Tears of the Valar.
folder
-Multi-Age › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
48
Views:
3,822
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
48
Views:
3,822
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prologue
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The group of men gathered in the dark, vast hall watched as the pakra, the holy man, lifted the knife, uttering words in the ancient language of his line. He called upon the Valar, though which ones they could not say, then brought the blade down swiftly, plunging into the belly of the young slave lying bound to the stone altar.
The knife went deep, severing the large vessel which carried blood from the heart and throughout the body. The pakra had been doing this for a very long time and knew exactly where and how deep to strike. Blood shot up in an arc, spurting with each beat of the slave’s dying heart, making patterns on the white silk cloth stretched above him.
None of the men looked away, though more than a few of them were disgusted by the display. Their leader had slaughtered dozens of slaves during the past week because he did not like what the signs were telling him. Since his journey into the west a few years earlier, he had become preoccupied, almost obsessed, with the tales and legends of Elves and only the recent signs had called his attention from his quest to acquire an Elf of his own. Apparently, he had even encountered them in the west, though none of the men in the temple had ever seen one and some even doubted the existence of such beings. Still, when the Supreme Ruler spoke, his word became truth and they had no choice but to go along with his whims.
The pakra gestured to his attendants and they took down the silk cloth. The slave was dead and no longer sprayed his blood up to form the signs. The attendants held up the cloth and the holy man studied the arcing designs. All of the men standing in the far corner held their collective breaths, hoping the blood would tell the Ruler what he wanted to hear. Enough slaves had been sacrificed in this manner.
One man stood apart from the rest, near the altar. When the slave had been killed he had felt a thrill of pleasure wash over him though he cursed the rule that prescribed the sacrifices must be drugged so as to feel no pain. His dark amber eyes glittered with flecks of gold as he focused his attention on the silk canvas painted with dark red blood.
The pakra studied the silk for some time, searching for some nuance that would change the meaning of the signs; but, as in all the previous sacrifices, the messages were the same. He knew the Ruler would be angry, but one could not change the will of the Valar. Turning to face the man who stood watching him so closely, he chose his words carefully.
“The blood does not lie, my lord. The sun sets on our land and a new sun arises in the northwest. It will burn away all that that is deleterious and what is left shall be washed in the Tears of the Valar.” He had been making the same pronouncement for months with each weekly sacrifice ordered by the Ruler. When the prophecy did not change, the Ruler had ordered daily sacrifices and during the past week, hourly ones. Still, the words were the same for the signs were the same. He knew the Ruler would likely have him put to death, but every other pakra in the realm had been reading the same signs so his death would change nothing.
The group of men said nothing, but felt despair begin to fill their hearts. It seemed the Ruler would continue this waste of resources trying to receive an answer that would not come. The Ruler was silent for a moment.
“There are none who may stand against us. All who have challenged us have fallen before us. We rule all of the east and will take more. The sun and the moon and the stars all belong to me, including any that may arise from the northwest sky.” He turned, the waves of his long black hair flowing behind him as he walked swiftly from the temple. The group of men bowing, the fingertips of their left hands pressed to the center of their foreheads until he had passed them, heading back to his palace.
“At least he did not order the sacrifices to continue,” one of the men said softly.
Another nodded. “We have almost run out of slaves in the prisons; he would begin using the ones who are actually doing work.”
“And then move on to our own people,” a third man commented. The others turned to look at him, surprised he had voiced the thought none of the others had dared speak.
“What do you suppose he will do now? Order preparations?” the second man mused aloud.
“Likely he will go back to his sport, raping and torturing slaves for his amusement, ignoring what the pakra tells him because he believes none can stand against us,” the first man snorted derisively.
“None have,” a fourth offered. “But that is because we have always been prepared. We could prepare now for this threat, but he will simply not believe it.”
“It will be up to us,” the third man said quietly. “We must see to our people for it seems he has other priorities.”
