac calidus?*

Again the words changed in Logan’s mind shifting so that she understood the meaning. ‘You are cold, may I warm you?’

“Yes.”

Warmth suddenly blossomed within Logan. The heat emanated from the middle of her body and filled her limbs.

“Who are you?”

*Tibi dedi meo nomine. Melchiresa sum. Quondam notum sit occultus. Quæ moventur in tenebris clavae occulta potentia. Quod nomen est tibi?*

The words shifted, ‘I have given you my name. I am Melchiresa. I was once known as the Hidden One, She Who Moves-in-the-Shadows, and The Wielder of the Hidden Power. What is your name?’

“I am Logan Quinn Campbell.”

For some reason Logan felt like she needed to say her full name, even though she normally never told anyone her middle name.

*Salve, Logan Quinn Campbell, Melchiresa sum.* suddenly there was a twisting within Logan’s mind, *Ah, I see now the pattern of our thoughts.*

“Our thoughts?” she asked.

*There is no need to speak out loud. Simply direct your thoughts to me and I will hear them.*

‘How did you get in my head?’ Logan thought.

There was a moment of puzzlement. * I don’t know. There was darkness and music. Then a deeper darkness and I could tell the music came from that place. I moved toward it and as I touched it I became aware of you. The darkness flowed into me and as it did I could feel more and more of your body around me. I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you didn’t notice, until now. *

‘I’ve been a little busy.’

At this Logan remembered why she was standing waist deep in the pool and went to work scrubbing the grim and dirt from her skin. As she did Melchiresa went silent. Just as Logan was climbing out of the pool she felt a flash of memory. She was once again standing in the glade, touching the obelisk, and power was flowing into her. Logan felt the tattoo stir, *This is the moment of our birth.*

Logan didn’t know what to say so picked up her towel to dry off. *There is no need for that.* Then Logan felt a flash of heat push out from her and the water on her skin turned to steam leaving Logan dry.

“Damn it, don’t do that!”

Logan felt a sense of puzzlement. ‘Look, I’m not really sure what to make of you. But that startled me. I need to know before you do anything like that again.’

*Ah, I understand. We need to act in unison, least our enemies take advantage.*

With an internal sigh, Logan started to get dressed. ‘Look, Mel, I don’t know what enemies you’re referring too. But just don’t do anything without getting my permission first, okay?’

*Of course, Mel?*

‘Well, Melchiresa is just too long for daily use. Mel is shorter and more intimate.’

With that the voice inside of Logan went quiet and she finished dressing.

Molly looked out over the forest. The view was truly spectacular, particularly with the play of light by the setting sun. Molly glanced over at the second pillar of stone. It was just over a quarter of a mile away and was a good hundred feet shorter. Yet in the clear air Molly felt like he could reach out and touch it. For a moment Molly focused on the plateau and he felt a stirring on his back. The movement of the tattoos on his skin was an odd sensation, but it was starting to become something he was used to. Then Molly chuckled and adjusted his cock. ‘Just like I’m getting used to having a piece of meat hanging between my legs.’ He thought. ‘It really is amazing what a guy can get used to.’

Then Molly saw a movement along the side of the adjacent plateau and suddenly his vision seemed to go still and then zoom in. The movement was that of a Falcon chick moving around in the nest. Molly felt thrilled and then shocked, ‘How is it possible for me to see something that small?’

“Friend, Molly, what has your attention?” Cainir asked.

Molly pointed to the nest, “I was just watching the Falcon chick.”

The Elf looked where Molly was pointing and made a surprised noise. “I’d always heard that men had poor eyesight. Yet, I can just make out the nest and you’re watching the chicks within?”

Molly felt just as surprised but covered it up by turning to look down at the forest below. “You say that you’re surprised by my eyesight? I still can’t get over instantly learning a language.” Molly commented, remembering taking the spell-sung stone from Narmartë a few minutes ago and the sensation of disorientation and then when Narmartë spoke he’d understood every word.

At this Cainir chuckled. “Lórien’s Blessing, is not often used. We are fortunate that the nest has been stocked with spell-stones and that Narmartë is a strong enough spell-singer to enchant another one.”

Molly glanced over at the Elven warrior noticing that tall as he was, Molly was slightly taller. Molly had always been tall for a woman, but Molly was now well over six feet. “Do all Ranger squads have Spell-Singers with them?”

