I'd just like to thank interstellagator for proofing this, and making me write this in the first place. I wouldn't have written it without you.
This is my first story, so... read, rate, review, whatever. just tell me how I did.
"Kill the Færie!" Declared the now-familiar voice of fire: "Kill him before he comes to take my Ring from my servant!" "Yess, Masster…" replied the Ringwraith in a quivering voice. "Damn that quaver," he thought to himself. "Damn it to hell! He told me age wouldn't ravage my person if I joined him…. But it does! At least it isn't physical…." Rousing from the rambling, he shrieked to assemble his fellow wraiths, and rode for the land of the Halflings…
Of course, as they passed the township of Bree, some of the younger wraiths wanted to go have their "fun" with the townsfolk, though it was small at that time. While they did that, their superior was left to himself for hours. As he waited, something about this assignment struck him, but he could not think of what it was….. As he brooded, it finally occurred to him, and he pondered the events that led to his corruption lo those many years ago…
'My name was Giltharion….. I was born a changeling, a Faerie born with hideous features and no magical power and raised by a Human couple after being cast aside by my kin. They were kind to this Færie child that was dropped on their doorstep, perhaps because they had had their child taken months before. I lived a relatively pleasant and quaint life, but gods, I was lonely. As I grew, I became more interested in the magical arts, especially those of my homeland in the deserts and volcanic islands of the East. When my adopted parents died, I gave the fortune to my aunt and left home to travel the world.
For the better part of 2 centuries I traveled Middle-Earth, aiding the various races against Morgoth, and later, Sauron. I was strange, an Awakened Changeling-magician, and therefore somewhat of a pariah, an outcast. One of the darker magicks I wielded was the Black Fire, which burned away everything, including their soul. I remember the first time I wielded this power; a young girl was chased by a horde of bandits from a destroyed village. I had tried to incapacitate the leader of the band whilst protecting the child, but accidentally released my power and watched in horror and (dare I say it) fascination as the bandit leader writhed in the ground wrapped in ebony flames, soon leaving nothing but a skeleton. I do not remember what happened to the girl- or the rest of the horde.
Though I hated it and used it sparingly at first, the lust for more power grew, and so did my frequency of using the Black Fire. And then, I met Diåna.
She was my Hälf, my soul mate. Half-human, Half-Elf was she, and resided in fair Lothlorien. I met her when called upon by Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. She was the maidservant at my house, and we fell in love very quickly. I courted her, and three years later I proposed. Then, disaster struck. Looking back, I can see it coming, but at the time I felt so incredibly depraved that corruption was incredibly easy.
She was struck three times with Elven arrows. For what reason, I do not know. All I felt at that moment was a maddening rage. I hated everyone and everything, and the beautiful crescent moon that shone down over my destroyed home and Hälf seemed to smile in spite at me and my loss. In blind anger I ripped off the fair Face that I had worn all my life and found some semblance of relief in the cool wind that blew against my dark and burned cheek.
As I wept and cursed the world for my poor, poor Diåna, I heard the soft footsteps of a human-like creature come towards me, yet his dark and overwhelming aura threatened to knock me down as he neared me save for the strong will I held towards the dark. Yet as I slowly looked up towards that familiar grotesque mask of the Dark Lord Sauron, I could not help but feel as contentment arise within as he slowly coaxed me into the void.
My life flew by as I remained under command over Sauron. Though I had initially kept my appearance covered, like he, it wasn't until I was introduced to Saruman, my Lord's puppet, that I had decided to burn my mask to ashes and live with my real Face, to show the world the real cruelty of a people I was once proud of.
Diåna… That must be what had seemed familiar…. Giltharion was jolted out of his reverie by the sound of footsteps. His apprentice, Septimus, came forward with his head bowed low courteously. "My lord, we are ready to ride," said he. Giltharion reared his steed, and took the lead on the last leg of this journey…
The Rose Dame was hunched over, a hand pressed tightly to the Morgul wound where Gil pierced her and another over Pan's dead body and sobbed. Gil slowly wiped away the warm blood that splattered his cheek and raised the claymore again. "Today…" he began. Viridian slowly looked up, tear stains on her face and rage in her eyes. "Today, you are Cursed," she spat. Thorny stems rose from the ground and towards Giltharion as Ajax jumped over his little sister and swung his rapier in a slash over the Wraith's chest. Gil shrieked in pain and flew back, and Septimus quickly ran from the forests and hastily placed him back on his steed. "We ride!" His apprentice yelled, and eight other Wraiths galloped after their Leader, their shrieks carrying over the wind till they disappeared at last.
This story is a one-shot to flesh out a character in Cor Et Amin( s/9993016/1/Cor-Et-Amin), a story I am also involved in writing.