“But of those unhappy ones who were enslaved by Melkor little is known of a certainty….Yet this is held true by the wise…that all those of the Quendi who came into the hands of Melkor…by slow arts of cruelty were corrupted and enslaved; and thus did Melkor breed the hideous race of the Orcs in envy and mockery of the Elves, of whom they were afterwards the bitterest foes.  For the Orcs had life and multiplied after the manner of the Children of Iluvatar; and naught that had life of its own, nor semblance of life, could ever Melkor make since his rebellion …. And deep in their dark hearts the Orcs loathed the Master whom they served in fear, the maker only of their misery.  This it may be was the vilest deed of Melkor, and the most hateful to Iluvatar.”   J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

 In the Orc pits of Angband there lived a she-Orc.  How long she had lived there, even she could not guess.  She had given up trying to reckon the incessant years of her bitter existence.

 She was a breeding bitch, one of many, whose primary use for Morgoth was to produce more Orcs like herself: slant-eyed, black skinned and stoop shouldered with long arms dangling nearly to her knees and sharp yellow teeth.  When in heat, she would breed with whatever mate was chosen for her.  She had mated with countless Orcs.  She didn’t know their names, and their bodies all melted together in her memory.  They had never given her any lasting satisfaction.  They might assuage the burning cravings of her body for a season.   They could never fill the aching void in her heart. 

The Dark Lord called her Ghash, “fire,” a name which she considered a compliment.  In fact, she had thought herself quite clever for giving her first-born whelp a name which corresponded to her own: Coal, son of Fire. Little did she understand her own folly.

When first she had given birth to a male Orc-whelp, she had been praised and pampered and given special privileges.  She had been excused completely from the drudgery of attending to prisoners in the dungeons.  Nursing her whelp was the most important work she could possibly do.  Morgoth needed Orcs, and his lieutenant, Sauron, would see that he got them.  Her children were the foundation of his future.  Her spawn were the tool through which the Dark Lord planned to dominate the world.

She had been told that she was special and important, and she had believed it.  She had nursed her son and cared for him for a little more than a year.  She had been proud of his achievements: when he cut his first teeth, when he stood on his own, when he began to eat meat.  She had not recognized where all these milestones would ultimately lead.

Perhaps she ought to have seen it coming.  Still, it had come as a shock when they had torn her son from her arms. Though she longed to forget, the memory of it would haunt her forever.  She had been sitting on the ground near the doorway to her den.  She cradled her son in her lap, peacefully suckling him to sleep in the starlight. Three big Orc soldiers suddenly burst into view with ropes, torches, and terrible scimitars.

“We’ve come for the whelp,” the biggest of them had said.  “It’s time he learned what it means to be a proper Orc.”

Ghash had thrust Coal behind her back, and snarled at them.  Their laughter echoed in the twilit stillness.  She had drawn the long, ugly, saw-toothed knife which she always carried in her belt, and threatened them.  They had laughed again. 

The leader said, “Don’t be stupid, little bitch.  It’s only an Orc-whelp.  Hardly worth dying for.”

While he spoke, his comrades closed in on her.  One drew his own blade and with a battle hardened skill that made it look easy, he deftly knocked the knife from her grasp.   The last one caught her wrists in an iron grip and pinioned them behind her.

She watched as the Orc who had disarmed her bound her son hand and foot, tying a gag in his mouth, so he would be unable to bite.

“It’s the Dark Lord what gave you the whelp, and the Dark Lord can take him away,” the big Orc captain continued.  “Besides, there’ll be more where he came from.”  With a leering grin, he stroked the tangled mat of Ghash’s hair and gave her a lecherous pinch.  She spat squarely in his eye.  He grabbed her chin in his huge, ugly claw and leaned down into her face.  “I said, don’t be stupid!”

With that, he struck Ghash so hard across the face that she nearly lost consciousness, and would have fallen, had she not been braced from behind by the other Orc who still held her wrists securely in place. 

For a moment, the force of the blow knocked the world out of focus. When Ghash’s vision cleared, she could see her little one slung over the back of the Orc who had bound him.  She could never forget the horror and desperation in his eyes as they carried him away.  He had looked to her for rescue, but she could do nothing.

