"We have been blind, my friend. And in our blindness, the Enemy has returned."
"Do not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end, beyond all doubt. We do not."
"Courage will now be your best defence against the storm that is at hand - t...
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Another day. Another human sacrifice.
The cries of men as they were dragged to the altar to be burnt alive were sweet music to Aldarion's ears as he walked up the golden steps of the palace. His eyes travelled to the huge domed temple beside the spired building. A massive golden statue stood in front of it, his hammer raised as a warning to those going any further. He was Morgoth, greatest of the Valar, now the primary deity of the land. Legend said that he had rebelled against the tyrannical creator Eru Iluvatar and sought to ensure freedom for the Elves and Men. Morgoth, also known as Melkor the Great, was defeated in the end, making the beings of Middle Earth once again subservient of the Valar.
Aldarion's gaze returned to the front as he entered the palace, ignoring the shivers of the guards standing by. He knew that his presence made people uneasy, even afraid. But fear was to him was simply another of the thousand emotions which stayed behind the locked doors in the intricate maze that was his mind.
Fear makes you weak. Fear gets you killed.
He passed through the chambers with golden roofs and silver walls, with grand chandeliers and windows with coloured panes. Every inch of this building spoke of royalty, wealth and power.
And why would it not? This was no place with thatched barns where brigands drank in the rink and rats rolled on the floor with dogs. No, this was Númenor, the greatest kingdom of mortals, the domain of the Kings among Men, loyal subjects of Melkor and Sauron.
Two guards pushed open a large, wooden door as he entered the massive throne room. Golden statues looked down upon him like the legends of old, each statue depicting a Numenorean king of the past, standing at either side of the scarlet red carpet that led to the iron throne, elevated above all else. Spikes of cruel steel and cold iron protruded from the top and sides, and a cloth of velvet was laid upon the seat. The two armed guards with either side stood like silent sentinels, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.
Aldarion kneeled as he reached the foot of the throne, his eyes meeting with the golden ones of his master. The man who sat upon the throne was tall even by Numenorean standards, adorned in an exotic blend of black and gold. A crown of iron set with a bright pearl sat atop a head with slick, dark hair and a face that exhibited both power and fear. Feline eyes with a pupil which stood vertical with the golden schlera surveyed him with a dispassionate coldness.
"What news of the South, my faithful aide?"
Rich. Perhaps that was the only word fit to describe the voice that came out from between those thin, harsh lips. Rich, with an almost undetectable undertone of seduction, that would make anyone who heard it feel at peace.
"Good ones, my lord Sauron." Aldarion's voice was harsh, almost like the scrapping of sandpaper. "The tribes of the Haradrim are uniting under one banner. Many have accepted the terms you demanded of them, and their proximity to the realm of Gondor provides an advantage."