“We patrol in squads of three. The Knight-Commander tries to make sure that every squad has a Spell-Singer. The outer marches have grown more and more dangerous as the power of the Enemy grows. A Spell-Singer gives the squad many options we’d not otherwise have.”

Molly wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that assertion. He remembered the fight by the river and watching the darts of colored light slam into the Human-Spider monster.

“I saw Othon cause a group of rocks to heat up with just a wave of his hand. Is he also a Spell-Singer?”

Cainir laughed at this, “No, not at all. We are the First People. Each of us has some of the Music of the Ainur within us. Those like Narmartë hear the music strongly and know many melodies. Others like Othon and me can only hum a tune or two.”

Molly nodded, as though he understood, and returned to looking down at the land below. The sun was just setting and something was bothering him but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then down by the river he thought he saw a flash of movement. Without thinking about it he caused his eyes to zoom in and his breath caught.

“Cainir, what kind of creatures are those?” Molly pointed at a bend in the river.

Cainir leaned forward looking and then let out a hiss. He reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a tube that he quickly extended to about two feet and then brought one end up to his eye.

“Orcs!” The word was more of a curse than anything else! “Molly, get Narmartë and Othon, quickly.”

Molly raced to the entrance to the cavern aware that in the lower gravity each stride was almost double the normal length. He had to slow down on the stairs so by the time he got to the cavern both Othon and Narmartë had stopped what they were doing. They’d obviously heard him rushing down the steps. Just as Molly opened his mouth Logan stepped into the room. Molly noticed that she was wearing fresh clothes and that her hair was damp.

“What has you in such a haste?” Narmartë asked.

“Cainir, asked me to bring you and Othon. We’ve spotted a group of Orcs by the river.”

At this announcement Othon surged to his feet and without a word grabbed his bow and raced up the stairs. Narmartë paused to collect the satchel she’d been carrying during the battle by the river and wrapped her green cloak around her shoulders before moving to the stairs.

Logan and Molly exchanged a look before Logan said, “Since when do you speak Elvish?”

“Since about twenty minutes ago. Narmartë had another one of those stones. Did you take a bath?”

“Yeah, there’s a pool one level down.”

At this the two of them moved up the steps. “Orcs, like, the ‘Lord of the Rings’ movie Orcs?”

“I’m not sure, they were pretty far away. I could tell they weren’t human, but sort of humanoid.”

By the time Molly and Logan joined the Elves at the edge of the plateau both warriors were using spyglasses to look down on the forest. Narmartë either didn’t need the spyglasses or trusted what her fellow Rangers were telling her.

“That’s more than just a squad.” Othon said.

“I’ve counted fifty, and if they are moving in individual groups . . .” Cainir let the sentence fall unfinished. “Then we’re looking at a Warband.” Narmartë said, finishing the thought.

“They’re headed east. There’s only one place they could be going.” Othon said, putting his spyglass down and looking over at Narmartë. “Lindornëa is the closest of the seven villages.”

“Orcs wouldn’t dare to take on a full Quenderin village.”

“Excuse me, but what are those?” Molly interrupted pointing some distance down the river from where the Orcs were crossing. Both Elven Rangers brought up their spyglasses and then after a few seconds Othon shook his head. “I don’t see anything.”

“Neither do I,” Cainir added.

“They are taller than the Orcs, maybe twice as tall. I can’t make out the skin color in this light but it looks like they are almost naked. They’re carrying clubs for weapons.” Molly said focusing intently on the land below.

Narmartë lifted her hands touching her finger tips together to form a sphere. Then she began chanting softly and brought her hands up to her eyes so she could look through her cupped fingers. Logan wasn’t sure what she saw but all at once her body language changed.

“Trolls, Mountain Trolls by the look.” Then Narmartë moved her hands scanning up and down the river. “I count at least ten Warbands, plus two groups of Trolls.” She dropped her hands, “Cainir, stay and keep watch. I’ll do a sending to the Knight-Commander. Othon, gather our supplies, we need to be ready to move in an hour.” Then she turned to look at Molly, “Atan, your eyes are very keen. Without you we might have missed this and Lindornëa would have suffered. That raiding party is large enough to threaten the village.”

Molly shrugged, “I’m glad I could help.”