“Like his obsession with Elves,” the fourth man added and the others nodded. “We must make preparations for an attack and increase our vigilance; but we must do so quietly.” The others agreed; to prepare for a war the Ruler did not decree was a sign they doubted the Ruler’s wisdom and ability to protect his realm; and doubt equaled treason.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The group of men gathered in the dark, vast hall watched as the pakra, the holy man, lifted the knife, uttering words in the ancient language of his line. He called upon the Valar, though which ones they could not say, then brought the blade down swiftly, plunging into the belly of the young slave lying bound to the stone altar.
The knife went deep, severing the large vessel which carried blood from the heart and throughout the body. The pakra had been doing this for a very long time and knew exactly where and how deep to strike. Blood shot up in an arc, spurting with each beat of the slave’s dying heart, making patterns on the white silk cloth stretched above him.
None of the men looked away, though more than a few of them were disgusted by the display. Their leader had slaughtered dozens of slaves during the past week because he did not like what the signs were telling him. Since his journey into the west a few years earlier, he had become preoccupied, almost obsessed, with the tales and legends of Elves and only the recent signs had called his attention from his quest to acquire an Elf of his own. Apparently, he had even encountered them in the west, though none of the men in the temple had ever seen one and some even doubted the existence of such beings. Still, when the Supreme Ruler spoke, his word became truth and they had no choice but to go along with his whims.
The pakra gestured to his attendants and they took down the silk cloth. The slave was dead and no longer sprayed his blood up to form the signs. The attendants held up the cloth and the holy man studied the arcing designs. All of the men standing in the far corner held their collective breaths, hoping the blood would tell the Ruler what he wanted to hear. Enough slaves had been sacrificed in this manner.
One man stood apart from the rest, near the altar. When the slave had been killed he had felt a thrill of pleasure wash over him though he cursed the rule that prescribed the sacrifices must be drugged so as to feel no pain. His dark amber eyes glittered with flecks of gold as he focused his attention on the silk canvas painted with dark red blood.
The pakra studied the silk for some time, searching for some nuance that would change the meaning of the signs; but, as in all the previous sacrifices, the messages were the same. He knew the Ruler would be angry, but one could not change the will of the Valar. Turning to face the man who stood watching him so closely, he chose his words carefully.
“The blood does not lie, my lord. The sun sets on our land and a new sun arises in the northwest. It will burn away all that that is deleterious and what is left shall be washed in the Tears of the Valar.” He had been making the same pronouncement for months with each weekly sacrifice ordered by the Ruler. When the prophecy did not change, the Ruler had ordered daily sacrifices and during the past week, hourly ones. Still, the words were the same for the signs were the same. He knew the Ruler would likely have him put to death, but every other pakra in the realm had been reading the same signs so his death would change nothing.
The group of men said nothing, but felt despair begin to fill their hearts. It seemed the Ruler would continue this waste of resources trying to receive an answer that would not come. The Ruler was silent for a moment.
“There are none who may stand against us. All who have challenged us have fallen before us. We rule all of the east and will take more. The sun and the moon and the stars all belong to me, including any that may arise from the northwest sky.” He turned, the waves of his long black hair flowing behind him as he walked swiftly from the temple. The group of men bowing, the fingertips of their left hands pressed to the center of their foreheads until he had passed them, heading back to his palace.
“At least he did not order the sacrifices to continue,” one of the men said softly.
Another nodded. “We have almost run out of slaves in the prisons; he would begin using the ones who are actually doing work.”
“And then move on to our own people,” a third man commented. The others turned to look at him, surprised he had voiced the thought none of the others had dared speak.
“What do you suppose he will do now? Order preparations?” the second man mused aloud.
“Likely he will go back to his sport, raping and torturing slaves for his amusement, ignoring what the pakra tells him because he believes none can stand against us,” the first man snorted derisively.
“None have,” a fourth offered. “But that is because we have always been prepared. We could prepare now for this threat, but he will simply not believe it.”
“It will be up to us,” the third man said quietly. “We must see to our people for it seems he has other priorities.”
“Like his obsession with Elves,” the fourth man added and the others nodded. “We must make preparations for an attack and increase our vigilance; but we must do so quietly.” The others agreed; to prepare for a war the Ruler did not decree was a sign they doubted the Ruler’s wisdom and ability to protect his realm; and doubt equaled treason.