#taintedfirelight

Flame-colored eyes glimmer, a hint of anger passing through them, only for a moment before it passes. Sauron quickly gathers his wits– now is not the time for anger.

Any victories over his other half are fleeting, the constant tug between the two of them, equal in almost every way…

There’s no end in sight to the struggle. And Sauron will not end it by backing down.  

❝ I assure you, dear sister… I may surprise you yet. ❞

                                       ONCE she thought of him as her equal and both halves had their fair share of weaknesses and strengths of their own-- but then again, she was naïve then. She had realized her potential, brought to light by their own Master-- O, how she was  GRATEFUL  of it ! 

                                      ❝ Brother mine, thou hast already-- ❞   Artana said, lifting her chin as she stared down upon her own brother. There was a brief condescending smirk upon her lips when she had caught the wrath behind his  FIERY  eyes. A result she was looking for, indeed.   ❝ Thou hast failed to reach the bar I have set. ❞

In Nargothrond Curufin prospered; yet ever the hearts of the sons of Fëanor were restless and sought the unknown. And so shortly after their arrival Celegorm and Curufin set out on a great hunt, seeking to find and capture a mighty silver-furred elk who had already become known to the hunters in the region. And it was on the way that word reached them of werewolves terrorizing the lands north of the forests of Brethil. Celegorm desired pursuit of the elk; but Curufin was of a mind to slay the beasts of the Enemy and turned his small company north. 

It was near evening after a long day of the hunt that Curufin’s company began to settle for the night; but his own heart urged him on, giving way to his hunger, and Curufin took leave of his friends. And it was in this way that he found himself in an unknown grove, not far from his company, yet far enough...

And too close to Tol Sirion. It would be too reckless by far to shake off the thought entirely, but Curufin put it to the side for the time being. The lands were quiet; he would hear a military presence coming from a mile away. And the wolves...

Dismounting and kneeling, he sought in vain for the large, heavy-pawed tracks that he had been following. The trail became confused, and then, after a while of struggling with its direction, simply ended in the grass. Annoyed, Curufin stood again, and stared out into the gathering darkness as if he could espy the animals through the trees and undulations of the land. Somewhere to the east, the waters of Sirion burbled unworriedly.

He was about to give up entirely and turn back to rejoin his kin when a sudden discomfort came over him, as though there were eyes upon him. Disquieted, Curufin turned slowly in a circle, gaze raking this way and that, listening, hand straying almost unconsciously to the blade that hung at his hip...

     𝕺ne of the Elf-friends he was, of those that diminished steadily under Ar-Pharazôn’s shameful rule. His far sight and distrust still came beyond the mask of Tar-Mairon worn in Númenor’s court. 

Thera could very possibly have lived without this. Granted she’d had plenty of warning, the dark clouds grumbling on the horizon, rising further the longer the day went on.

And then, the rain. Oh, the rain. Not just a shower but a torrent, sheets of it coming down to plaster hair to her head, clothing to her form and reduce the road she traveled to a quagmire that swallowed each step into itself and all but refused to let go.

If there had been any choice she would have stayed elsewhere, but the trees only gave shelter for as long as it took for the water to gather on their leaves, then shed it joyfully to the ground all the same, and the small hut by the roadside proved all wall and no roof. And so at last Thera curled herself in the entryway of ... what it was she couldn’t tell, but there were steps to get her up from the mud and eaves to fend off the worst of the rain.

❝ Of course, Master. ❞

One knee is bent to the ground, and his head is lowered. His tone is respectful, almost wary. It was nothing more than a mild disruption, a slight misstep. It could have been worse. Much worse.

Internally, he still scolds himself. In the end, his force had won the day, though the few-dozen orcs he’d brought on the scouting mission with him had been slain, and a small number of the enemy had escaped.

He doesn’t deny that he is afraid, at least to some small degree.

❝ I shall not make these mistakes in the future. ❞

                                      MELKRA sat upon her  THRONE , charred hands holding the armrests of the carven stone. Upon her brow shone the three Silmarils,  GLEAMING  and  RADIANT . Ever so proud she was of her misdeed and she wore it so. She spoke to her lieutenant in such a  CALMING  tone, of course, t’was darkness beneath the lively mask.

                                      She expected nothing less from him and alas she was met with but  DISAPPOINTMENT . Every Orc counts, every mistake can produce the overall consequence. This was  WAR  and she was not going to make waste.  ICY  cold eyes narrowed as she looked upon him, chin arisen slightly and the  LIGHT  of the Silmarils shifted then. 

( The Weekenders | @taintedfirelight )

                                 TAR-MÍRIEL had ceased her steps as she attempted to leave the room. She had no  DESIRE  to remain with the Maia whom so many believed was corrupted by utter darkness. He had poisoned her husband’s mind and she feared of what may become of everything. She kept her Faith upon the Valar in the West and her  FEAR  for her life was great around his presence.   ❝ Is it ? ❞   she whispered, turning her head and she looked at him with a  FROWN .

                                      So many nights and moons had it been and she had never allowed fear overrule her faith for the Valar and for Eru. She had been there in their rituals, forced by her husband to attend, and their so called prayers but she never prayed to Melkor but within her  HEART , she prayed to Eru to ease their suffering and to rid of Sauron, once and for all. It seemed like He could not hear her but she never lost  HOPE . To lose the only thing left of her, it would cost her so much. She was a queen, supposedly the ruling one when her own cousin had forced her to marry him, and she had to be a symbol of  STRENGTH  for her people… for the ones whom her fathers and ancestors before her promised to protect at all costs.

❝ You say this as though it has any bearing upon my actions. ❞  

His words hold an air of sickening amusement, and he pauses, single brightened eye narrowing in on Isildur’s heir.

Of all those that his hatred can be felt for, this one man carries the greatest part. In his blood flows that of the Kings of Númenor, a bloodline that never fails to ignite Sauron’s hatred and drag back old memories.

That any Man of that accursed bloodline should have survived, and indeed be living in this day in this Third Age is simply disgusting to the Maia. No matter– it will end here. He will make certain of it.

❝ Now, do you have any preference as to where I begin? ❞

                                     FIGHTING was been fruitless. When he had brought many Men to doom upon the Gates of Mordor. A  FOOLISH  thought and a  FOOLISH  strategy but he was determined indeed to distract the Cruel Dark Lord from Frodo                             to keep away his  GAZE  from the mouth of Mount Doom. He hoped that Frodo had been successful but whatever  HOPE  left within him was beginning to flail. Merry and Pippin, such young souls, wrapped into the torments and suffering of war when they needed not to. Now there were but two more corpses upon the pile. Legolas and Gimlí, brave but alas, he only was glad that their burdens were lifted... perhaps. 

                          And Arwen...

                                     He could not even bear the thought of never having her by his side or within in his arms. His deeds were not in  VAIN  but they were not good enough. He had fallen into the same folly as his ancestor.