Narmartë placed her hands on Molly’s shoulders. “I name you Elf-Friend from now on all Quendelië shall know you as Sornohen, Eagle-Eyes.”

Molly felt something surge through his body and then it was over. He could sense without being told that something had changed, Narmartë’s naming him had in some fundamental way connected him to the world around him.

Narmartë turned to Logan, “Come, I think you will find this interesting.”

Logan followed Narmartë as she descended into the cave and headed directly to the scrying room. Just before she went in Logan stopped her, “I thought you didn’t want me to enter this room.”

Narmartë glanced at Logan and gave her a smile. “I’ve met Atan before. You and Sornohen wear the shape of the Atan, but you are also different. Perhaps coming from another world is what I’m sensing. I know of the ruins not far from where we met. The Mólquendi, use the Ungoliantsén to guard the area closely and I think I’m starting to understand why. It is believed that the Maiar once dwelt there and that it was important to them in some way. The Song of Ainur is strong here and I believe that I’m starting to hear bits of the music in you and Sornohen. If you’re willing I would dearly like our Knight-Commander to see you.”

Logan didn’t know what to think but nodded, “Alright.”

Narmartë led Logan into a room much smaller than the room with the bathing pool. The floor was smooth and in the middle a slight depression had formed. Within the depression lay still dark, water. Around the water carved with silver letters were words in a flowing foreign script.

Narmartë reached the edge of the pool and knelt next to it. Once again she started singing softly and then after a few seconds placed a hand within the pool. As soon as she did the water began to glow with a soft white luminescence. As it did Logan felt Melchiresa stir, ‘Be still,’ Logan thought, and her sense of Melchiresa faded.

Then the pool began to swirl and in the center a small whirlpool formed then up out of the whirlpool the image of a man rose. Logan saw that the image was made of water and when it got to be about two feet high, it turned to face them.

‘Narmartë, what trouble causes you to contact me twice in one night?’

The voice had a strange quality, like it was coming from a great distance. It was also a voice filled with music and Logan got the impression of sunlight dappling through a forest.

“Sir Helcëtôr, it is with urgent news I disturb you. We have just spotted a Warband of Orcs and Mountain Trolls. The total strength is unknown, but I’d guess between five hundred and a thousand. We think they will attack Lindornëa before sunrise or soon after.”

Even though the figure was made of water Logan got the impression that he’d not been fully concentrating on the sending. Now the figure sort of sharpened. As if details that had been kind of out of focus because Helcëtôr’s attention was divided now tightened into perfect clarity. Logan could see every line of the armor Helcëtôr wore and noticed that his hair was moving by an unseen, or felt, wind.

“Follow them. Take any scouts you can, but don’t risk too much. Make sure they are going to Lindornëa and that they don’t stumble upon the Way.”

Logan was impressed. The Elvish commander didn’t waste time or words asking if Narmartë was sure. Instead he shifted to giving orders.

“Yes, my lord.”

“I will contact Lindornëa’s Guard-Captain and alert her.” Then he paused to consider, “Sunrise is in nine hours, Ilcanalta is the closest village even if it is a ten hour march. If they make haste they can join forces with Lindornëa’s defenders.” Sir Helcëtôr paused to rub his chin and consider, “Is there anything else, Captain?”

“Yes, Sir, I have with me the Atan female, Logan. I can feel the Song of Ainur within her and thought you’d like to meet her.”

At this Logan stepped up to the edge of the pool and she could feel Sir Helcëtôr turn his attention to her. Even though she was looking at a statue constructed of water Logan knew that this meeting was in some way important.

“Greetings, Daughter of Man. I would that we were meeting under better conditions.”

“It is an honor to meet you.”

“Narmartë tells me that you fought well against the Mólquendi, and their servants the Ungoliantsén. I would offer assistance, in returning you to your Gate, but the defense of Lindornëa takes precedence.”

“I understand my Lord.” Then on impulse, “I would like to offer you our help. My companion and I are capable woodsmen and fighters in our own right. I would not have it said that I stood by while an innocent village is threatened.”

The image in the pool seemed to consider Logan’s offer for a minute then he looked over at Narmartë, “As the on-scene commander, I will leave the decision to you, Captain.” When Narmartë nodded he continued, “I must go, if we are to organize the defense.” Then not waiting for an answer the image collapsed back into the pool and the water slowly became still once more.