Ghash threw back her head and howled with grief.  She shrieked and sobbed, and let forth a high, mournful wailing.  The Orc who held her just laughed again.  When at last he was satisfied that his fellows had made good their escape with the whelp, he dropped her in a heap on the ground.  She crawled into her den, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapping her long arms around them, she rocked to and fro, moaning and weeping for her lost son.

For a long while, she would not eat.  But she soon realized that when she grew too weak, she would become easy prey.  She did not want to die. 

She wanted to survive, so she must make herself useful, but being useful meant that she must breed again.  Never, ever did she want to feel the horrible, throat clenching, heart stabbing pain she had felt on the day Coal was stolen from her.  Her only choice was to steel her heart against the mother-love which had made her so vulnerable. She would never love anyone or anything again.

Through the countless years, she had borne many more offspring.  Never again had she tried to name them.  She treated them with intentional harshness, despite her instincts.  When the Orc soldiers came for them, she would get up and walk away without looking back.  She didn’t know where they were taken, and she didn’t want to know.  She told herself she didn’t care what happened to them, though she often cried herself to sleep for loneliness.

 Prisoner of Darkness

“For He delivered us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins,” Colossians 1:13-14

Years passed, and Ghash survived.  In Middle Earth great changes occurred.  The sun and moon arose, the fathers of Men appeared, and Morgoth retuned from exile to reclaim his throne in Angband.  But very little changed for Ghash.

Once or twice in recent years, Morgoth had attempted to mate her with Men.  She remembered them with fondness.  She even carried a small memento of one of them in the leather pouch around her neck which held her most precious possessions. It was a needle which she had crafted herself from one of his bones. 

These mates stood out in her memory, not because her liaisons with them had been manifestly different from any of the Orcs with whom she’d coupled.  Rather, it was because afterward, Morgoth had rewarded her with their flesh.  She had devoured her own mates, like some bloated poisonous spider.

The salt-tang of red blood in her mouth had ignited in Ghash an insatiable hunger for more.  There was nothing she wouldn’t do for the promise of man-flesh.  But such treats were rare.

On the whole, Ghash’s life wore on in the same monotonous rhythm. She mated, she whelped, she nursed, she worked in the dungeons: a never ending cycle.  She was not happy, but she didn’t expect happiness.  It was enough to survive, to eat and not be eaten.  What right had any Orc to hope for more?

Just over six months since her last whelp had been taken, Ghash found herself, once again tending prisoners in the dungeons.  Though she did not enjoy such work, she understood that in Angband, those who wished to be fed must never be idle. 

Over the years, she had learned that Morgoth always had a reason for keeping someone alive.  Orcs who let their bloodlust get the better of them and killed a prisoner were likely to become supper themselves.  Though she might steal from the prisoners, taunt and torment them, even threaten them with her brutal blade, she knew she must keep her teeth to herself.

Ghash shuffled down the corridor, with a water-bucket over one elbow and the huge key ring clanking at her belt.  As she approached the last cell on the wing, Ghash noted that a new prisoner had been brought in since she had made her rounds the previous night.  Curious, she fitted a large iron key into the lock on the door and turned it.   The door swung slowly open, and Ghash stepped into the lamp-lit cell.

To her right, against the wall, stood the prisoner.  He was naked to the waist.  His arms were stretched out even with his shoulders, bound to the wall by the pair of manacles on his wrists. He appeared to be an Elf, but taller and more beautiful of face, with white blonde hair and intense blue eyes, like wells of deep water.  His piercing eyes followed her every move as she busied herself about the dungeon.  Because he was pinioned to the wall, she had to bring the water bucket up to him and hold it to his lips.  She felt the intensity of his gaze as he drank.  It was as if he were looking right through her, as if he could read her thoughts.  She wanted to hide, to stop him from staring into her.  To relieve her discomfort, she began to mock him.

“Well, Elf-boy, why’s the Dark Lord so interested in you?  Here you are bein’ shown his finest hospitality, waited on hand and foot.  He don’t do that for just anybody.  You must have something he really wants.  Soon enough you’ll wish you didn’t.  You’ll wish you were never born when he’s through with you.”  He had drained the bucket.  She pulled it away and turned toward the door.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  Ghash stared at him for a moment, her mouth agape.  Who was this person?

