The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Cult of the Dark Lord

Things take a dark turn for Moran.  

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19)  The Cult of the Dark Lord – Year of the Sun 260 Yávië (Autumn)

 

Moran

 

It took some time to get used to the south of Middle Earth.  The heat and humidity were always something to wrestle with.  The jungles were always full of strange creatures and sounds, so different than the temperate forests of the north.  And mold and rust got into everything.  It was a constant battle.  Only the fervor of his mother and the court kept him focused.  Several camps had already sprung up in their new home and scouting was ongoing for the location of a citadel and other holds.

Moran pulled his shirt collar loose and fanned himself.  He tried to focus on the scent of incense over the smell of sweat.  “Even in this tent, the heat is unbearable.  I cannot wait until we have permanent holds, and we can employ some magic to help.”

“Patience, my son,” Ardana said as she sipped a drink full of ice.  “Secrecy is of the utmost importance now.  We cannot let the Guild or the Three know of our location.  Somehow, they learned of our arrival, and we have lost the element of surprise.  All of our raids have failed, and we must fall back, consolidate and build.”

Moran furrowed his brows. “How?  How did they know?”

Ardana turned, her gown shimmering like silver stars with an edge of menace.  “I do not know yet.  I suspect a traitor in our midst, but I am unable to determine who or how. I am having Gorthaur lead the effort to ensure the loyalty of our people.  He will get to the bottom of this.  He has…means.”  She walked over to him and handed him her drink.  She blew on the glass and frost formed on it.  “There, cool yourself down.”

He took the glass and drank.  It was cool and refreshing with a sweet flavor that he found delicious.  “Thank you mother.  What’s in this?  It’s very tasty.”

“It’s a fruit drink. Yavëkamba has a way with recipes. She’s done wonders with the native plants here.”

Moran nodded.  “I owe her my life after the last battle.  We could not do without her, I can say that.” He tried to sound confident with his mother, but it was always hard for him.  She was a difficult person to impress.

She smiled in that condescending way that an adult does to humor a child.  “Indeed, my son.  Now you best prepare.  We will be receiving emissaries from one of the…human tribes.  They are the second born…primitive, savage.  You are to treat them as such, but we will recruit them to the cause of the king.”

“Human?”

Ardana straightened his collar.  “Yes, I’ve known about them for some time.  Our scouts discovered their tribe moving west.  They have agreed to parley with us with the hope of an alliance.  We have many powers and artifacts that they wish to have access to.  Our numbers are few so far and our armies are in need of soldiers.  We could not survive a direct assault from the Guild.”

Moran’s scrunched his face up in surprise and worry.  “What do I need to do?”

Ardana sat down in front of him and fussed over his clothing, a red and black shirt and pants, woven from the finest of cloth.  She then took a cloth and rubbed out a spot on the gold embellishment of his octagonal brooch.  “I need you to be a diplomat today.  But these…humans are very superstitious.  They seem to worship stick figures and dolls, but we will show them the true way and the true religion.  The way of Morgoth.  The way of light.  If that means some magic and some fear, so be it.  Everything needs to be perfect.  We cannot have them going to the Guild and having them hear of nonsense like freedom and self-determination or other such drivel.  These people need to be controlled and guided by strength.”

“Yes, strength.  My father is all about strength.”

His mother smiled and nodded.  “You understand, my son.  Raw power is what he is.  We want to make sure everyone comprehends that no one can stand against him.  Even Sauron doesn’t understand this.  He is all about guile and control and order. The way of your father is simple: those who are with us prosper; those who are against us are destroyed.”

There was a knock on the tent flap.  The Messenger, Sȗlherok, poked his head in.  “Apologies for the interruption.  The human delegation is here.  May I show them in?”

Moran was always glad to see the Messenger.  Sȗlherok was always smiling and had an edgy humor.  The Sindarin elf was always getting into some mischief or other and he always tried to bring Moran into it.  “We need to find you a girl,” he’d always say.  Moran liked the idea, but always turned him down for fear of his mother.

