War of Wrath by belegur

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Chapter 1

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. . .

 

“Utúlie'n aurë! Utúlie'n aurë! Utúlie'n aurë!”

“Please, help me, help me. I renounce all my deeds.”

“Utúlie'n aurë! Utúlie'n aurë! Utúlie'n aurë!”

“Please, please, please.”

“Utúlie'n aurë! Utúlie'n aurë! Utúlie'n aurë!”

“Please, please, please.”

“Utúlie'n aurë... Utúlie'n...”

A wall. And no opening. He can go no further. But the silence and the dark are such that things forget their own existence. He can sit here and rest.

“Thank you.” he whispers to his Father.

 

 

. . .

 

“My lord, he is in there.” said one voice “He asks for terms of parley.”

The other one laughed and then said something he didn't hear.

“It may take an hour, my lord.

“Tell them to bring it anyway.”

 

. . .

 

“You want to parley?” said the other one loudly “We can parley, why not?” there was a smile in his voice “Parley. Why not? I was just wondering, please tell me, have you ever allowed your kind to parley? All the other thralls? Because you are a thrall, you know that, right?”

What are they waiting? Why is he still talking? Maybe he is afraid. Yes, afraid. Don't speak.

“You are not saying anything.” said the voice “And why is that? Are you afraid?”

Do you trust your own voice not to betray you? Don't speak.

 

. . .

 

Many of them were now in the room, and still they were coming.

He fell down on his knees. “Please, please, please. Forgive me.” With his forehead he touched the ground. “Forgive me, please, my Father, because I have erred.”

Someone came and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Get up.”

When he rose, the same man swinged his sword and cut his legs above the knee. He fell face down into the dirt. “Father, don't turn your face from me.” he cried “Father, father, please, help me.”

His hands were pulled back to his back and tied with a chain that beared the weight of a thousand hills. “Air! Please, I can't breathe.”

“Air?” laughed the man “God help you!”

. . .

 

The Judge rose.

“You have denied the Children the knowledge of the Allfather and have waged war against the kingship of Manwë. You have imposed yourself in their hearts as the one true God, and in the false adoration of thee, the Children have given others of their kin to the fire.

For these crimes, which I hold the worst, I sentence you to death.

You have given a false oath to your own kin and spread lies in the Blessed Realm so you could defile the sanctity of this place as the only one which still held the remembrance of Arda Unmarred. To fulfill this cause, you have brought death to the Trees, stolen the Silmarills of Fëanor and spilt first blood in Aman.

For these crimes, which are grave, I sentence you to death.

You have caused deaths and sorrows unimaginable, breaking the supreme ban of Eru Ilúvatar – you, a servant and an instrument of his, raised your hand against his Children.

For these crimes, I sentence you to death.”

 

. . .

 

“How are these called?” he asked his executioner.

“Dandelions.” he said and asked him if he would like a blindfold. He said no.

“And these?”

“Also dandelions.”

Dandelion. How wonderful. A beautiful little flower. For a time a sun, and then, for a time, a moon.

“Bend your head.”

Dandelions. Dandelions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

 

Utúlie'n aurë! - The day has come!