Brogan: It's taken you long enough to update.
GoT: Oh shut up! I've been busy!
=====================
Chapter 14: The Fate of Chanilia
Chanilia regained consciousness and immediately wished she hadn't. The smell was truly awful, common sense dictated that after a week of this her nose should have shut down, unfortunately her sense of smell didn't seem to follow common sense.
A week ago the Istari woman had been sitting on the shores of the great river, thinking. Chanilia thought a lot, she thought the unfolding of the world, the lives of men and Elves and Istari. Silvawen and Arian walking with Elves, Saruman and Isauriel looking out over the world from their tall pillars of stone, Gandalf and Lyncorath, who, in her opinion, were the mightiest, wandering alone in the wild places.
Nilia didn't think of herself as anything special, she was a healer and content to live quietly next to the river. People would come to her seeking potions and cures and she would give them, free of charge.
As she sat, a flicker on the other side of the river caught her eye. Idly, she shifted position and drew a knife from her belt, holding it loosely at her side.
She rolled to her left as an arrow flew past where she had been sitting only a moment ago, as she did so, she threw the knife and was rewarded by an orc archer falling out of a tree on the other shore, her knife embedded in it's throat.
There was the briefest moment of stillness before at least twenty others opened fire but, by this point, Nilia had taken refuge behind an outcrop of rocks. So, these filthy abominations had the guile to attack her? Well, they would learn.
Nilia drew her power from water in all it's forms, rain, snow, rivers, seas, if water was near, she could use it. The Istari focused, drawing all her power and the energy inside her down to one powerful point, and then said the words:
"Mighty Anduin
Greatest of rivers
Arise
By the power of Ilúvatar, I command you,
Destroy these unclean ones
Your mistress summons you
Obey!"
The waters reared like wild horse and the river roared like an enraged dragon. The orc archers shrieked as waves, thirty feet high, swept them from their branches and dashed them to pieces on the rocky shore. Nilia rose to her feet and surveyed the carnage she had wrought smugly.
"There. That should teach you unholy monsters to mess with an Is-" She was cut off by a large Uruk smacking her over the back of her head with his shield.
"And that'll teach you, maggot, not to underestimate the servants of the Red Eye." He then called over his shoulder. "Oi! Lads! Tie this one up and get ready to march south east. We've got to bring this she-wizard back to Mordor, sharpish, or the Dark Lady'll have all our heads!"
So, Nilia had been tied up and carries hundreds and hundreds of leagues south and east of the river and now, a week after her kidnap, she was before the black gate itself. Despite the stench of orc, her eyes widened in horror. Mordor. Anywhere other than here.
A horn sounded the orcs return with their prize and the gate opened, revealing a land choked with fire and ash. There was a gag covering Nilia's mouth, but had she been able to, she would have been screaming. There was no water here for her to bend to her will. She was helpless and totally alone.
Nilia was thrown, without ceremony, into a cell, while her fate was decided. It was cold and damp and smelt worse than the orcs. From the sickly light that came in from a window that lead outside, she thought she could see bones in the far corners of the cell. Huddled up next to the door, slept fitfully and dreamt evil dreams.
The next thing she knew, she was being kicked by an orc.
"Wake up, you water maggot! You've got to come with me, sharpish. The Dark Lady wants a word with you." Nilia was then pulled to her feet and dragged down corridors to some sort of audience chamber. Dread crept over her as she believed she could put a name to this 'Dark Lady'.
Nilia was dragged into the chamber and thrown to the floor. When she looked up, she saw, sitting on a throne at the other end of the chamber, an Elf woman. She was quite beautiful with long dark hair and porcelain skin. She was wearing a very ornate dress of red and gold and sat on her throne with an air of aristocratic boredom.
But her eyes. No Elf had eyes such as these. Black and cold as two chips of marble they were, and unlike the eyes of the Elven folk, which shone with light, her eyes seemed to absorb light, to drag it into herself and crush it with her dark spirit.
"Gorothiel!" The throned woman seemed to notice Nilia for the first time.
"Why, Ciralon," she fluted, "or should that be Chanilia? That is what you're calling yourself these days, yes?" Nilia remained defiantly silent.
"What's the matter?" Gorothiel asked innocently, "don't want to talk about the old times?"
"What old times would those be?" Nilia snarled. "The wars of darkness when you betrayed us to Morgoth, imprisoned Silvawen and murdered Astald? Even now you betray us, as you sit there! What has Sauron promised you? That when Middle Earth is ruined you shall rule as his queen?" Gorothiel laughed.
"Oh ho, don't be simple. Yes, I will rule at Sauron's side, but that was not what he promised. In return for my services, I shall have revenge."
