The Game of the Gods, 22.
Don't own the Tolkien characters.
The Game of the Gods, 22
Morgoth looked cautiously around as he prepared to start playing, but if anyone was nearby save Sauron, he couldn't tell. There did seem to be a distant uproar, so the Valar were probably still getting upset over Fëanor, but that didn't concern him.
As long as Fëanor didn't rush up behind him.
Morgoth carefully turned his chair so that he could see both the board and the table, while keeping his diary in his lap.
Of course, that didn't mean that someone couldn't come up from behind him at the new angle. Morgoth frowned in frustration.
Sauron snickered from under the table again.
"I mean it," said Morgoth. "The Lúthien stash and that stash of the female werewolves you were keeping."
The snickering not only stopped, but Morgoth had the impression that Sauron had moved far back under the table.
He smirked, and began to play, in his indulgence adding a few things he hadn't dared to add before.
Protector of the Little Ones
Okay, I know that you say vampires don't exist in Middle-earth, but they used to! And I found a way to make it work. All you have to do is read along. And remember: Turingethil is NOT a Mary Sue! She has flaws!
Morgoth smirked as the high-pitched voice resounded through the darkness, then nearly spilled his diary off his lap in surprise when another high-pitched call answered it. He stared as a dark shape fluttered past him and alighted near the board, but understood when it turned a withered face towards him.
"You called me?" Thuringwethil asked.
Morgoth shook his head. "No. Go away."
"But there was a voice much like my own," Thuringwethil persisted. "What message do you want me to carry?"
"What message do you want me to carry?"
"Go away, you bloody thing!"
Thuringwethil rose at once and skimmed away into the darkness. Morgoth blinked. That had been easier than he expected.
He turned back to the board.
"Such a small thing," Boromir was muttering, when he was interrupted.
"Drop the Ring at once, and turn around slowly."
Boromir would have spun and grabbed at his sword, but something sharp was already poking him in the back. He let the Ring fall, and turned around slowly, gasping when he saw the woman before him.
She was tall and pale, with long dark hair and bright red lips. She had wide wings that extended from her back, but after a moment changed from wings into the folds of a sable cloak. Her eyes were a piercing black normally, filled with the sorrow of worlds, but they glowed red with anger now as she looked at him.
"I have come to protect the hobbits," she said, whispering so only Boromir could hear. "You shall not hurt Frodo and the rest while I am here."
Boromir fell back as Frodo scrambled past him, forgetting the Ring in his hurry to hug his friend. The rest of the hobbits crowded around, laughing and cheering, while the Company watched in bewilderment. Turingethil hugged them all, then looked up when Gandalf neared.
"Who is this?" the wizard asked.
"I could say the same of you, old man," Turingethil replied in a drawl, flipping her cloak over her shoulder.
Gandalf gaped at her.
"In any case," Turingethil ended, "this is not the place to talk about it. There would be an avalanche soon, if you kept climbing. I will carry the hobbits back down, and then we must go through the Mines of Moria." Her cloak turned abruptly back into wings, and then she grew into a winged wolf, large enough for all the hobbits to climb aboard, while the rest of the Company blinked.
"Message for you."
Morgoth turned around in annoyance. "What do you want?" he hissed.
Thuringwethil looked at him stolidly. "I met Galadriel, and gave your message to her. She told me to tell you to sod off."
Morgoth swore in frustration. "Just go away and don't come back!"
Thuringwethil once more took to the air. Morgoth turned back to the game, shaking his head. How in the world had Sauron put up with her?
Someone muttered something under the table, about "really pretty with her bat-fell off."
Morgoth rolled his eyes. Sauron was such a lech.
When they were inside the Mines of Moria, Gandalf turned to Turingethil. "Tell us your history."
Turingethil laughed. "You should know it, old man." She settled on her heels. "I was old before the world began. I was an Ainu who chose not to descend into the world, because I did not want the limitations of a Vala. But when I realized that there was war in the world, and that no one cared for the very small ones- the hobbits- I went to Eru and asked him to place me in the world, in a mortal body. So he did. This body is the daughter of Thuringwethil and Draugluin-"
"No, she's not."
Morgoth sighed. "Thuringwethil, what are you doing here?"
"To tell you that Galadriel said she's not going to bloody go away, she did that once," said Thuringwethil, fluttering around his chair. "And that is not my daughter."
"She is for the sake of the story."
"But she's not."
"She is for the sake of the story."
"But she's not."
Morgoth tried to ignore her.
"But she's not."
Morgoth gave her a precise, detailed description of what she could do with herself, and Thuringwethil left again.
"-so I'm half-vampire and half-werewolf. But my soul is the soul of an Ainu. I can shapechange, see the future, and I'm immortal. I know that the Quest will fail without my help." Turingethil smiled narrowly at Gandalf. "That is who I am. Frodo found me one day when my wings had tangled in a tree and helped me get free, and now I am protecting the hobbits. That is all."
"Yes?" Turingethil glared at Boromir. She knew he wanted the Ring.
"You are not an evil creature?"
"No." Turingethil turned her back on him.
"'Scuse me, 'scuse me, pardon me, not here..." Fëanor said as he calmly trotted past.
Morgoth yelped and jumped back from the board, then leaned forward again.
Fëanor looked up and gave him a cheery wave. "Just came to get some mithril," he said. "Don't mind me."
