The Dark Mage of Rhudaur by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Lord of Gifts

Annatar promises a cure for the sibling in exchange for their loyalty.  They visit the fabled city of Ost-in-Edhil and meet an old friend.  Annatar hungers for the secret of the Elven Rings of Power and uses Alquanesse to help him.  The siblings begin to turn on each other.  The settings in Ost-in-Edhil come from another RPG module.  Warning, this will be pretty dark to show Annatar's manipulative evil.

Annatar by Danforth of the RPG module.

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Ost-in-Edhil, Ivanneth, The Second Age 1550

 

The Fortress of the Eldar was nothing less than magnificent.  Built on a buff of granite, it sat on a swell of the Glanduin River, near a lake called Estelin by the Noldor, that fed into two other swift rivers called the Sir Lantalaith, the Tumbling Laughter, and the Sirannon. As Annatar led the siblings to the city, they could hear the river flowing, the sound of it like the laughter of children.  They were dressed in simple traveling clothes, loose beige pants and shirts with brown cloaks.  The journey west was easy and pleasant along the well paved road.

“Look there,” said Annatar in a voice full of excitement.  “There is the great Mírdaithrond, the home of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the Guild of Smiths in this wondrous city.  It is a strange marvel of architecture, designed by Celebrimbor himself, whom you’ll meet soon.”  Three large triangular structures formed the heart of the Mírdaithrond with a tall belltower anchored on the north.  Its walls seemed to glow white, with hints of red and pink, in the morning sun.

Alquanessë drank in the view of such a city and the rivers that ran by it.  The air was fresh and cool, and she relished the chance to be away from the dark cavern that they had called home for so long.  Still, something had not sat right with her for some years now.  “Lord of Gifts,” she said politely, “how is our cure coming?  We have been doing favors for you for some time, and it feels like we haven’t made much progress.”

Sercë turned on her.  “Watch your tongue, little sister!  Do you know who you are speaking to?  Have you no gratitude?  Mind your place.”

The younger sister felt stung. Tension had been growing among the siblings, but never something like this.  “I was just-”

“Enough!” the older sister said with an air of finality and a chop of her hand.  She turned back to Annatar.  “I apologize for my sister’s rudeness.  She does not understand how important this is, how much you have given us. I, however, can assure you that we are your friends.”  She glared back at her sister.  “I’ll make sure of it.”

Annatar pursed his lips and then nodded.  “Say no more. All is forgiven.  You, Sercë, have been a rock for me.  I trust that you will keep your siblings motivated for this. I do this all for you.”  He turned back to Alquanessë and grasped her hand. “Please be patient, little swan.  Your mother would want you to be patient.”

Alquanessë smiled weakly, but the outburst by her sister was disturbing.  There was something about Sercë’s fawning adoration that just didn’t seem right.  They walked past tall, twin obelisks along the road that bore inscriptions in Ithildin that read, Here is the Fortress of the Eldar.  May the Valar watch over your journey,” in Quenya, Sindarin and Khuzdul.  In smaller letters, it read, “The Brotherhood of Smiths bids welcome to our kindred.”

The high marble walls that ringed the city made it look like a ship, slicing through the river and holly trees lined the road with vineyards between the Mírdaithrond and the city.  Alquanessë was delighted by the little red berries that grew on the holly trees and the birds that flitted about, picking some of them. Then, she saw a family of swans swimming along the river to the lake.  She held her hands over her heart with excitement and joy.  Annatar pointed to them.  “There is your namesake, little swan.”  He motioned towards the walls.  “You notice how the Noldor love triangular patterns and ship designs.  Your people are always innovative and intelligent. It’s what I love about you.”

