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littlemanpoet · 05-28-2005, 11:08 AM

It was midnight. Mabalar had eaten his fill and soothed his throat with cool, clean water. Târik stood just inside in Mabalar's cell, informing him that the unholy temple of Sauron was engorging itself on victims sacrificed to Morgoth.

"I asked of Tar Miriel last we spoke. Tell me of her now."

Târik nodded. Sorrow came to his face. "She suffers. Not by Sauron's or any man's hand. But she endures a living death. Faithful she is, but cannot show it or say it."

"Are you then Faithful?" Mabalar asked.

Târik's face became eager. "Aye, lord! I would flee this accursed isle with the Elendili had I the chance!"

Mabalar smiled grimly. It could be that the boy spoke the truth. He exhibited a naiveté that suggested idealism; but that could be a ploy of a devious mind. He would have to search out this boy's heart and make his own judgment.

"Tell me of the Queen."

"She hides deep within her rooms each night when the Temple is ablaze with its unholy red light. But in the morning she climbs the Meneltarma and looks west over sea. It matters not what the skies let loose, weather hail or storm or portentous thunder.

"The black sails of Ar Pharazon have long since disappeared beyond the horizon, but still she looks, but not for the King. I think she looks for some sign of mercy out of the West."

"None shall come," remarked Mabalar. "Not now that the fool has gone on his blasphemous quest."

Târik nodded. "Aye. She looks without hope, for she cannot cease. 'Tis an evil time to be the faithful queen of an unfaithful land and lord. I do not envy her lot."

There was a clanging noise down the corridor. Târik looked back fearfully. "I must not be seen here, my lord!" He passed out of the cell, locked the door, and slipped away. Darkness closed in as his torch disappeared around a corner.

Another dim light from another torch came slowly toward his cell. There were five guards. "Open the gate," ordered one. "'Tis this rogue's night to join the line. We shall see how hungry the altar is, eh?"

The guards laughed as they forced Mabalar to his feet and reclasped his chains so that he could take small constricted steps, surrounded by guards bristling with knives.

05-28-2005, 11:08 AM	#50
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	Mabalar Melethroch It was midnight. Mabalar had eaten his fill and soothed his throat with cool, clean water. Târik stood just inside in Mabalar's cell, informing him that the unholy temple of Sauron was engorging itself on victims sacrificed to Morgoth. "I asked of Tar Miriel last we spoke. Tell me of her now." Târik nodded. Sorrow came to his face. "She suffers. Not by Sauron's or any man's hand. But she endures a living death. Faithful she is, but cannot show it or say it." "Are you then Faithful?" Mabalar asked. Târik's face became eager. "Aye, lord! I would flee this accursed isle with the Elendili had I the chance!" Mabalar smiled grimly. It could be that the boy spoke the truth. He exhibited a naiveté that suggested idealism; but that could be a ploy of a devious mind. He would have to search out this boy's heart and make his own judgment. "Tell me of the Queen." "She hides deep within her rooms each night when the Temple is ablaze with its unholy red light. But in the morning she climbs the Meneltarma and looks west over sea. It matters not what the skies let loose, weather hail or storm or portentous thunder. "The black sails of Ar Pharazon have long since disappeared beyond the horizon, but still she looks, but not for the King. I think she looks for some sign of mercy out of the West." "None shall come," remarked Mabalar. "Not now that the fool has gone on his blasphemous quest." Târik nodded. "Aye. She looks without hope, for she cannot cease. 'Tis an evil time to be the faithful queen of an unfaithful land and lord. I do not envy her lot." There was a clanging noise down the corridor. Târik looked back fearfully. "I must not be seen here, my lord!" He passed out of the cell, locked the door, and slipped away. Darkness closed in as his torch disappeared around a corner. Another dim light from another torch came slowly toward his cell. There were five guards. "Open the gate," ordered one. "'Tis this rogue's night to join the line. We shall see how hungry the altar is, eh?" The guards laughed as they forced Mabalar to his feet and reclasped his chains so that he could take small constricted steps, surrounded by guards bristling with knives.