The next night she came again.  Again his gaze was riveted to her.  “What are you staring at?” she demanded.  She slapped him, then pinched and twisted his ears as she taunted, “Why’s he keeping you alive, I wonder.  I hope it won’t be for much longer, ‘cause I fancy you’d make some good eating.  What does he want from you, eh? Why are you here?” 

His eyes locked on hers, with that same unnerving stare.  “I’ve come to rescue you,” he said quietly.  Ghash broke into cackled shrieks of laughter.

“If you ask me,” she observed dryly, “I think it’s you who’s in need of rescue just now, not me.”  The cell-door slammed shut before he could respond.

When she had completed her nightly chores, Ghash returned to her den.  She could see the sky lightening, and knew she must hurry if she hoped to be in bed before sunrise.  She was bone tired after working hard through the night.  She ought to have been able to drop to sleep as soon as she collapsed on her pile of dirty straw. But as she curled up for the day, sleep did not come easily to Ghash.  She could not get her mind off of the strange prisoner.  When she closed her eyes his face filled her mind.  Under his relentless gaze she felt both attracted and ashamed at the same time.  She kept turning his strange words over in her mind.  Why would anybody want to rescue her?  It was the promise of a mad man. Yet deep within her heart a foolish hope flickered.

“So why you want to rescue me, Elf-boy?” Ghash demanded. After being robbed of a day’s sleep, she had to know the answer.  “You hear of my fabled beauty and charm?  Oh, I’m good, I am.  You got a thing for Orcs, eh?  Them pretty Elf-maids not hot enough for you?  They don’t call me “Fire” for nothin’.”

The prisoner in chains completely ignored her distasteful innuendos, and looked straight into her eyes.  “They call you ‘Fire’ because it’s a part of your true name.  When you were born your father named you Starfire. Long before the Firstborn of Illuvatar were summoned on their journey to the Sea and to the Blessed Realm beyond, you were lost, stolen by the Dark Lord’s minions and twisted to serve his terrible ends.  Do you not remember, Gilnara?  This is not who you were born to be.  This is not how you were born to live.” 

Ghash stared at the prisoner in appalled disbelief.  Was this Elf raving?  Could anything he said be true?  All her earliest memories were of Angband.  She had been living in the Orc pits of Angband for hundreds of years now.  Yet somehow…

“Think, Nara.  The Dark Lord cannot make anything.  His dominion depends on distorting what already is.  If he could make Orcs for himself, he wouldn’t need breeders like you, would he?  He steals what is already made and perverts it for his own ends.  Orcs are the miserable victims of his evil influence.  You were once an Elf,” and now the Elf leaned toward her and whispered with intensity, “If you will trust me, I can make you an Elf again.”  Ghash searched his face.  Could it be possible?  Even if it were possible, what good would it do?  He was chained to a wall in the Dark Lord’s dungeon.  He couldn’t even save his own life, much less rescue her from her misery.  He was a fool.  He was mad.  It was probably a trap anyway.  He was trying to put her off her guard.

“You’re crazy.  You’re a liar, and I hope Morgoth rips out your liver,” she screamed at him, as she poured the remaining half of his drinking water onto the floor and stormed out of the cell. 

When Ghash made her rounds the following night, she had tried to ignore the prisoner, but he wouldn’t allow it.   His voice was soothing, but insistent, “Nara, I’m here to help you.  Please trust me.”

“Why should I, Elf-boy?  You’re the enemy.  You kill Orcs.  Only Morgoth is good to Orcs.”

“But Morgoth will never love you as I do,” he responded tenderly.

“What did you say?”

“I love you, Nara.  That’s why I’ve come to rescue you.”

“Oh, that is rich!  You love me!  Now I know you’re crazy.”

“I do not speak from madness.  I know who you were.  You were the first babe born under the stars, by the waters of Cuivienen.  I was,” here he paused, as though searching for a suitable word, “a friend of your father.  He laid you in my arms.  I had never seen anyone so tiny and so perfect.  You grasped my finger in your small fist and smiled up at me.  I blessed you, saying, ‘Live!  Thrive!  Shine, little Starfire!’ and I kissed your fair brow.’”

Ghash mouth dropped open.  Could he really be talking about her?

