Seregrían recalls that for three days and nights, she huddled near a fire fed only by scant wood and her staff’s power, watching over Gwathwethil as the wounded morroval healed herself from within. The she-bat slept a great deal, waking only to sate her hunger with the raw flesh of wolf and ice-drake that Seregrían provided. During those times, they shared words, and the Elf-scholar shrewdly used the morroval’s weakened state to question her about herself, and in this way she learned much of the nature of the merrevail – and finally, the events that spawned the creature lying in the snow beside her.
The Merrevail are indeed creatures of the Dark, the ancient evils that roamed the world before the Count of Time began. The first of them all were spirits, summoned by the Dark Power and taking the half-bat form they still wear to this day. As the Dark Powers cannot create new things or imbue with life, the ranks of the merrevail would never increase; thus the means were devised to seize hapless victims and corrupt them through vile arts and torment until they slowly transformed into merrevail, but now able to multiply after the fashion of other races.
But unlike the orcs, who could swiftly increase in massive numbers beyond count, the merrevail increased far too slowly to support the schemes of the Dark Powers. Therefore, they were confined as indirect servants and not used in the forefront of the wars, such was their value that they would not be squandered in fighting. Despite this, at the War of Wrath and the battle when Thangorodrim was broken, the ranks of the merrevail were thinned almost beyond recovery; but a handful of the ancient evil escaped the fall, chief among them Lhaereth the Stained, rumored to be active in Mordor in the service of Sauron.
And that is how, after Morgoth was victorious over the combined hosts of Elves, Dwarves and Men, that the unthinkable happened. Thandwen threw herself into the Sea in despair and madness, as Seregrían watched. But by a cruel twist of fate she did not impact on the rocks below, but was washed onto the sands, broken in body and spirit, and near death. It was thus that she was found by a pair of merrevail who, roaming the lands on the hunt, lurked close by and marked where Thandwen fell. Taking her up, they bore her to the lair of their chieftess, Bogrian; and she knew the arts that would change and morph the dying Elf into one of their own. For her part Thandwen, weakened and broken and now fearing death, clung to the only life offered her, and thus by evil choice became the morroval who took a new name: Gwathwethil.
Seregrían can recall every word, having taken all the tale in silence, as much in shocked horror as careful notice. But there is no further doubt to her mind: for she watched the eyes of the morroval, amber and shot through with blood, fade into the clear grey of the Elves and not return. The limbs and frame may be corrupted, with misshapen pinions, fangs and talons – but the face and eyes, and even the voice, are free of the will of the merrevail and their queen, free of the Dark.
But, what is she: Thandwen the Elf-woman, or the morroval called Gwathwethil?
And can the Elf find redemption?