They passed by the expansive stables and through the triangular shaped gatehouse into the city where the sibling’s jaws dropped.  Houses and shops of many colors lined the road, with beautiful clay tiled roofs and windows of stained glass that depicted life in the city.  There were fountains and running water along every avenue and park. Annatar gestured to the homes and people.  “This is the Galadharm, the residential area.  We will be going to Celebrimbor’s house to meet him.  We have created great rings of power for the men and dwarves already, wondrous gifts that will bring lasting prosperity and peace to those peoples.”  Sindarin and Silvan elves passed by them, smiling and waving.

They turned south and crossed over a delicate bridge made of marble that led to a small island where sat a palatial villa constructed of blue-gray azurite, trimmed at the railings and framed with purple porphyry.  The bridge met the villa on the fourth floor with the other levels beneath it.  The roof was made of tiles that were painted and glazed in matching colors.  A tall, lean elf with blond hair stood at the doorway to greet them.  He was dressed in silk robes of silver and blue.  “Welcome back to Osteledan, Master Annatar. The Smith awaits you in the library. Are these your guests?” the elf asked in a most polite voice.

“Thank you, Danil.  Yes, these are the siblings I told him about. They are the children of Irimë.” He looked back to the four.  “My friends, this is Danil, Celebrimbor’s chief assistant.  He is of the House of Fingolfin.  Perhaps you may know each other?”

Danil’s face lit up.  “Well met, my friends.  Well met.  I was a smith for our High King in Hithlum.  My armor clad the riders of Fingon.  Now I work for the great smith Celebrimbor.”

Three of the siblings gasped. “We were riders of Fingon’s.  We probably wore your armor,” Sercë said with a smile as she grasped Danil’s hand.

Danil gestured into the villa through double doors of tinted laen or volcanic glass, cold forged for exceptional strength.  The mosaic on the doors formed an image of Nargothrond and Gondolin.  They strode across a steel-gray carpet to a spiral stairway down. As they descended, Alquanessë could smell freshly baked bread along with chocolate and it took her mind off of the hunger for blood.  Despite the thirst for blood, they still enjoyed civilized food.

“Ah,” said Annatar as he led them down the staircase.  “That would be the magical work of Ragnor, the finest baker in Eregion.”  On the landing, Annatar turned towards a guest room. “Come, we must change to meet the great smith.”  He held out his hand and Danil placed a bag in it.  “I had these especially made for you by the finest clothiers in the city. You will love them.  Consider it a gift.”

They entered the room and Annatar opened the bag and brought out exquisite clothing of silk and exotic fabrics as Danil closed the door and remained outside.  The Lord of Gifts held out a set of robes and gowns for each of them. To Sercë, he gave a gown of gold and white that was adorned with feathers like a falcon.  “Go on,” he said, and she disrobed for him without hesitation. He helped her put on the gown, running his hand along her form as he tied the strips of cloth that held it together. He then placed a silk collar around her neck that held a large ruby, trilliant cut, in a golden setting.  He spun her around and gazed upon her.  “Ah, perfect for my bird of prey.”

He then turned to Alquanessë. “Your turn, my dear.”  He handed her a gossamer white gown with gold and black accents and then pointed at her baggy clothes.  Her face flushed red, but she did as she was told and removed those traveling garments.  She moved to cover herself at first, but he held her hands.  “Why so shy, little swan?  You’re magnificent.”  He held the gown down at her feet for her to step into and then he slid it up her body to tie the straps over her shoulder.  It had a plunging neckline, and the gauzy material left nothing to the imagination.

She started to speak, “It’s a little-”

“Nonsense, my dear. Celebrimbor will love it.  I certainly do,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “My, you all look splendid, simply splendid.”  He then placed a platinum and sky-blue silk collar around her neck that held a black sapphire in a platinum setting.  He ran his hand through her hair and her straight locks curled into gentle waves.

Alquanessë looked down at the sapphire that was expertly cut like a heart.  It was truly magnificent, and she found that she couldn’t take her eyes off of it until she had a strange feeling and looked up to see Sercë glaring at her and she looked away.  The tension between them was palpable.  Why did it seem as if Annatar was playing them against each other?  If Sercë wanted to be with him, she would give her blessings. Annatar raised his staff, and his clothes instantly changed into black and gold robes with a high collar and stiff shoulder boards that flared upwards, giving him a regal look.  Tindómeno and Finculion were similarly dressed, but in far less elaborate clothing, but with accents of an eagle and a raven.

