Disclaimer: Those characters who are not mine - are either Tolkien's or Niennah's. Those who are mine - are mine.
Author's note: it's a very-very AU story. I'll explain what is what further=)
It's gonna be long, but as I don't have much time, readers, be patient, please! (and pardon my mistakes - English isn't my native language, though I think I know it rather well=))))

Special thanks to Mirach, who kicked my ass and made me write it at last! (translate & publish, not exactly write)

So... a small intro to the whole story - a page from a chronicle.

***

...History laughs at itself, dropping hundreds of thinnest allusions on the torn land...

...History laughs at us, forcing us to make the same mistakes were already made by our predecessors...

It laughs ... laughs not to cry, because, perhaps, our destinies are worth at least a pair of tears... But we don t need it... no more tears, we shed them many enough, when there were weak... when we were ourselves...

Now we are different... and we need only revenge... Only this way we can forget... forget ourselves... forget who we were and who we've become ... forget all that we had to lose and give away...

This book itself is another grin of History... There was the Book of Light, Quenta Silmarillion... and another one, the Black Book... The truth of the winners and the truth of the defeated... And this one is neither the first nor the second... It s the truth of the forgotten and the damned...

... the Blood Book of Arda ...

I do not know if it's fair that we write this book, we, for whom the eternal pursuit of blood is not a vital need, but a tribute of respect and devotion to them... or rather, to him, our Lord... the Lord of Horror and Pain, the Lord of Blood... Daenar, our friend and beloved, whatever sacrilegiously it may sound to our enemies and to those who just don t understand us.
Yes, there's a lot to accuse us of... and almost surely - we shall be accused... and as before the light ruthlessly hunted down the dark, now, united, they'll declare hunt for us ... But it will only prove once again that everything that happens is not a chain of coincidences, but another bitter smile of History... It seems Vaire mixed something up in her tapestries. All this has already happened. Not to us and not now, but it did...

We can only live... and write this book... the chronicle, each rune in which is written with blood...

By Saerwyn, King's Chronist of Daedroth

19th day of the month of Alhor, year 335, the IV Age