NOTE: A chapter was not saved. Basically-- Legolas gathered up Gandalf, Balgals, and Minaethiel. They rushed to Faellond with the intent of convincing Anodien to halt her reckless assault on the world, or in the worst case, to slay her. However, she seemed to have expected them...
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"At last, my dear friends!" Anodien announced once the four had found their way into the throne room. They all staggered back from her shrieking, but as they were not Fae, they couldn't stand it. Unfortunately, neither was Lairiel. Anodien dipped her head in a brief-- and possibly insincere-- apology to the She-Elf before looking back at the newcomers.
Now that they'd somewhat recovered, they were gaping at the immense throne room. Anodien had to admit, she was rather pleased with that. It was a point of pride for her. She'd destroyed so much, but what she'd created within was exorbitant and excessive, and there was no telling how much had gone into creating it alone.
The room had pitch-black walls emitting embers, columns made of smoke yet still somehow holding up the fiery ceiling. The floor was clear and strong, and below were heated blazes. Few could walk upon it without feeling pain. Still, there was a plush red rug leading to the queen herself. She'd had the room polished and primed nonetheless to its greatest potential, just as she'd had herself prepared.
Anodien allowed them to take her in, her appearance, her location, and her stance. She sat upon a throne of dragon's bones, and a black dress-- though undoubtedly armored-- was fitted tightly around every her. No longer did she wield the silver sword of her youth. She didn't need a weapon at all. The queen wanted to intimidate them, and intimidate them she did.
The true horror was not in the way Anodien's fingernails curled into claws. It wasn't the wicked, humorless grin with impossibly sharp teeth or the way she held herself with something akin to vile excitement. The worst feature sent violent shivers down their spines and made them want to turn tail and run. It was the sheer hunger and hostility the demon held in the Stygian void of her eyes.
"Stop there." Her voice was now quieter than before, but still loud enough to make an echo. "Do not move." Minaethiel rolled her eyes and took a step forwards to the dismay of her companions.
"You need to stop this," the Elleth snapped. "What do you think you're doing?" Legolas winced at her tone and actions. Anodien lifted an eyebrow and leaned on her hand.
"Get back here," Gandalf insisted
"No," Minaethiel snapped. "This is my sister. She's better than this."
"Am I?" Anodien languorously stretched out on her throne, which seemed to Legolas a tad impossible in her tight dress. However, she did so, apparently not caring about what he did and didn't think was possible. "Explain to me."
Minaethiel kept her blue eyes on Anodien, despite the eerie stare. "Anodien, I know you. This isn't you. Release Lairiel. Stop this madness."
"Lairiel?" Anodien looked behind her and nodded, and forward came Lairiel with an armored Vilkas by her side. "She's here because she wants to be. Lairiel has remained with me for half a megennium, dearest sister." Legolas had to admit he was surprised that Lairiel had willingly stayed, but at the same time, the shame in the She-Elf's eyes was enough to convince him that she regretted it.
"And what has she done for the people of your country?" challenged Minaethiel. "Of other countries?"
"Saved a couple lives." Anodien waved it off. "Oh well. At least she's been here."
"Anodien, either way, you can't--" A scream, a blink, a snap, and Minaethiel collapsed onto the floor with her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood began to pour from various places on her body, despite the fact that no other visible wounds had been opened. Anodien chuckled quietly, watching the crimson river flow. Her sister was dead and she felt nothing. Balglas let out a pained cry at seeing his mother splayed lifelessly on the ground. Gandalf shifted nervously, and yet all Legolas could do was stare at Anodien.
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Unforgiven
FanfictionThe final tale, the final dance. The final tell, the final chance. Let it be squandered, let it be wasted, just as the pain will go unabated. Countless years have passed without greetings, all from hatred borne of the last meeting. Because of him, t...