“After you disappeared, your kinsmen searched diligently for you.  But alas, no trace of you could they discover.  Then Morgoth was defeated and taken captive by the Valar, and the dungeons of Utumno were thrown open.  Your people did not find you among the handful of survivors who were released, and so they concluded that you must have been slain.  But your father was not satisfied.  When your people settled on the sea shore, he and I met again after many long years.  He reminded me of you, who had been the fairest babe ever born in Middle Earth.  He implored me to continue the search, to find you, to rescue you.  I know who you were meant to be.  I know what you can become if you’ll only trust me.”

“Alright, Elf-boy.  Let’s say I believe you.  What do I have to do for you to turn me back into an Elf?  Give you the keys?” she asked, shaking her key ring in his face.

“For Morgoth’s evil to be undone, my life must become your life.”

“How?  You gonna kiss me and turn me into an Elf-maid?”

“You must drink my blood and eat my flesh.”

 “I’d be happy to,” Ghash replied, with a cynical chuckle, “but I don’t eat prisoners until Morgoth’s finished with them.  Besides, I’ve eaten my fill of meat: Man, Orc, and Elf.  I’m still the same.  It never transformed me into nothin’ beautiful.”

“No, it’s transformed you into something detestably ugly.”  Swift as lightning, Ghash raked her sharp nails across his face.  The stranger recoiled from her attack.  The bright red weal of her claw marks dripped blood down his cheek, but he went on, “Morgoth gave you flesh to eat to make you his slave.  It accomplished just what your lord wanted it to.  If I give you my flesh and blood freely, you will belong to me, and not him.  His power over you will be broken.”

“And then who’ll be my master? You?”

“I would not have you be a slave any longer.  Your father promised me your hand if I succeeded in my quest to rescue you.”  The prisoner’s face beamed, despite the claw marks.  “I would make you my lady, Nara. That is my heart’s desire; to be your lord and husband.”

“O, first you insult me, now you’ll be makin’ me your lady!  You really are crazy.  Besides, if I eat your flesh and blood, you won’t be nobody’s lord.  You’ll be dead.” 

Without missing a beat, the prisoner responded, “My life will be in you.  You must cast my body into the sea.”

“The sea?” she asked quizzically.

“Yes, you must return my remains to the sea.  Now hurry, unlock these shackles.”

“Wouldn’t you like that, now?  Not on your life, Elf-boy.”  Brandishing the keys in his face with a contemptuous sneer, Ghash darted out the door.

As the sun arose, Ghash returned once more to the filthy den in which she slept.  She shared it with no one, since her last whelp was weaned.  She would sleep alone until the breeding season began again.  She knew it wouldn’t be long now.  Spring was in the air, and she could feel a growing restlessness rising within her.  “Good,” she thought, “soon I’ll get back to some real work.  No more playing chamber maid.”  She lay down on her bed of dank straw, wrapping a ragged scrap of cloth about her shoulders, and tried to get comfortable.  Her thoughts turned to the prisoner she’d been tending.  “I wonder why Morgoth is keeping him so long.  One thing’s certain, he’s already lost his mind.  Imagine him asking me to eat his flesh so I’d turn into an Elf!”

Then suddenly a new idea dawned on her.  What if Morgoth planned him to be her next mate?  The handful of times when she’d mated with Men, they had been sent to her under the influence of powerful aphrodisiacs.  It was no easy task to induce a Man to mate with an Orc.  What if this Elf’s delusion about rescuing her and being devoured in the process was a fantasy crafted by Morgoth?   That must be it.  This mad idea that she was really an Elf must be necessary to entice the Elf to become her mate.  And then she really would drink his blood.

Ghash was certain that this must be the answer.  The Elf was deluded.  Far from being a hero to rescue her, he would become her victim.  She was nothing more than an Orc, and never would be.  Braced by the realism of her new insight, Ghash laid down to sleep.  She felt an empty, gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.  Slowly she drifted off.

 She dreamed of a vast sky full of beautiful stars.  The waves lapped gently upon the shores of a shimmering lake.  Its surface reflected back the twinkling hosts of the heavens above.  Elvish voices sang a slow haunting melody.  But she could not remember the words.

"'He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him.'"  Jesus, John 6:56 

Ghash stood outside the door of the prisoner's cell, her fists clenched.  In her heart she was angry with the Elf.  Though she knew he was deluded, he had aroused futile hopes and longings in her, and she hated him for it. He would not toy with her heart.  Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and unlocked the door.