Narmartë stood up flicking the water from her hand back into the pool. Then she turned to Logan, “I will be glad of your help. But we must move swiftly.”

Logan moved silently through the woods a few yards to her left Molly glided along. It was now the darkest part of the night and Logan had no trouble seeing. During the descent from the Falcon’s Nest Melchiresa had spoken silently to Logan and asked her if she needed help seeing. When she’d agreed it was like a curtain had been lifted. Now even though it was almost pitch black Logan had no trouble. Interestingly, by the way Molly was moving he wasn’t having any trouble either. During one of their rest breaks Logan had brought up the tattoos and Molly hadn’t wanted to talk about them. But she could tell that there was more going on with Molly. The Elves were now calling him Sornohen and Logan knew she should too, if only to prevent confusion, while on a mission. Logan just hoped that whatever was going on wouldn’t prevent them from getting home.

Sornohen held up a fist and Logan froze. He pointed ahead and to the right. It took a second before Logan saw it. A pair of Orc scouts. They’d attached bits and pieces of leaves and small branches to their armor. A crude camouflage but in the night it broke up their outline and was partially effective. Logan motioned to Cainir who was a dozen feet to her right, but he’d already spotted the Orcs. Cainir lifted his bow but held back. Othon and Narmartë were behind them and without Othon’s bow they didn’t have a way to kill the other Orc silently from a distance.

*I can help.*

‘How?’

*You want it silent and quick? You can borrow my strength, you are already stronger here than most creatures your size, I can make you even stronger. I am also the mistress of air, fire, and metal. I can teach you many things.*

‘I don’t have time for a lesson now, lend me your strength.’

As soon as Logan finished thinking it energy flooded her body. Her clothes suddenly felt tight as if she just grew a couple of inches and she could feel her chest expand so that the bra she was wearing now cut painfully into her. At the same time she felt STRONG. Without waiting for Sornohen or Cainir Logan glided forward. She reached up and pulled the combat knife from her vest. In a few seconds she’d moved behind the second Orc. From where Cainir stood this would be the harder Orc to shoot.

Both Orcs had stopped. They were sniffing the wind, luckily, or perhaps by some instinct Logan had approached them from downwind. The taller of the two Orcs said something but Logan didn’t understand it. They started to move forward and Logan attacked. She leapt forward covering a dozen feet landing softly right behind the smaller Orc. At the same moment she landed Logan drove the knife down at an angle into the Orc’s neck cutting through his windpipe.

The Orc stiffened and tried to turn, Logan let go of the knife and grabbed each side of the Orc’s head and twisted. Logan knew that she was strong, stronger than she’d been even in her male body, but the ease with which she snapped the Orc’s neck surprised her.

There must have been some slight sound because the first Orc turned and as he did an arrow appeared as if by magic, in his throat. Logan let go of the Orc she’d just killed and jumped to the larger one. Catching him as his body started to twitch, with a quick twist she broke his neck as well, stilling him. For a second Logan looked down at her hands not recognizing them. They were still a woman’s hands only now the fingers were a longer and at the end of each finger the nail had turned into a three inch talon. Logan could also feel a sense of glee from Mel at having killed.

‘Enough, back off.’ Logan silently ordered and she felt Melchiresa fade. As her presence faded Logan watched her hands return to normal and her clothes got looser.

*Poo . . . I was just having a little fun.*

‘Are you pouting?’

Logan silently shook her head when her inquiry was met with silence and couldn’t help laughing a little. By the time Logan had retrieved her knife Sornohen had caught up with her. Logan could tell he was angry but he kept silent. Cainir was looking at her with a thoughtful expression.

“There are more scouts to hunt, come.” was all Cainir said.

By the time they’d finished off their fifth set of scouts it was starting to get light. The group had moved away from the Warband and Narmartë spoke softly.

“The Orcs have halted to concentrate their forces for the attack. They know something isn’t right because their scouts have failed to report back. I managed to make contact with the Guard Captains’ from Lindornëa and Ilcanalta. They have set up an ambush and requested we move off to the northeast to give them room to work. We can watch from that small ridge,” at this Narmartë waved to where the sea of trees thinned. “If any of the foul folk escape the trap and come our way we’re to destroy them.”