“Give us a minute,” Ardana said with a dismissive wave and Sȗlherok bowed out, but not before a wink to Moran.  The Astrologer pulled Moran out of his chair and then inspected him up and down, straightening his silk shirt and rebuttoning his collar.  She picked up his velvet cloak and silver pin and moved to put it on him, but he held his hand out.

“Mother, it’s too hot for that.  This will be fine.  You fuss too much.”

Ardana snorted. “Nonsense…  Fine.  Very well. I’ll let it go this once.”  She turned and called outside, “Messenger. We are ready.  Bring them in and have guards nearby.  Just in case.”

Sȗlherok poked his head back in and gave what appeared to be a forced smile and nodded.  “Of course, my lady.  Hyardo and Cambregol will be near and Sȗldun’s guards will be ready. I’ll send Elendur in with you.”

Moran felt some guilt over how his mother treated the other members of the court.  “Thank you Sȗlherok,” he said with sincerity.  “We are ready to receive the delegation.”

Sȗlherok motioned to a group just outside of the tent.  “This way. You’ll meet with the emissaries of the King of the Earth.”

A group of a half dozen humans entered the tent along with one of the guards and Moran was taken aback by their appearance.  Their clothing was rough and made entirely of animal skins simply colored in earthen hues. The most striking thing about them, however, was that they had hair on their faces.  And their leader’s hair was mostly white and he had wrinkles on his face. Moran felt the need to touch that, but thought the better of it and remained seated.  He forced a nervous smile and nodded.  “Welcome friends.  Thank you for coming.  I am Moran and this is Ardana, the leader of our group,” he said in Sindarin, a language that he knew they understood.

The man with white hair pursed his lips.  “You called us here.  Now what is this about,” he said gruffly in heavily accented Sindarin.

Moran took a breath and then motioned to Elendur, one of the guards.  She was a slender Noldo with dark brown hair and a pretty face, soft and oval shaped.  She was dressed as a servant, but he could see a dagger hidden under her robe.  As a student of Sȗldun he knew that she was a formidable fighter.  Elendur brought a tray of drinks and food and placed it on the table between them.  “Some sweet wines and some bitter ales for you, lord,” she said, slowly waving her hand over the flagons.  “Cured meats and cheese as well,” she added, pointing to the cut sausages and pungent cheeses.

The man poured himself a cup of ale and took some sausage.  He gave it a sniff and took a bite.  “You’ve learned something of our culture,” he said with a nod.  “I am Almar.  This is my brother Almor and my sons, Alann and Alman.  We expected…more elven food.  This is a good surprise.”

“We have met other men before and have learned from them.  We wished to make you feel welcome.”  Moran took a cup of sweet wine, admiring the intricate etching in the gold.  He swirled the wine and then took a sip.

Almar made a gesture with his head towards the others, and they took drinks and food.  He finished his piece of sausage, smacking loudly.  With meat still in his mouth, he said, “So Moran, why are we here?  What do you need from us?”

“Need?  I prefer to think of this meeting as what we can give to you.  I bring you the true faith.  I bring you the word of the King of the Earth and Lord of the North.  He is the chosen one and he, alone, can fix the world.”

Almar shifted in his seat and pursed his lips, seemingly unconvinced.  “We have met Silvan elves, but you are the first of your kind that we have encountered.  We are a simple, but proud folk and we do not like the idea of being under anyone.  Our faith is in nature, spirits of wood, air and earth.  Who is this King of the Earth?  Why should we believe him?”