The Elf's haunting eyes followed her as she carried in the bucket of water.  "Gilnara," he said softly, "please look at me."  Ghash stubbornly kept her eyes averted.  He continued, "Gilnara, I want to save you, to rescue you from this life." 

 Inwardly, the she-Orc fumed, though she would not speak a word.

"I want you to be my bride.  Will you not trust me?"

Finally, Ghash's wrath overcame her resolve to keep silent.  "You're a liar.  You're insane. You know nothing.  You couldn't save me if you wanted to.  You can't even get loose.  Go on, get out of those shackles."

The Elf made no attempt to break his bonds.  Such efforts were obviously futile.
 
"You see?  You can't rescue nobody, not even yourself."

"Gilnara, please believe I love you and I want to help you."

"If you love me, then kiss me, Elf-boy.  Kiss me and turn me into an Elf-princess."  

Ghash leaned toward him, her jagged yellow teeth and cracked black lips just inches from his face.  He closed his eyes and turned his face away. 

"What's the matter?  Don't you love me?  Ain't I beautiful?"  Seizing him by the hair, and yanking his head backward she shrieked, "Tell me I'm beautiful!"

"I will never lie to you, Nara.  Not even to spare your feelings," he answered softly.

"Ain't I beautiful?" the Orc-bitch demanded, ripping out handfuls of his hair.

"No," he said frankly.  There was sorrow in his voice, and pity in his eyes.  "You are unspeakably ugly, a thing of evil whose only impulses are depraved.  Morgoth has destroyed you, but I can re-make you."

The last thread of Ghash's self-control snapped.  "I hate you!" she shrieked.

A blinding fury seized her.  Faster than thought, she whipped the knife from her belt and drove it deep into his chest.  She sliced a huge, jagged gash into his body, plunged in both her hands, and ripped out his heart.  For an instant she held the Elf's heart up to his face in defiance.  Then she devoured it greedily, gulping mouthfuls so fast, she nearly choked as she crammed the bloody organ down her gullet.  Even as she did so, Ghash realized with a touch of fear that this was like no flesh she had ever tasted before.  The flavor was richer, stronger, wilder.  This was not the blood of an Elf.  This was the ichor of a Vala.  She had murdered a god.

Taking a deep breath, Ghash looked up from her bloody hands.  Still suspended from his manacled wrists, the stranger's now lifeless body had slumped against the wall.  His head had fallen backward, and his vacant eyes stared up into nothingness.  Pity washed over Ghash like a wave.  With trembling hands, she reached up and gently closed his eyes.  Even in death, he was so beautiful.

And now the horror of what she had done began to sink in.  She realized now how wrong she had been.  He had not been, as she assumed, an Elf caught in a web of Morgoth's deception.  He was one of the mighty ones, a messenger of the Lords of the West, whom even Morgoth dreaded. He had come to rescue her, but she had refused to trust him.  Instead of letting him help her, she had devoured him.  Tears of remorse fell like rain as she unlocked the fetters which bound him, and eased his body to the floor.

"He did love me," she thought, "but I would not trust him."  What a wretched fool! Tenderly, she laid out his body on the stone floor.  Using the remaining water in the bucket, she washed away the blood from his chest.  Soon the smell of blood would draw other Orcs, like jackals to carrion.  She could not bear to think of his body being further desecrated.  She needed to work quickly.

Ghash hastily cast her eyes about the room.  Two oil lamps were mounted on the walls of the cell.  She took these down and anointed his body with the oil.  Then she set it aflame.  His remains did not smoke, as she had expected.  Instead, his body was quickly enveloped in a hot, white blaze.  Amid the flames, it seemed to her that his skin glowed like burnished bronze in a forge.  Very soon, his body was reduced to a pile of ashes.  His remains were safe from the foul hands of ravenous Orcs.  Now what?

He had said she must throw his body into the sea.  His body was only ashes now, but she would honor his request.  She felt it was the least she could do.

Ghash reached for the small pouch around her neck.  She quickly emptied her precious possessions into a pile and began scooping the ashes into the little purse by the handful.  Then she slipped the pouch over her head and tucked it into the neck of her tunic.

