b2wm
in
fanfic_realm
Man: Kicking off the End Challenge
Title: The Eagles Are Coming
Rating: PG to PG-13 for vaguely disturbing subject matter. Hi, Akallabeth.
Pairing:(if there are any) None.
Summary: In the end, the Valar will save the Faithful.
Warning:(if there are any) OC (with slight in-joke name) and character death. (Suppose it's only fitting that this is the first fic I've posted publically since my laptop was deaded.) Tolkien owns the plot.
Morloke wanted to put her hands over her eyes, but then there would be nothing to muffle the screams.
Part of her insisted that she ought to watch; that she ought to listen and remember these poor souls for the rest of her life - no matter how short an amount of time that might be. She risked a glance behind her. Would any of the frightened captives behind her remember her as they approached the altar, or would she simply be another body and more ashes to them? Did she want them to remember her, screaming for her family, cursing the king and Valar alike for abandoning them?
No, the Valar would not abandon her. The king might sail against them, and she might be cosigned to the fires to fuel his black pact with Melkor, but they would save her fea, even if they could not save her body. She remembered that they had even granted the most loyal amongst her ancestors the power to choose the time of their dying.
The memory was not without a little envy. Morloke doubted that she would be able to stop her heart when they laid her upon the altar. She looked down towards her bare feet and quaking legs, trying to avoid the slick, sticky wet rivulets in the floor. It would not be long now…
There was a sudden shout from the back, near the entrance of the temple. “The Eagles! The Eagles of Manwe!”
Perhaps it was only desperation, but Morloke thought she heard the shrill cry of a raptor. It slowed the grim work in the center of the temple, and she pulled her eyes away, wishing she could wipe the sight from her memory. Then the cleansing waters came, and she knew no more.
Rating: PG to PG-13 for vaguely disturbing subject matter. Hi, Akallabeth.
Pairing:(if there are any) None.
Summary: In the end, the Valar will save the Faithful.
Warning:(if there are any) OC (with slight in-joke name) and character death. (Suppose it's only fitting that this is the first fic I've posted publically since my laptop was deaded.) Tolkien owns the plot.
Morloke wanted to put her hands over her eyes, but then there would be nothing to muffle the screams.
Part of her insisted that she ought to watch; that she ought to listen and remember these poor souls for the rest of her life - no matter how short an amount of time that might be. She risked a glance behind her. Would any of the frightened captives behind her remember her as they approached the altar, or would she simply be another body and more ashes to them? Did she want them to remember her, screaming for her family, cursing the king and Valar alike for abandoning them?
No, the Valar would not abandon her. The king might sail against them, and she might be cosigned to the fires to fuel his black pact with Melkor, but they would save her fea, even if they could not save her body. She remembered that they had even granted the most loyal amongst her ancestors the power to choose the time of their dying.
The memory was not without a little envy. Morloke doubted that she would be able to stop her heart when they laid her upon the altar. She looked down towards her bare feet and quaking legs, trying to avoid the slick, sticky wet rivulets in the floor. It would not be long now…
There was a sudden shout from the back, near the entrance of the temple. “The Eagles! The Eagles of Manwe!”
Perhaps it was only desperation, but Morloke thought she heard the shrill cry of a raptor. It slowed the grim work in the center of the temple, and she pulled her eyes away, wishing she could wipe the sight from her memory. Then the cleansing waters came, and she knew no more.