"Who are you?" Turingethil asked, wrinkling up her perfect nose.
"Fancy you not knowing that," said Fëanor.
Turingethil tossed her head. "I am born to every crown, including the crown of knowledge, and I know everyone who is worthy of being noticed."
Fëanor gave her an odd stare for a moment. "Born to every crown?"
Morgoth gave a groan and covered his face with his hands.
But Fëanor shrugged and turned back to his quest. "Pardon me, not here..." he said, passing into the darkness.
The members of the Company blinked after him, but the presence of Turingethil was more compelling, and they turned back to her. So intent were they on talking to her that they didn't see Pippin straying near the brink of the well, or dropping the stone into it, until the echoing noise sprang up.
"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf yelled.
Turingethil was on her feet at once, drawing her sword, pointing it at him. "Don't ever, ever do that again," she said, "or I will turn you into a rabbit and put you among foxes."
Once again, Gandalf was reduced to gaping at her.
"Sorry to be in the way, do ignore me," said Fëanor, going past with a bucket full of mithril.
"She says she's going to kick your ass."
"What?" snapped Morgoth, looking up. Thuringwethil was clinging to the back of his chair and looking at him with her dull eyes.
"Galadriel," said Thuringwethil. "I met her and gave her your message, and she says she's coming to kick your ass."
Morgoth flinched, and hurried on with the game. Galadriel would stop him; he knew she would. She was far too prone to glaring at men and making them feel like little boys with one glance, while at the same time not letting them blame her. It had to be the reason Celeborn had stayed with her for so long.
Turingethil flew above the hobbits, guarding them from the Balrog as they ran through Moria. She knew what she had to do, and she did it, the moment it crossed onto the bridge. Hovering, her great bat-wings beating about her, she turned and dove for its neck.
She bit into the black skin, and the Balrog screamed and thrashed.
"Have you seen my husband around here?"
Thuringwethil looked up in startlement. Facing her was a tired-looking red-haired Elf. The woman brushed her hair out of her face and gave Turingethil an inquiring glance, dancing about nimbly as the bridge rocked.
Turingethil was sure that she recognized the woman as another Sue, and was willing to help her. After all, what Elf had red hair? "Who are you looking for?"
"Not here," said Fëanor, trotting along another bridge.
"Him," said the red-haired Elf, and started running after him. "Thanks."
"Is he your lust object?" Turingethil called after her, clinging on as the Balrog tried to throw her off. It couldn't do it; vampires had strength beyond strength.
The woman gave her a very odd look. "No, my husband," she said, and called, "Fëanor! You will come back and listen to me right now!"
"You and I don't have anything to discuss, Nerdanel," said Fëanor, calmly looking straight ahead.
"How about you encouraging our sons to wild behavior? And upsetting Maglor so badly that Nienna says he's going to need group therapy? And rebelling against the Valar for the sake of a few laughs? And those bloody Silmarils, which you always loved more than me..."
The two arguing Elves faded from sight, and Turingethil shook her head and turned back to the Balrog, biting it neatly in the neck. It slumped. Turingethil smiled. She was not evil, but the power of the body was still that of a vampire.
"She's not my daughter."
Morgoth glared at Thuringwethil. "It doesn't really matter," he spat. "I say that I can do anything I want."
Thuringwethil fluttered her wings, but said nothing.
"We should not rest for long. We should be on the move as soon as possible."
Turingethil smiled at Gandalf's concern. She had foreseen the future as it would have been without her, and this was nothing. Gandalf would have died, and Frodo been hurt. Now, everyone was alive and feeling a bit bewildered, and they would be in the woods of Lórien soon enough.
Turingethil stretched, then folded her wings and strolled down towards the still, clear water that lay not far away. As she knelt and scooped up some water in her hands, she blinked. In the water shone a crown, and she could not see any reflection of her face at all.
Turingethil knew what that meant. She had been born to every crown. She would be Queen of Gondor eventually, and of Mirkwood and Rivendell. She just had to take this crown, too.
She reached for it, but the crown seemed to be beyond her grasp. She leaned further into the water, stretching out her hand.
Someone suddenly shoved Morgoth hard. He lurched forward, but recovered himself and stared around, fearful that Galadriel was nearby.
No Galadriel yet, he saw with a sigh of relief, but then he realized the diary had fallen for his lap.
Frantically, he grabbed for it.
Turingethil gasped as she felt the shore suddenly give way, and she tumbled into the water. She tried to lunge back up, but her cloak-wings tangled around her, waterlogged, and she fell back so that the surface covered her face.
"Help!" she tried to shout, but her mouth filled with water. The crown still shone steadily and calmly in front of her as Turingethil drowned in Mirrormere.
Morgoth shrieked. He had been almost too distracted to note the death of his Sue, but now he was far more worried about his diary.
Thuringwethil reeled past him, then hovered, and Morgoth saw his diary gripped in her claws.
He also saw a flash, in her eyes, of an intelligence he had never suspected was there.
He snatched at her, and the vampire laughed tauntingly at him and shot into the sky, shouting, "I know someone who will pay me well for this!"
Morgoth slumped back on the table, panting, exhausted.
Sauron snickered again.
"Morgoth, I am going to kick your ass," said Galadriel's voice.
And what is Fëanor doing? And where is Thuringwethil going?
Only time will tell.