Ghash collected her things in the water bucket and gathered it up along with the key ring.  Though her treasures seemed of little worth to her now, she could not afford to leave any traces of her presence.  She stepped to the door and listened for any sound of approaching guards.  She had to get out of Angband and away to the sea.  Soon Morgoth would realize that she had killed a prisoner, and he would be angry.  Before, this knowledge would have been enough to immobilize Ghash in terror, but it hardly worried her now.  Her only thought now, her all consuming goal, was to honor in death the one who had come to rescue her by throwing his ashes into the sea.  Whatever she must endure, however long it might take, she owed him this.

There was silence in the corridor as Ghash crept quietly out of the cell, being careful to lock the door behind her.  She hurried toward her den, trying hard not to be seen.

Once there, she swiftly gathered provisions for her journey.   She filled a skin with water, and tied a couple stale loaves of bread into the raggy shawl which served as her only blanket.  Though she was loath to do so, she carefully cleaned her dagger and thrust it into her belt.  It almost sickened her to look at it, remembering what she had done, but she might well need a weapon if she wanted to escape from Angband.  When the new day dawned, and the Orcs settled down to sleep and to hide from the hated sun, she would make her escape.

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act I, scene ii

There were many tunnels, and dens throughout the grounds of Angband.  Several of them, Ghash knew, connected with longer underground roads beneath the Mountains of Thangorodrim.  Morgoth wanted his Orcs to have speedy access to the regions beyond his domain, so that he could strike in force without warning.  Though Ghash had never been beyond the mountains herself, she knew where the tunnels started.

Once, long ago, she had considered running away, but she had realized with dismay that there was nowhere for her to go.  Morgoth had many powerful enemies.  Those who hated Morgoth would not hesitate to take out their vengeance on one who had been his servant, even if she were only a wretched she-Orc.  She could never have dreamed that one of her master's strong foes would ever attempt to rescue her.

As the sky began to lighten, and the other Orcs hurried to seek shelter from the sun, Ghash made her way to the mouth of the passage which led under Thangorodrim.  Glancing about furtively to be sure no one was watching, she darted into the tunnel.  If luck was with her, she would avoid meeting anyone coming the other way.

She moved quickly in the tunnel, straining both eyes and ears for any sign of approaching danger.  She had no difficulty making her way in the darkness.  She felt at home in the dark, and could see well in it.  She did not know how it would be when she came out at the far end and had to walk openly under the sun.

Though the way before her twisted and climbed, it only branched once or twice.  The road was broad and smooth, designed to provide rapid access for Orc marauders.  Just as she was beginning to relax, she heard foot steps up the passageway.  Her heart pounding, she shrank back against the curving wall and froze.   Nervous sweat moistened her palms as she grasped for the hilt of her knife.  The approaching footsteps grew louder.

She heard a soft voice, like a whisper in her mind, "I'm here, Gilnara.  Don't be afraid."
Before she had time to wonder about this, the creature whose arrival she had been dreading rounded a corner and came into view.  It was a lone Orc, a big soldier with a cruel scimitar.  If it came to fighting, Ghash knew she wouldn't stand a chance.

"Do not fear," the gentle voice repeated.  Ghash held her breath as the Orc passed right by her.  He gave no indication that he had seen or sensed her at all. He shuffled past quickly, completely oblivious to her presence.

For the rest of her journey, Ghash never met another living soul.  She made swift progress and at last she neared the outlet.  Ghash could see the bright sunlight streaming in the tunnel mouth.  Like all Orcs, she feared the daylight and had never gone out under the open sun of her own free will.  She shivered and almost lost her resolve.  Yet, she could not go back.  With Morgoth there could be no atoning for the crime of killing a prisoner.  In her heart she realized she didn't want to go back.  She grasped the pouch of ashes in her hand, took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight.

At first she squinted so hard her head ached, but as she made her way down the lower slopes of the mountain, she found the light did not hurt as she had expected.  She began to relax her eyes and look around her.

What she found most amazing was the color.  Even here in the bare and craggy rocks, there were a million shades of black, grey and brown.  She saw bits of green here and there where grasses grew between the rocks.  The sky above was a remarkable blue, "As blue as his eyes," she thought with a deep sigh.  Having lived all her life in the darkness, she had no idea the world was full of such color.