Danil then led them down the staircase again into the library on the second floor.  It was filled with dark wooden bookshelves packed with tomes, some of which came from the dawn of ages.  Alquanessë could see books on smithing, alchemy, history, poetry and gems.  The knowledge here was priceless. Standing next to large, crystalline orb was the great smith, Celebrimbor.  He stood taller than the siblings and nearly as tall as Annatar with shoulder length dark brown hair.  He wore sky blue and silver robes with a circlet of mithril and adamant that held the sigil of the House of Fëanor, a blazing silver and red star with eight beams of light.  He turned to see the group and a bright grin covered his lips.  “Annatar!  My friend. Welcome to you and your guests.  I have been working on your ideas for ithilnaur and eog.  Brilliant, simply brilliant.  The dwarves…yes, the dwarves have been hounding me about the composition of eog, but we don’t share our secrets so readily, do we?”

Annatar shook his head. “Of course not, my friend.  Have you perfected the cold forging like I told you?”

“Oh yes, yes.  The cold forging is the key, just like you said.” Celebrimbor then turned to the siblings. “Oh, forgive me.  I just get caught up in the process and I forget my manners sometimes.  I am Celebrimbor, the head smith of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, a proud organization, dedicated to the advancement of knowledge.”

The siblings bowed and introduced themselves.  The master smith then gestured to a door.  “Come, come.  I wish to show you these marvels.  Let us go to the forge below.”  He opened the door into a small chamber that was made entirely of glass.  They stepped in and it descended to the first floor where they stepped out into menagerie of smelters, forges and tools.  They could hear the sizzle of hot metal in water and hammers on anvils.  The orange glow of the forge cast an eerie light around the room.  Celebrimbor made a grand gesture towards the apprentice smiths. “This is my personal forge.  It lacks the sophistication of the halls of the Mírdaithrond, but it’s perfect for my pet projects.”

He guided them to a part of the room where it became very cold.  Celebrimbor put on a thick fur coat, but Annatar and the siblings were not bothered by it.  Frost covered the walls and ceiling while a woman worked on a piece of black metal, bending it with tongs.  She had on a thick leather apron and face shield.  “This is the cold forge, my friends.  Annatar, your techniques have worked wonders with the eog.  The amount of titanium that you suggested was just perfect.”

Annatar looked over the woman’s shoulder.  “And what of the Galvorn and the Mithrarian?”

“I think I have perfected the Galvorn,” he said with excitement, handing Annatar a small piece of shiny black metal.  “Malleable, but unbreakable.”  The Lord of Gifts tried to twist it with his hands, but it only bent a little and he nodded his approval.  “A suit of armor of this would be impenetrable.  But Mithrarian, my friend, I am at a loss.  I have fused it with eog, but the celebur…no one can handle it without getting burned.  I might have to ask for your help with that.”  The master smith looked over at the woman at the forge.  “No, no, no, Morelen, not like that.  Here…like this,” he said, guiding her hands.  “Yes, there.  Much better.”

Sercë cocked her head. “Morelen?  Of Telepta Company?”

The woman set down the metal and pulled off her face shield, letting locks of raven hair cascade down around her face.  The woman was ethereally beautiful, almost beyond what an elf should be.  “Sercë?  By the Valar, it’s you!  I…I thought you died in the Bragollach!”  She moved to embrace Sercë but stopped.  “I don’t want to get soot on your fine gown,” she said and then grasped her hands.  “Where have…what happened…I have so many questions?”

“It’s a long and sad story, but we are here.  What about you?”

