A/N Italics courtesy of Blind Guardian and their song Blood Tears. Hence the title of the fic.
Welcome to where time stands still
No one leaves and no one ever will
I remember the utter hatred of my father and equal it as I stare into his loathsome eyes, hating the crown he wears on his foul head. I curse him! Again and again in my mind I damn him. The pressure of my oath builds in my chest until I can no longer suppress it. I force myself not to scream my rage and defiance at the one before me, and satisfy myself by spitting at his feet. It is enough.
Multiple weapons bite into my flesh again, and the chains encircling my body force me onto the ground. When the evil creatures finally finish their entertainment, I look up at him, and grin, for I know he will hate it. Something crashes into my head, but I am far beyond the ability to become unconscious. The fire in my blood threatens to consume me. I laugh, wild and defiant and harsh, making the cavernous throne room ring with it. I see the disappointment, the frustration in his eyes. He thought I would beg? Grovel at his damned feet? I? A son of Feanor? Ha! He may keep his foolish notions.
A low growl issues from his accursed mouth.
"Laugh as you will, red one," he snarls. "You will soon be screaming."
"As will you, damned one!" I roar back, still smiling. "You cannot win! We will crush you, foul and treacherous as you are! And you will beg for our mercy."
It is his turn to laugh, and he does. One hand – scarred and charred black, to my savage delight – is raised, giving the wordless order. I am dragged out of the throne room, his laughter still ringing in my ears, and my inferno roaring and flaring inside me.
Blood tears I cry
Endless grief remained inside
I hate him! I HATE HIM! My left hand, cut and bleeding, scrabbles at the rockface in an attempt to ease some of the pressure on my right. To no avail. I can no longer feel my shoulder, nor my hand. It is blue for lack of blood, and the cuts along my wrist blacken with my dried liquid of life.
Another gust of chilling wind sweeps the cliffs, freezing me down to the bone and causing my wounds to sting and burn anew. It picks me up momentarily, then slams me down again, ripping open my side for what feels like the hundredth time that day.
Day? Is it truly day? I know not. Perhaps it is, but the blackness surrounding the stronghold covers what light there may be. Again, perhaps the blackness is only in my mind, and not of this place.
My left hand weakens, and, cramped and bleeding, once more releases its futile grip on the rock. All of my weight is put on my right hand, and I cannot hold in the low moan that escapes through my gritted teeth.
A moan? A moan?! How weak I have become!
Nay! Never weak! The Black One has not yet won! A scream? Aye, he wanted a scream! And a scream I shall give him in my madness!
Blinded by pain, but drowning in my own wrath, I release the fury that constricts my breathing in one, long roar. It rips and tears at my throat, and my swollen tongue can barely wrap around the words that I cry to him.
"I CURSE YOU! I DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU!"
He wanted a scream of pain, but that I will not give him. Only will he receive the sounds of my oath and my line. He will hear my fury, his death toll, once sworn by my father, now renewed in the rage of my storm.
Never will I let him have them. Never will I bend to him. He may leave me here until the ending of the world, and still I will defy him. I will damn him through eternity. Arda will not forget my cry, nor will he. It will ring forever in his ears. And I will have my revenge.