"Even though he didn't make me an Elf, at least I was able to see this," she thought, caressing the pouch which lay against her chest.

 She made excellent progress in climbing down the slopes and had soon reached the foot of the mountain.  She had no clear idea where to find the sea, except she knew that she must travel west.  As she sat for a moment to take a drink from her water skin and eat a mouthful of bread, she heard the unmistakable sound of water rushing over stones.  A stream!  She knew all rivers eventually flowed into the sea.  She resolved to find this one and follow it.  

After a few minutes search, she found the stream.  It was cold and clear and deliciously clean.  She bathed her face, hands and feet in it, and the wonderful sensation of water on her skin made her want to laugh aloud.  "Thank you," she whispered.

As the sun sank in the west, she found she was not weary, and so she continued to follow the stream, running along its banks at an incredible pace.  She felt no need to sleep, but her mind slipped into a sort of waking dream.  As the stars came out overhead, they merged with the brilliant night sky of her dreams, near the gently flowing waters of the glittering lake.  The Elves were singing to her in their soft, unearthly voices.  Their song urged her onward, ever onward until she saw the eastern sky grow pale.

As the sun crept over the horizon, Ghash looked on in wonder.  For the first time in her life, she could watch the day dawn without fear!  She stood still and watched as the sky was painted with brilliant and varied hues, incredible shades of pink, orange and purple!  Just to experience this was a treasure beyond compare.  Joy and thanks welled up in her breast.  Her heart wanted to sing, her feet wanted to dance. 

For days and nights she ran by the stream, both waking and dreaming, but always rushing toward the sea.  On occasion, she would stop to eat and to drink from the stream.  She discovered foods she had never tasted; ripe juicy berries of red, and deep purple.  Their flavor was exquisite.  She relished every bite, and breathed her silent thanks for the opportunity to taste such food.   For the first time, she saw flowers, really saw them, with all the delicate symmetry of their beautiful petals, and colors and scents that took her breath away. "He has not made me an Elf," she thought, "but, he has given me so much!" 

Soon, she realized she was nearing her goal.  The river had grown very wide, and marsh grasses grew in the waters along its banks.  White sea birds wheeled overhead calling out mournfully to one another.  The air smelled different, fresher, more bracing.

 
Suddenly she could see it spreading out before her: the sea.  She had never imagined anything so vast.  She knew now why he had wanted his body to be brought here.  This place was like him; tranquil and deep, yet surging with a wild intensity.

 
"I have come," she said aloud.  "I did not trust you, as I should have, to my own sorrow and shame.  But I have brought you to the sea.  May we both find rest beneath its waves."

She waded out into the water until it reached her knees, her waist, her chest.  From between her breasts she pulled the precious pouch, and with trembling hands, she cast his ashes into the sea foam.  Her quest was done.  There was nothing left for her to do but die.  She could never go back to her old life, and she did not want to live without him.  He was her life, and he was here, in the sea.  She walked on as the swells rose above her neck.  Waves washed over her head.  For a few frightening moments, everything was a blur of white sky and blue green water.  The rushing noise of breakers crashing over her head drowned out all other sounds.  Up through the churning green waves, she thought she glimpsed a figure walking toward her on the surface of the water. Then she sank down into darkness.

"Gilnara," she heard a voice calling to her out of the blackness.  "Gilnara, look at me," where had she heard that voice before?  She felt warm and comfortable.  She was wrapped in a soft blanket, her head cradled in someone's lap.  Gentle hands were stroking her hair.  Slowly she opened her eyes.  He was smiling down at her.

"Did I die?" she asked him, confusion furrowing her brow.

"In a way, yes.  The Orc that you were died, but I rescued you.  I breathed life back into you.  Gilnara, you have just begun to live again."
 

"But you! I burned your body. I murdered you.  I ripped out your heart and ate it," at this Gilnara covered her face.   Her shoulders shook as mournful sobs wracked her body.

He craddling her in his arm, he pulled her hands away from her face, and with infinite tenderness, he wiped away her tears.
 

"I forgive you."

"You do?"

"Yes.  What you did was horrible, but it is gone now, buried in the depths of the sea."