Morelen sighed and looked down.  “I…yes, I can say the same.”  She seemed ready to change the subject and pointed to Tindómeno and Finculion.  “And your brothers from the lancers!  And this must be your sister, Alquanessë?”  Then, she narrowed her eyes as if thinking.  “I thought nothing of it at the time, but I saw your mother in the south.  She was helping the Guild of Elements with a task.”

Alquanessë rushed forward. “What?  When?  Where?”

Morelen pondered for a moment. “It was a long time ago…maybe five hundred years?  She was in Laurre Menelrana’s mansion.  I did not have time to say hello, but I’m sure it was Irimë.  As soon as I have the chance, I’ll send word to the Guild asking about her.”

“That would be most appreciated.”

Sercë nodded.  “It is so good to see you.  How is your father?  Fëatur, right?”

A dark cloud came over Morelen’s face.  “He is…not my father.”  Her tone told everyone that was the end of that line of questioning.

Celebrimbor seemed a little put off that he was not the center of attention, and he stepped between them. “For an apprentice smith, Morelen has extraordinary talent.  There is nothing that I have taught her that she cannot learn.  I understand that she is an expert rider and archer and quite the singer and dancer.  She has the capacity for learning of a Vala, I must say.  Now, let us finish for the day.  I simply must suggest the Fountain Baths in the Ardhlarem, the High City. You will find it most relaxing after a long day.  Morelen, you show them.  I’ll finish up here.  And Annatar, my friend, thank you for bringing these fine people to meet me. I’ll have Ragnor take meals to the baths for you.”

Annatar raised his hand to stop everyone.  “Most excellent, my friend, but please tell me of your progress with…with the rings,” he said, his hand trembling.  “I do so wish to know that they are coming along.”

Celebrimbor smiled. “They are coming along just fine. The Elven Rings are something that I must do on my own.  You understand, right?”

The Lord of Gifts flared his nostrils and pursed his lips for a brief moment before his face became friendly once again.  “Of course, my friend.  I absolutely understand.”  Without another word, he wheeled about and walked to the exit with Sercë right beside him. As they got far ahead of the group, they were whispering something together and Morelen tilted her head as if listening.  It was a distance impossible to hear without magic or exceptional hearing.

She leaned over to Alquanessë. “He called your sister Blogath. Who is Blogath?”

The blood drained from Alquanessë’s face, and a dark pit formed in her stomach.

 

The Fountain Baths of Ost-in-Edhil

 

Elven attendants greeted them at the entrance, which was held up by pillars of white marble, polished to a sheen.  One woman bowed to the Lord of Gifts.  “Welcome back, my Lord Annatar and we welcome your guests.”  She was dressed in white robes that offset her dark brown hair.

He handed her a bag of coins. “Thank you, my dear Lúnë.  Please see to it that we are well attended.”  He gestured for the siblings to enter. “This is my gift to you.  Only the finest for my friends.”

Sercë raised herself up on her toes and kissed Annatar on the cheek.  “Thank you.  You truly are the Lord of Gifts.”

Lúnë guided them to a room with wooden benches, where Alquanessë’s nose was filled with the refreshing scent of cedar.  The attendant held out her hand.  “The Lord Celebrimbor sends his regrets that he cannot join you as he must continue his special project.  He did, however, request a private room for you and the chef has already brought your meals.  No expense is spared for your relaxation this evening.  Now, I will take your clothes and store them for you.  The baths are just beyond.”

They handed Lúnë their garments and she bowed and withdrew.  Morelen wiped soot from her face.  “You don’t know how good this is going to feel.  I feel like I’ve been in the cold forge for a week.  I studied a little under Celebrimbor in Nargothrond before…before…you know.  He was kind enough to take me in and bring me into the Mírdaithrond.”

Annatar led the way into a large room with marble walls where water trickled down over tile mosaics of images of Valinor.  Around the room were fountains and sculptures of elven maidens in poses of singing and dancing.  “This is truly one of my favorite destinations.  Very convenient as my home is just a block away.  And you are most welcome to stay there with me.”  He slid into the steaming pool of water and closed his eyes.  “Ahhh, come in.  The temperature is perfect.”  The steam filled everyone’s nostrils with the scent of lavender and a hint of jasmine. One by one, the others glided into the pool.