"Reve- Rath?!"
"Oh yes, Lyncorath. Lyncorath the light which is veiled, Lyncorath the wanderer, Lyncorath the wise, Lyncorath the mighty, that is what they name her!" As Gorothiel spoke, the pitch of her voice rose and rose until it became quite apparent that she was in the grip of a towering rage. "Not so! Lyncorath the false-hearted, I name her! Lyncorath the proud, Lyncorath the selfish! Why should she have been so admired? Course and ill-tempered, but all loved her while I was always a step behind! No longer! I will quench her spirit, this I swear!" As she screamed, venting her spleen over Rath, Gorothiel rose from her thrown to pace back and forth, her hands spiked into claws and her face contorted into a grim mask of fury. Nilia drew back in fear as Gorothiel rounded on her.
"I am going to utterly destroy her and you're going to help me. I've made sure that she knows where you've been taken and who by. She'll come for you, the fool that she is, and then-" she drew a finger across her neck, a malevolent grin on her face.
"Lyncorath will come," Nilia growled, "but it is you who shall kneel as her axe swings high."
"Oh, you think so? I have made a magic, a magic so great that not even Ilúvatar can undo it. Should either of us die by the other's hand, a great vortex shall open up and the spirit of the fallen one shall be pulled into the furthest reaches of the Void, where not even Ilúvatar the Great shall find them." Gorothiel spread wide her hands. "Sweet oblivion is the fate of our heroine."
"Then it is your fate, fool!" shouted Nilia. "You cannot beat her!"
"We will see," was Gorothiel's simple response. She went back to her throne. "As for you, Chanilia the Healer, for resisting the Lord Sauron, you shall be taken to Minas Morgul, the tower of sorcery and wraiths. There you shall be imprisoned indefinitely and guarded day and night as darkness covers the world, at which time you will be taken to Barad-dûr, whereupon you shall be hung till you are near death, then you shall have your intestines drawn out of your still living body and, finally, be quartered and your remains hung from the Black Gate as a warning to all who would defy the master of the world." Gorothiel lay back and closed her eyes. Then she commanded, lazily, "Guards, take her away."
==================================
GoT: Many thanks to Elfie for typing this up for me. Please review! (goes back to playing Jak and Daxter) Sequel soon, sequel soon, Jak II: Renagade, YIPEE!
Brogan: (Rolls his eyes)
GoT: Oh shut up! I've been busy!
=====================
Chapter 14: The Fate of Chanilia
Chanilia regained consciousness and immediately wished she hadn't. The smell was truly awful, common sense dictated that after a week of this her nose should have shut down, unfortunately her sense of smell didn't seem to follow common sense.
A week ago the Istari woman had been sitting on the shores of the great river, thinking. Chanilia thought a lot, she thought the unfolding of the world, the lives of men and Elves and Istari. Silvawen and Arian walking with Elves, Saruman and Isauriel looking out over the world from their tall pillars of stone, Gandalf and Lyncorath, who, in her opinion, were the mightiest, wandering alone in the wild places.
Nilia didn't think of herself as anything special, she was a healer and content to live quietly next to the river. People would come to her seeking potions and cures and she would give them, free of charge.
As she sat, a flicker on the other side of the river caught her eye. Idly, she shifted position and drew a knife from her belt, holding it loosely at her side.
She rolled to her left as an arrow flew past where she had been sitting only a moment ago, as she did so, she threw the knife and was rewarded by an orc archer falling out of a tree on the other shore, her knife embedded in it's throat.
There was the briefest moment of stillness before at least twenty others opened fire but, by this point, Nilia had taken refuge behind an outcrop of rocks. So, these filthy abominations had the guile to attack her? Well, they would learn.
Nilia drew her power from water in all it's forms, rain, snow, rivers, seas, if water was near, she could use it. The Istari focused, drawing all her power and the energy inside her down to one powerful point, and then said the words:
"Mighty Anduin
Greatest of rivers
Arise
By the power of Ilúvatar, I command you,
Destroy these unclean ones
Your mistress summons you
Obey!"
The waters reared like wild horse and the river roared like an enraged dragon. The orc archers shrieked as waves, thirty feet high, swept them from their branches and dashed them to pieces on the rocky shore. Nilia rose to her feet and surveyed the carnage she had wrought smugly.
"There. That should teach you unholy monsters to mess with an Is-" She was cut off by a large Uruk smacking her over the back of her head with his shield.
"And that'll teach you, maggot, not to underestimate the servants of the Red Eye." He then called over his shoulder. "Oi! Lads! Tie this one up and get ready to march south east. We've got to bring this she-wizard back to Mordor, sharpish, or the Dark Lady'll have all our heads!"