By the time they’d moved to the small ridge it had gotten even lighter and then abruptly a set of silver horns blasted the quiet morning air. War-cries rang out in the forest and Logan knew that the ambush had been sprung. The five settled in a line on the ridge watching the fighting below. It was difficult to make out the details in the trees. But from the sounds of things it wasn’t going well for the raiders. The brazen horns of the Elves were moving forward and the screams of the Orcs echoed up from the forest.

“Contact!”

The shout in English focused Logan on the tree line. She saw, bursting from the trees below, a group of Orcs and a pair of Mountain Trolls race toward the ridge. Without waiting to be told Sornohen and Logan opened up. The charging Orcs were about three hundred meters away. Logan kept her AK in semi-auto and picked each shot carefully. From this range even the mighty Elven bows weren’t able to reach their targets. Orcs stumbled and fell as Sornohen and Logan shot. At a hundred and fifty meters Othon and Cainir joined in and more Orcs started falling.

“Reloading,” Logan shouted and slapped in a fresh mag.

“Logan, aim for the Trolls!”

Logan shifted her shots to the pair of Trolls that lumbered forward and even though she was aiming for head shots nothing seemed to work. Now they were only fifty meters away. Then Narmartë stepped forward. She lifted the wand Logan had seen her use before and aimed it at the closest Troll and sang out a phrase she couldn’t quite catch. The energy that shot out hit the Troll in the chest staggering it.

“By the power of the White Flame of Ondolindë, DIE,” Narmartë exclaimed!

This time the energy that blasted from her wand was thicker and more powerful it struck the Troll and the creature burst into flames screaming loud enough to make Logan’s ears ring. But even as the first Troll fell the second surged forward and raised its club with both hands in order to smash Narmartë.

*Let me help!*

Logan instantly agreed and the tattoo on her back flared and then once again energy flowed into her. The light seemed to shift and time slowed. Logan dropped her rifle and lifted a taloned hand and pointed it at the Troll who was bringing his club down slowly toward Narmartë. White hot flames burst from Logan’s extended hand in a bar of fire as thick as her wrist. The fire struck the Troll engulfing it in flames. Narmartë stumbled back raising a hand to ward off the heat.

The crack of gunfire brought Logan back and the world returned to normal speed. The Orcs that had cowered behind the Trolls now charged and Logan picked up her rifle noticing in an abstract way that her hand had returned to normal. She now focused on making each shot count. Suddenly, a war cry echoed from the side. The Orcs had sent a small group around to flank them. A dozen Orcs swarmed forward and Othon and Cainir dropped their bows and drew their swords.

Then Sornohen’s AK clicked empty. “I’m out!” With that Molly dropped his AK but instead of going for his M-9 he extended his left hand. Light seemed to flow toward his hand coalescing into a golden trident nearly six feet in length. The weapon appeared just in time for Sornohen to drive it into the chest of the first Orc. There was a crack like thunder and the Orc was thrown back his body burned beyond recognition. Sornohen spun around whirling the trident over his head and brought the shaft down, like it was a quarter staff, to hit another Orc on the shoulder. There was a second crack and this Orc also fell. Logan wasn’t sure what the trident was made of but it was a formidable weapon.

An Orc tried to attack Othon from behind and Logan shot it and then her AK clicked empty. Logan looked around for new threats, none presented themselves. For a second Logan felt the urge to throw off her backpack and body-armor and stretch her wings. It would be much easier to hunt Orcs from the sky. Then she realized what she’d thought and shook her head, she didn’t have wings!

Sensing someone approaching Logan turned and saw that Narmartë had moved over to her. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

Logan felt a little embarrassed. “You would have done the same for me.”

Then as if by agreement they both turned to look down at the battle. From where they stood they could see the flash of sunlight on silver and golden armor. The Elves were advancing from all sides driving the Orcs and Trolls back.

“Should we help?” Logan asked.

“No, we were told to stay here and stop any stragglers from getting over this ridge. The battle will soon be over.”

Othon joined the women and he nodded to the Troll that Logan had burned. “Narmartë said the Song was strong within you.”

Logan didn’t know what to say so she kept silent but Narmartë looked over at her. “I think it was the will of Manwë that brought you to us.” Then she reached out to lay a hand on Logan’s shoulder, “I name you Elf-friend, and will call you from this time on, Ilcaúrna, Blazing White-Fire.”