Alquanessë dipped her head below the water, enjoying the feeling of it on her face.  She opened her eyes for a moment and saw all of Annatar and she felt her cheeks flush.  She closed her eyes quickly and resurfaced.  She felt an old tingle along her skin and swallowed hard to suppress it. The Lord of Gifts had a magnetism that could not be denied.  Sercë sat next to him, engrossed in conversation with him, hanging on his every word.  He seemed to be disinterested and made eye contact with the younger sister.  “It’s fine to look,” he said, letting her know that she had been caught.  “After all, I, like you elves, am not ashamed.”  He left Sercë’s side and slid over to Alquanessë.  He put his arm around her and smiled, his face so close to hers that she began to tremble.  She could feel his skin on hers.  “Would you sing for me, little swan?  The first time I heard your voice, I was enchanted.  And you too, Morelen.  I understand that your voice is like the roar of the ocean and the trickle of a brook all at once.”

Morelen took Alquanessë’s hand.  “Do you know the Lirë i Thaliona?  The Song of Radiant Magic?”

She shook her head. “No, but how about the Gil Aenn Menel, the Song of Endless Stars?”

Morelen nodded and they began, their voices clear as crystal in perfect harmony,

 

“Sil en menel, Luith aenor.

Aur i thil amain, Fal o menel.”

 

Alquanessë glanced up to her sister to see that her face was filled with rage, teeth clenched and eyes shooting daggers.  She paused for a moment to take a breath and Sercë crashed through the water and grabbed her by the throat.  “How dare you!” the older sister hissed.  Everyone in the pool went quiet.  Alquanessë scrambled out of her grasp and climbed out of the pool, covering herself with a towel. Sercë took her place at Annatar’s side, and her face became calm again.  It was as if she were on some narcotic.  The younger sister’s eyes were huge and her face full of fear.  What was going on here?  What was happening to their family? 

Annatar’s face became sad with a deep frown.  “I did not mean for this to happen.  My sincerest apologies.  My gifts and my love are for all of you.  Come friends, let us forget this…minor upset.  Let us dine and then retire to my home for the night.”  He clapped his hands and Lúnë returned with trays of fresh fruit and freshly baked bread, pies and muffins.  She laid it by the side of the pool and departed.  Annatar held his hand out, palm up and pulled his fingers back. “Come back, little swan.  The water calls for you.  I am so sorry for this misunderstanding.  Sercë, please apologize to your sister.”

The older sister’s teeth were still clenched, but she nodded.  “I am sorry, little sister.”

Annatar smiled.  “There.  All is forgiven.  Come back, little swan.  I would feel terrible if you didn’t.”

Alquanessë narrowed her eyes but removed the towel and slid back into the water, keeping close to Morelen and Finculion.  Annatar pushed one of the floating trays to them and gestured at the food.  They ate cautiously, soaking in the pool until it was time to retire.  They dressed in silence and then walked the block to Annatar’s home.  The design of the home stood out from the rest of the city, blocky, severe and harshly symmetrical in comparison to the architecture all around.  The walls were of black stone with gold veins, giving it the feel of a mausoleum. He led them inside where six silvan elves greeted him with courteous bows and took his staff.  They went up a spiral staircase and passed a massive rotunda with a dome of silvery pearl.  At the apex of the dome was the image of a golden ring with the phrase, “One Ring,” written in the Tengwar. 

Alquanessë pointed at it. “What does that mean?”

“It is my hope for unity,” the Lord of Gifts said proudly.  “That is my dream where we all live as one in harmony.  I pray that I may play some small part in making that happen.”

Sercë smiled.  “A noble goal, my lord.”

He then pointed to several doors along the balcony of the rotunda.  “Here are the guest rooms.  Please make yourselves at home.  My servants will bring you anything you need.”