So, Nilia had been tied up and carries hundreds and hundreds of leagues south and east of the river and now, a week after her kidnap, she was before the black gate itself. Despite the stench of orc, her eyes widened in horror. Mordor. Anywhere other than here.
A horn sounded the orcs return with their prize and the gate opened, revealing a land choked with fire and ash. There was a gag covering Nilia's mouth, but had she been able to, she would have been screaming. There was no water here for her to bend to her will. She was helpless and totally alone.
Nilia was thrown, without ceremony, into a cell, while her fate was decided. It was cold and damp and smelt worse than the orcs. From the sickly light that came in from a window that lead outside, she thought she could see bones in the far corners of the cell. Huddled up next to the door, slept fitfully and dreamt evil dreams.
The next thing she knew, she was being kicked by an orc.
"Wake up, you water maggot! You've got to come with me, sharpish. The Dark Lady wants a word with you." Nilia was then pulled to her feet and dragged down corridors to some sort of audience chamber. Dread crept over her as she believed she could put a name to this 'Dark Lady'.
Nilia was dragged into the chamber and thrown to the floor. When she looked up, she saw, sitting on a throne at the other end of the chamber, an Elf woman. She was quite beautiful with long dark hair and porcelain skin. She was wearing a very ornate dress of red and gold and sat on her throne with an air of aristocratic boredom.
But her eyes. No Elf had eyes such as these. Black and cold as two chips of marble they were, and unlike the eyes of the Elven folk, which shone with light, her eyes seemed to absorb light, to drag it into herself and crush it with her dark spirit.
"Gorothiel!" The throned woman seemed to notice Nilia for the first time.
"Why, Ciralon," she fluted, "or should that be Chanilia? That is what you're calling yourself these days, yes?" Nilia remained defiantly silent.
"What's the matter?" Gorothiel asked innocently, "don't want to talk about the old times?"
"What old times would those be?" Nilia snarled. "The wars of darkness when you betrayed us to Morgoth, imprisoned Silvawen and murdered Astald? Even now you betray us, as you sit there! What has Sauron promised you? That when Middle Earth is ruined you shall rule as his queen?" Gorothiel laughed.
"Oh ho, don't be simple. Yes, I will rule at Sauron's side, but that was not what he promised. In return for my services, I shall have revenge."
"Reve- Rath?!"
"Oh yes, Lyncorath. Lyncorath the light which is veiled, Lyncorath the wanderer, Lyncorath the wise, Lyncorath the mighty, that is what they name her!" As Gorothiel spoke, the pitch of her voice rose and rose until it became quite apparent that she was in the grip of a towering rage. "Not so! Lyncorath the false-hearted, I name her! Lyncorath the proud, Lyncorath the selfish! Why should she have been so admired? Course and ill-tempered, but all loved her while I was always a step behind! No longer! I will quench her spirit, this I swear!" As she screamed, venting her spleen over Rath, Gorothiel rose from her thrown to pace back and forth, her hands spiked into claws and her face contorted into a grim mask of fury. Nilia drew back in fear as Gorothiel rounded on her.
"I am going to utterly destroy her and you're going to help me. I've made sure that she knows where you've been taken and who by. She'll come for you, the fool that she is, and then-" she drew a finger across her neck, a malevolent grin on her face.
"Lyncorath will come," Nilia growled, "but it is you who shall kneel as her axe swings high."
"Oh, you think so? I have made a magic, a magic so great that not even Ilúvatar can undo it. Should either of us die by the other's hand, a great vortex shall open up and the spirit of the fallen one shall be pulled into the furthest reaches of the Void, where not even Ilúvatar the Great shall find them." Gorothiel spread wide her hands. "Sweet oblivion is the fate of our heroine."
"Then it is your fate, fool!" shouted Nilia. "You cannot beat her!"
"We will see," was Gorothiel's simple response. She went back to her throne. "As for you, Chanilia the Healer, for resisting the Lord Sauron, you shall be taken to Minas Morgul, the tower of sorcery and wraiths. There you shall be imprisoned indefinitely and guarded day and night as darkness covers the world, at which time you will be taken to Barad-dûr, whereupon you shall be hung till you are near death, then you shall have your intestines drawn out of your still living body and, finally, be quartered and your remains hung from the Black Gate as a warning to all who would defy the master of the world." Gorothiel lay back and closed her eyes. Then she commanded, lazily, "Guards, take her away."
==================================
GoT: Many thanks to Elfie for typing this up for me. Please review! (goes back to playing Jak and Daxter) Sequel soon, sequel soon, Jak II: Renagade, YIPEE!
Brogan: (Rolls his eyes)
