#durnaar

                               meme * /  @durnaar

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The Golden King of Anadûnê had fallen far, far down already from the high pedestal on which he had placed himself when first confronting the Dark Lord Sauron. He had brought the terrible yet fair Maia from her fortress in Mordor back to his castle in Armenelos, where he had kept her hidden from the world. Her influence, however, had seeped into the once high and mighty city and her sweet, cunning words cut into Ar-Pharazôn’s mind. He had intended to make her submit to his rule and will, and believed that to be as fate had allowed, yet it was not so.

His desperation for a salvation from his impending doom of the dark and uncertain death had drawn him into Sauron. From her lips had come reassurance and comfort, telling him that there was a way to break free of the doom place upon Men by the Valar and Eru himself. Her solution was worship to Melkor, the Lord of Darkness; a new god whom could grant Ar-Pharazôn and the King’s Men freedom and a chance at the immortality and journeys west that they had longed for so greatly.

The worship of the new Dark Lord and the Darkness was a practice first only kept to the King himself and his chief advisor Sauron. He had wished to see for himself first what this new practice would entail, and contemplated ‘pon Melkor and what Sauron promised would be done through faith in him. His mind he had already subconsciously submitted to the fair words of the Maia.

A meme.@durnaar​

          ❝ After everything...  it’s difficult not to believe some things are fate. ❞    So much he’s been through,  alongside matters which he cannot even recall,  all seeming to conspire of their own will to give him the life he  ( more or less )  contentedly lives today.   And all of that---  all of any of their lives today---  hinges on the history of their entire world,  accounts of which he’s read over quite a few times now,  in his travels.

          There are some things,  he’s convinced,  which occurred almost too perfectly to be mere coincidence.

His pulse rumbled with the clap of thunder. It filled his ears as winter gales did lungs. Aragorn, however, would neither shake nor tremble, cold with heady dread despite sweltering in sweat. The grand and lofty trees seemed ablaze in Her foul embers, and the heat singed his skin in a pitch of fever dreams. The Ranger laid in the clearing, breaths labored and ill. The poison of the orcs was laying claim to Thorongil. Now – was this real? – over there, She so loomed. A great evil. The One Evil. The Lord of all abhorred. “There is no power you hold over me,” came the Ranger’s sickly babble. “Not even in this hour.”

        Only the metallic echo of his greaves over the black basalt of the Barad-dûr corridor could be heard. A barrier of silence turned the black fortress into a refuge of discordant whispers, while outside, the moans and screams of the tortured souls that clung with their last drops of life to the mundane existence that bound them to this world composed a nocturne of pain. Everything was over, Middle-Earth had its new master, although there were still leftovers from the free peoples. Although how much could they endure? The golden pastures of Rohan burned at an exorbitant speed, while in Gondor citizens resorted to cannibalism to survive. In the north, the Dale-Lands had been ravaged and the mountain dwarves delivered as tribute to the dragons of the northern desert. He had fulfilled his part, and now, she should fulfill hers.

        The Lôke-Khan entered the throne room. If he had ever been afraid, he did not remember. His soul had petrified and his heart was beating colder than the ice of the north. As he walked closer to the throne he saw the silhouette similar to that of a human woman in the distance; it was no longer a torch covered with rings of fire, but rather a beautiful and cruel Goddess of darkness, and the coveted one ring gleamed in her right hand. Beside her, eight hooded figures watched him approach with invisible eyes; He predicted that his leader was busy, but he was wrong. The Lôke-Khan of Rhûn prostrated himself before the throne and bowed deeply.

                ❝for the love poured to THE DARK LORD                                                                    was what lead HER to continue his legacy after he fell. ❞

               She was my sweet CHAOS.                               Darkness and Fire                               She knew nothing of MERCY                 Yet, if she could be poison I’ll gladly drink it.