The brothers made their way to one room as Alquanessë and Morelen went to another.  As they turned to go, Sercë grabbed her sister by the arm, none too gently.  “Stay away from him,” she hissed in a low voice, fangs growing in her mouth.  “I won’t say it again.”  She let her sister go and walked away to rejoin Annatar.

The two women were stunned. Morelen made a horrified face and turned her palms up with a shrug of her shoulders.  “What the…”

At first, Alquanessë felt a burning sensation in her cheeks and her eyes misted but that feeling was overtaken by anger.  “I’ve wept too much in my life.  That stops now.  Come, let us rest,” she said, her nostrils flared, and her jaw clenched.  “I grow weary of this.”

They went into the guest room and Morelen turned on her.  “What is going on?  What was with the fangs?”  They sat down near a fireplace that burst into flame as they approached.  “Is there something that I should know about you four?”

Alquanessë sighed and looked down, feeling deep shame.  “Yes, yes there is.  I am…we are…we are vampires.  We were turned by Thuringwethil long ago.  Once we escaped, we hid near here for…for a long time.  I’m sorry…sorry that we deceived you.”  She bit her lower lip.  Morelen smiled, something that she did not expect.  “What?” Alquanessë asked.  “Why are you smiling?  Why are you not horrified and trying to kill me?”

“I wondered about what happened to Sercë for a long time.  Now I know.  But I have a secret too,” the other woman said.  “I have also escaped.  I am…I am the daughter of Morgoth.  I am a monstrosity beyond reason.  You have not told me anything that would horrify me.  No one knows…  Well, now, only you.”

Alquanessë’s heart ached, but relief also flooded into her.  She wiped her nose.  “Thank you for trusting me with that.  It means a lot to me.  Here, let us lie down now.  I’m suddenly very tired.”  She reclined onto a soft fur rug and drifted off into meditation, feeling the warmth of the fire on her face.

She was suddenly woken up by Annatar and Sercë.  As she focused on their faces she could see their excitement.  “We have great news, little sister,” Sercë said.  “The Lord of Gifts has had an epiphany about our cure. It is now within our grasp.  We just have to do two things for him.”  The older sister’s earlier fury was gone, seemingly long forgotten.  She had a glow about her.

“What?  What do we have to do?”

Annatar leaned over her and stroked her black hair.  “Ah, my little swan, the fairest of Irimë’s children.  We must convince Celebrimbor to share the secret of his rings with us. These rings are for the elves, for all of us.”

She nodded slowly.  “And what is the other thing?”

“There are…friends of mine, who have turned away from me.  Humans. I need your help to bring them back. It is a simple matter.  They hold part of the cure, and we need them.”

She felt a flush of excitement in hearing that the cure was closer.  It just might become a reality.  She nodded.  “Of course. Whatever we need to do.”

He leaned in and put his mouth next to her ear.  “I am so glad to hear that…Skrykalian.”

 

Eregion, The Second Age 1555

 

Wanting to please her sister and mend the tension between them, Alquanessë acceded to all of their requests, no matter how it made her feel.  Over the years, Celebrimbor was difficult to crack, always being secretive about the Three Elven Rings.  He once spoke about Nenya but gave no context.  She enlisted the help of Morelen, who had become her fast friend. They shared a dark history that scarred each of them and it bonded them like sisters.  Still, Alquanessë missed her true sister and the family that bound them together.  Even with help though, no amount of coaxing, pleading or even attempts at seduction moved Celebrimbor much, to Annatar’s disappointment.  He seemed consumed by the secret of the Elven Rings.