"But…"

"You did not steal my heart, Nara, I gave it to you freely.  Now my life is in you.  I love you as I love my self.  I gave you my heart, I could never harden it against you."

"But how is it possible that you are here, and alive?  I burned your body.  I cast your ashes into the sea."

"Yes.  You did well.  You persevered on the quest that I set for you.  I knew that rescuing you would cost my life, but I also knew that if you returned my body to him, Ulmo would revive me.  I am a vassal of Ulmo, the great Vala who rules the sea.  I am one of the Maiar, who serve the mightiest Valar. My name is Earglin, and today my lord has also bestowed on me a new name: Seregdil, because by my blood I have freed you from slavery to darkness.  Here, you are still weak.  Come and eat."

Looking about, she saw a small fire with fish roasting on it.  "Here," he said laying a steaming piece of fish on a slab of flat, golden-brown bread and bringing to her.  He began placing bites of the warm, white meat into her mouth.  As he did so he said,

"Though my physical frame had been destroyed, my spirit went with you on every step of your journey.  It was I who protected you from capture as you escaped from Angband.  It was I who guided you to the stream.  Though you weren't fully aware of my presence, I was rejoicing to see you begin to live as what you really are."

Strengthened by the nourishing food, she sat up and he handed the bread and fish to her.  When she had eaten her fill, he knelt before her, taking her hand in his.

"Gilnara, your father begged me to find you and rescue you if I might," he began.

"Who is my father?"

"Your father is Cirdan the Shipwright, lord of the Falathrim.  His people are the Teleri Elves who keep the Havens on the coasts of Beleriand.  Though others of the Teleri embarked for Aman, your father was loath to forsake these shores, in part because of his concern for you.  He did not wish to leave you behind, never knowing for certain what had become of you.  Though your kinsmen had presumed you were dead, your father would never believe it. 

When the Teleri settled on the coastlands, Cirdan beseeched my lord, Ulmo, to send his people to search for you.  Though the Teleri have always been especially beloved of Ulmo, and your father in particular, my lord was reticent to send his Maiar on what would most probably prove a fruitless errand. 

But, your father still would not give up and he begged me to help him.  He promised me your hand if I should succeed.  I volunteered for the quest, and Ulmo at last agreed that I might seek to find and rescue you.  Long years I searched, but in the end I found you.  I knew that to undo the evil which Morgoth had wrought would require me to suffer much, yet I was willing to endure whatever I must for the joy of setting you free.  For the joy of making you my bride," he looked into her eyes with his unwavering gaze, deep as the ocean, intense as the fire, "Nara, will you marry me?"

Burying her face in a fold of her blanket, Gilnara cried out in despair, "But I'm so ugly!" 

With gentle firmness, he pushed her arm down.   Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her face toward him, and said, "No, Nara, not anymore.  I told you I would never lie to you.  You are beautiful.  When first I looked on you, you were the loveliest child ever born, and now you have grown into the fairest among women. There is not another so lovely to my eyes.  Come, see for yourself."  Taking her by the hand, he drew her to a tide pool of deep, clear water which gave back a perfect reflection of the sky above.  "Look in the pool.  What do you see?"

Gilnara bent her head to look into the water.  She saw a face framed by a glorious cataract of white blonde hair, and deep azure eyes, as blue as the heavens.  At first she thought it was his face she was seeing, but looking more closely she could see the delicate, feminine features, the smooth, fair skin, and the lithe, slender figure. She realized with a start that the beautiful creature staring up from the water was indeed herself.  She laughed out loud.

"I love you, Nara.  Will you marry me?"  She looked up at him, her eyes shining with wonder, but again her face clouded.  Her past rose up to haunt her.  There had been so many lovers before him…

As if reading her thoughts he said, "There were many who used you to gratify their own desires.  You have never had a lover.  Will you have me? Will you be my bride?"
She looked at him with amazement.  Who could resist such love?

"Yes, Seregdil" she said, "I will be your bride." Laughing for joy, he caught her up in his arms and whirled her about exuberantly. Then setting her down, he held her close and she could hear the beating of his heart, the heart which he had given for her. He looked down into her face and straight into her soul with his piercing eyes. All of the vile things she had done, all the horrors she had suffered, faded like an evil dream in the clear morning light as she was kissed for the first time by her one and only true lover.