Disclaimer: If you know how to say f*** off in elvish, insert here.
Note: There is a lot of Silmarillion and date stuff in these chapters and I plan to use I through out the rest of this story. The dates are true if you care to look them up. As for the Silmarillion, it's your own fault if you haven't read it.

Celebrian, Wife of Elrond, and he Heir of Sauron
Fireweilder

Book Two


I am Raksha. I was born of an elvish wretch in 2510, created in 2954. I am a bastard child and a slave. Yet I and I alone will rule.

I am Raksha. Know it well, for it is but the sound of impending doom.

When Sauron first beheld me, I was his shock and horror of what I was, the product of that which never should have coupled. I am an immortal, elvish, fair and wise, and Maiar, a lesser that of Gods. But Sauron found me less then capable, for what use would a woman be in his service. Grasping me by my neck, he flung me out into his dead land, leaving me for Wrags and Orcs flesh. But I had scared him, for how his hands were black, stained with his kin's blood. So alike they were now, that of Sauron and Morgoth. Now even their hands were united in blackness.

But I did not die as Sauron had decreed. Powerful he knew I would become, yet still weak as all females were said to be. But he was a fool, trusting too much in what he thought. So he left me to a worse death then that of Mordor's darkness. He gave me willingly to his Nazgul pets, the three living in the Tower of Terror. It is legend or so the wind tells me, that the dust has not yet settled in Mordor from the dark years where I was imprisoned in Minas Morgul. My screams were ever present in that land for 444 years, forcing the monstrous Orcs to cower on the ground, growing daily madness. It was the terror of the Nazgul that made me scream but those dark days were lost in my mind. My creation purged them from my former life.

It is said in Middle- Earth, that though I was not heard, my screams brought an uncounterable winter of 2758, though the people blamed into on the mischief of Sauron.

To some, they were untrusting of my tales of my life. What evil wind existed in Mordor, which would whisper dealings of my past to me? Indeed, it seemed as though I possessed certain omnipotence about dealings of the wild world. Yet, they were from three winds, neither that gave it to me willingly. My keepers, the Nazgul, were once men, some kings of Middle- Earth, some of Numenor, thus having great knowledge. Of all the ages but first, I was learned in history amid my terror, for they would gloat their fine history under Sauron's deceits.

The other was the Dark Lord himself, from whom I learned much if not all of the first age and the fall of Morgoth and of Feanor and his lust of his Silmarils. But that was not until later, after my creation. The last was the Elf Lord Elrond, but his story would be jumping to far forward in time, for his information didn't come till much of my history was wasted.

But it was there in my near final moment, that I finally was taught the fire of the Maiar. The Lord had found that my existence had been a waste of his time, and even a waste to that of his pets. He ordered them to kill me in whatever way possible. To this decree, they feared greatest of all, for they would have to fight me in order to slay me. At the time, I understood not why they feared this. It was not until the waning of the third age that it became light to me.

But it was their decision they would fight me on the pike of Minas Morgul, hoping rather to toss me from the edge them fight me for long. Thus it was in this moment, when the advancement of my keepers blackened the stars that never shone, that I at long last stop me screams.

Orcs crept back from their holes and an eerie silence that foretold evil things afoot covered the land. The ash still churned from the voice. Even Sauron on his high horse, dared to look my way, a smile dancing on his lips. Death, he had had thought, had finally come to me. But as he strained his eye, he say that it was not so. There I stood, clothed only in my own radiance, wielding a demented dagger as if it was Narsil itself. From this he shrank with fear, nearly retreating to his lower caverns.

But one before had never defeated his pets and he did not plan to lose them to some mutt. Slowly, the Nazgul retreated one by one as they all failed to subdue my wrath. So Sauron appeared before me, but I did not bow as was expected of me. I stood facing him with both eyes. His wrath nearly matched mine at this treason of his spawn, so he smote my left eye red, like his that I should only see properly with one, maiming me a Maiar beauty.

But even as Sauron feared me, some lingering memory of this past servitude, welling up one again the depths of his kin's heart. Thus, he saw what he had created, a servant with a greater power then he had foreseen. He let me live that night, but still refused with every passing day, not to give the heirship I deserved.

After years had passed on wings, Sauron gave to me a gift. The gift, he said, was to be my choice. Anything, from this world to the next. But I told him then something he did not expect. I asked for a form, terrible in all its slender. He questioned; knowing any form a half Maiar contrives to be terrible enough. But to make a terrifying form, would be a death seeking trial.

It was in his darkness that the Dark Lord summoned all his knowledge o ages past, of vast and terrible forms he had seen or even taken on himself. He thought to the Balrogs, his past master's personal servants, demons of fire and Darkness and of the form of Ungoliant. But they were not new though they were terrible indeed to behold. Then he smiled to himself in his darkness, recalling the terror of old.

Thus it was to pass that for unending years I was tortured in the very fires of Orodruin. It would be futile to explain in words of Elvish, common, or that of old what pain there was that consumed by body and mind. Evil things were awoken in me and worse things were strengthened. But when at last the time of awaking came for me, I rose greater then any before me.

I am Raksha, body and mind a mockery of that of Arien, a Valar of old, most feared in the mind of Sauron.