| Subject: What is it that you fear? |
Author:
Anawiel
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Date Posted: 21:39:11 09/04/02 Wed
"What is it that you fear?"
The voice whispered in her head. A voice of fear and sorrow, yet so terrible it shook Anawiel to the soul.
"Listen to me Chaendra. Listen child."
As if a spell had been cast upon her, Anawiel found herself slumping against the wall of the king's room. The inset of sleep closing in on her, enfolding her with a touch so delicate, the witch could not resist.
She stood in a stone passageway lined with fine tapestries shining as if they were spun out of a pure mithril cord. A woman sat at a loom clasping some of the precious thread in her hand. She was beautiful. More so than any creature that had ever walked the plains of Middle-Earth.
"Why do you stand away from me Chaendra? We have met before." The woman spoke, looking with piercing eyes at Anawiel.
"I no longer go by that name, Vaire. You are the first to have called me that in a long while."
The Valari looked steadily into the young sorceresses eyes.
"Do you even know why you are here child?"
“I am no mere child!" Anawiel snapped and glared at Vaire.
“To me you are Chaendra, and always will be. But there is more important things to talk about other than your status under me.
“You know why you are here. It has happened before when you conceal your inner most feelings from the Nightmare Rose. Last time you were here you were Chaendra and your fear was easy to find. Galaril was with you, remember?”
Anawiel turned away at the name, studying the tapestries in an attempt to stop the memories Vaire had brought upon her. She remembered that nightmare, as if it had happened to her last week – not in a previous life. Her skin felt cold and it prickled with a soft magic from the Valari’s power.
“Of course I remember,” she said bluntly, “how could I forget? The Valar will not let my mind or heart rest at ease. I see the same every waking hour of everyday. You torment me with it, but I no longer fear it.” The hatred in her voice growing stronger with everyword.
“Then answer my question and tell me, Chaendra! Then this can be over! Don’t you see?” Vaire stood up and grasped Anawiel at the shoulders, “You must know what is to come. How else will you defeat it? Unless…” The woman shuddered away from red-head, “Unless you intend not to?”
The sorceress merely looked steadily towards Vaire. “The thing that I fear, Vaire? I fear nothing. There is no one in this world left whom I care about to fear for. You and your servants saw to that. You destroyed the only family I have ever had. I can never forgive you of that. And there is nothing left in this world that I can fear.
“Apart from myself.” She whispered the last words.
Anawiel walked over to an ornate mirror, the only other thing on the walls other than the weavings of time. She touched one pale finger to it and three images appeared, one after another. A dark-haired woman, an older man and a younger man who resembled the other two in many ways. The last image remained. Before fading away to show a room. A banqueting hall, deserted save two figures talking near the wall. One was Anawiel, the other the young man.
“We could be great…Imagine what we could have …Joined with me and my bloodline, nothing could stop us…The whole of Middle-Earth would be yours to command! Not even your father could stand in the way – don’t you see it?” The mirror Anawiel smiled at Lia, “I would be your queen”…
The scene faded and was quickly replaced by another, again with Anawiel speaking to a man. The king. She was holding a knife to his throat. “I am sorry Elessar, but He has spoken and I am but His vessel.” The blade cut into the king’s flesh as old blood from his veins flowed out over the wooden floor ; The mirror Anawiel licked the scarlet blade, smiling down at the dying king…
More scenes came, flashing by the true Anawiel staring with Vaire at her side:
Anawiel riding a black stallion, dressed in Mordor armour, into the gates of Barad-dur. She lead nine others, cloaked in black, on horseback. The fiery flag of her red hair streaming out behind her into the grey mist.
Anawiel reaching out and touching The Eye, flames licking over her porcelain skin as she let out a high laugh, cold as Arctic wind and darker than the midnight sky. A roaring voice filled the air, the world in the mirror tremouring, as it spoke only two words; “My daughter…”
Dressed in a mantle and dress of black, Anawiel looked out from the top of Barad-dur. “They are ready Father,” she spoke to a tall figure behind her, though not turning her head. A figure clad from head to toe in armour and full face mask as it stepped from the shadows.
“I have a present for you Chaendra,” came a man’s voice from behind the mask. His hand extended towards Anawiel. In the palm lay a golden ring, circled with flowing writing, shining through the darkness of Mordor…
An army of orcs on the slopes of Mount Doom, scarlet blood falling from their mouths as their hisses filled the air. On the opposite slope was an army of men and what few elves there remained. The sorceress stepped forward, the newly forged ring on a finger. She raised her hand to the sky crying out to Morgoth - “Thanga yassen templa. Yala onna en' naur bragollach tel'llach!” A huge fireball formed in her hands, rippling in anticipation. Then she flung it at the Humans. Fire fell all around them and as Anawiel heard their screams for mercy and forgiveness, a smile played on her dark red lips…
The mirror became clear again and Anawiel saw her reflection clearly once more. Her face was pale and she was shaking all over in fear. Yet her eyes shone in delight and malice, greedy for more. Vaire’s hall faded away from her mind.
She stirred in her sleep as she lay curled up on the wooden floor of the Royal apartments. Before she fell into deeper sleep a single word escaped her mouth. “Father.”
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