But Annatar’s “friends” were a different story.  They were men of tribes that lived in the northern part of Eregion at the foothills of the Hithaeglir or Misty Mountains.  Soon after the visit to Ost-in-Edhil, the Lord of Gifts offered them gold, trinkets and enchantments, but his greatest gift offered was Alquanessë herself. Before the chief of the tribes, he held her and whispered into her ear, “Be strong for your sister, for your family. Do this for them and the cure will be yours.  They will honor your courage.”  To her surprise, he tore off her robes and beckoned to the chief.  “She is yours, this beautiful elf maiden.”  She tried to cover herself, but he held her arms behind her. She struggled against his grip, and he shushed her.  “Do this for your family, little swan.  Please him and then bring the people that he offered to me as tribute.  We will bring them to the caverns.  It is essential for the cure,” he whispered, and she calmed down.

Her breath caught in her throat, terrified of what was to follow but she nodded.  “It is for the cure, right?”

“I would never lie to you. This is essential for the cure.  I will make sure that your family knows how you contributed to it.”

She smiled at the chief as a tear rolled down her cheek.  The bearded man took her by the arm.  “I accept, Lord of Gifts,” he said.  “And I will be happy to fulfill our deal.”  He pulled her towards a small wooden building and shoved her inside.  He pointed to a dirty mattress, and she began to shake. She wanted to run, she wanted to tear his throat out and drink his blood, but her family was relying on her.  She wanted to repair the damage between she and Sercë.  She lay down and let her mind drift as an elf can, seeing her mother smile, a song that she learned as a girl, a dance that she did for the High King Fingolfin.

When it was done, she whispered into the chief’s ear.  “I will take your tribute now.”

He grunted and pointed to a servant, who brought six men in chains.  “Thank the Lord of Gifts,” he said with an evil grin.  “And I will see you again soon.”

Annatar smiled seeing her again.  “You did so well, my little swan.  We are closer now to what you want.  Come, let us return to your siblings.”  He handed her the torn robe which she quickly put on, full of shame.

Alquanessë tried to say something, but she leaned over and threw up.  They took the prisoners back to the caverns and to the chamber that was once a music room.  It somehow became a temple, devoted to Annatar.  Why were they supposed to worship him?  Wasn’t he a friend?  “What are we going to do with them?” she asked.

He gestured towards an altar in the temple.  “I need their energy to synthesize the cure.  You must do this for me,” he said as the siblings entered the chamber, dressed in black robes with golden sashes.  He whispered into her ear again.  “Don’t you feel hungry?  You have not fed on blood in some time.  Don’t you smell it?  Can’t you taste it?”  Sercë brought one of the captives over to them and forced his head down on the altar. “You hunger for it,” he continued. “You desire it.  How do you feel after the chief used you?”

Her breath came in shuddering gulps now and her heart pounded in her chest.  “I felt…I felt sick.  I felt enraged.  I wanted to hide.  I wanted to tear his throat out and feast.”

Sercë drew a black dagger, forged of eog.  “Now is your chance, little sister.  It is time for you to repay the Lord of Gifts for his kindness,” she said and then made a small cut on the man’s neck.

Alquanessë could smell the blood, and her mouth watered.  She held her ground but began to tremble at the sight of the red liquid trickling down the man’s skin.  He tried to squirm, but Sercë’s vampiric strength was too great.  Annatar, dipped his finger into the blood and held it up to her nose and then smeared it on her lips.  Then, he removed her torn robe, and she began to see red.  “There,” he said.  “Feel their energy and know that it is your cure.  You will be strong.  You will be fast.  You will be mine, Skrykalian.  Feast.”

She barely heard his words as she seized the man’s head and plunged her fangs into his neck.  The man screamed at first, his voice fading to a gurgle as she devoured his life’s energy.  He fell to the ground, a shriveled husk.  She turned on the other five, blood dripping down her chin and coating her bare chest.  Screams echoed down the corridors as Skrykalian fed and was reborn.

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Chapter End Notes

I want to show how Annatar manipulates and sows distrust and doubt.  This ties in with The Court of Ardor with a bit of a spoiler, looking at Morelen in the Second Age.  We see Alquanesse, manipulated and abused and why she is who she is in the Third Age.