Moran was caught by the questions.  Why should they believe him?  Why should they worship his father?  He felt a pit in his stomach, and he took a long drink from his cup to buy time.  He swallowed slowly and forced a smile. “The king, my father, holds the key to power.  His strength is unmatched in all of the world.  He remakes the land with his strength,” Moran said, moving his hand in front of him.  He tried to sound strong, but his voice wavered, sounding thin.  “Mountains fall at his command and oceans appear.  There was a great war eons ago in which the king crushed his enemies.  Continents sank and the sea rushed in.  His enemies fled in fear, and we had peace for a long time.  Unfortunately, new enemies arose, and we fight a new war.”

Almar’s expression soured. “Prove it.  Show me this power.”

Moran grew impatient and wanted to blurt out something sharp, but he felt Ardana’s hand on his shoulder.  He bit his lip, holding in his feelings.

“The son of the king will now demonstrate that power,” she said with supreme confidence.  She briefly touched the octagonal brooch around Moran’s neck.

He bristled at the interruption for a brief moment, but then took the clue.  His mother had to save him again.  He stood up stiffly, grasping the brooch in his hand.  “Behold, the power of the king,” he said, more confidently, anger tinged in his words.  The jewel grew cold to the touch and then a sickly green light poked out between his fingers.  A low moan like the howling of wind in a storm emanated from inside his grip, causing the men to sit back in their seats, dropping their food to the floor, their jaws going slack.  Moran felt power surge up his arm and into his chest and a wild grin twisted his mouth. “I am the king’s herald.  I speak with his authority,” he called in a now unnatural voice that reverberated in the tent.  Slimy tentacles grew from the brooch and Moran was forced to release it. Fear and exhilaration alike mixed in his mind as the tendrils snapped out at the men.

One tendril lashed out and wrapped around Almar’s neck.  The man’s mouth fell open and he fell to his knees, his earlier arrogance gone. “Please!  Mercy!”

Moran immediately released the brooch from his grasp and the sickly green tendrils vanished in an instant.  Still infused with the power of his father he called out, “Do you believe now?  Are you convinced?” he asked, his voice still warped with power.

The men cowered and knelt before him, Almar holding his throat and coughing.  “We are, lord,” he said in a raspy voice.  “We acknowledge the power of the king!”

The power of the Dark Lord was fading now, and Moran again felt uncomfortable and inexperienced.  “Thank you.  This is all we have wanted.”  His voice had returned to normal.  He felt a strong grip on his shoulder and looked up at his mother.

“That is not enough,” she said in a clear voice.  She stepped in front of Moran and pointed down to Almar.  The King of the Earth requires sacrifice.”  She pointed back and forth between Almar’s sons.

Moran’s blood ran cold. What was his mother doing?  Almar had bent the knee.  Wasn’t that what they sought?  “Mother?”

“Quiet son,” she said without looking back and with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “Almar, your king gives you a choice.  You must choose.  The king promises you great power.  A kingdom can be yours here.”

Tears began to stream down Almar’s face.  “Take me, take me.  Not my sons.”

Ardana shook her head. “No.  Not you.  You must make a sacrifice.  This shows the King of the Earth your commitment.”

Moran sat quietly, feeling impotent and small.  What was happening?  He had completely lost control.  He saw Almar’s sons stirring.  It looked like they might fight.  Elendur stepped forward from the shadows in the tent and put her dagger to Alman’s throat. This took all of the resistance from the humans.

Almar pounded his fist on the ground and nodded.  “Take him. Take Alman,” he said, choking through tears and then buried his face in the ground.

Elendur pulled Alman up and pushed him forward.  “I await your command,” she said.

Then Ardana turned to Moran.  “Son, you must perform the sacrifice.  It is for your father.  He will drink of the man’s essence, and it will be added to his power.”  She handed him a kynac made of black metal that had a silver handle and hilt.  At first, Moran refused to take it and pursed his lips.  Ardana seized his hand and put the weapon in his grasp.  “You have no choice, son.  It is your destiny.”   

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Chapter End Notes

I want to showcase how this cult forms and the evil behind it.  We also look at the dynamic between Ardana and Moran, her, an overprotective mother and he, a momma's boy.