Kingdom of the fallen

Quiet before the storm

A month has passed with the Resistance and the orc army settling into an uneasy peace.

The peace meeting between the groups was anything but... well, peaceful. Many harsh words were invented throughout the meeting, but in the end both groups agreed that letting a nazgûl sit at the helm of Minas Morgul would not be a great image to present to the rest of Middle earth while removing him could be seen as a sign of weakness by the various eastern and southern kingdoms and empires.

This prompted the two groups to create the Council where equal measure of Resistance and Uruk leaders would meet regularly or when summoned, but keeping Talion as the definitive ruler of Mordor, though nobody informed the nazgûl in question. Baranor took the position of Grand-general of the Mordorian armies, Idril chose to be a Shield maiden of Mordor as well as Lady Counsellor of Minas Morgul. The only conditions were that Talion would not be allowed to be a part of the council itself or change their decisions unless necessary, though still participating and acting as a judge and go-between, and that its members would in equal measure represent all the races living within Mordor.

Talion's head started pounding just recalling the absolute catastrophe that was the first Council meeting, but the pain left in a moment's notice as the silver ring hugged his finger a bit tighter. Talion gave the jewellery a curious look to which an overwhelming calmness flowing from it was his only response. He tried to connect to it once more, looking for its will and voice, but finding only a small sleeping presence, unwilling to let go of its favourite pillow. All he could force himself to do at this point was to look away from the star-filled sky behind the window of his chamber.

Talion looked around his darkened rooms. He honestly expected to be either left to live in the stables or to be thrown out of the bastion all together. He most certainly did not expect to be treated like somebody good enough to be a leader, followed by the curiosity and quiet awe that the people presented him with. He did not expect this, and he most certainly not deserve this.

The numbers of the newly named people of Minas Morgul were steadily increasing as more refugees, former slaves and orcs who were looking for a purpose in life flooded in through the front gate. They were uneasy around him and his orcs at first, but after the first two weeks they started slowly warming up to them.

Talion tried his best to keep them at a distance, not to spread the...the filth that he was corrupted with. The adults understood the need for space to keep them safe quickly, although they still allowed the children to come near and play around him whenever he stepped out of the tower.

Despite the moon nearing the highest peak of its journey, Talion was more compelled to roam outside than to lie down into the carefully prepared and washed white sheets, comfortable pillows and the looming black hands dragging him into the darkest corners of his memory.

No.

Not tonight.

Talion carelessly grabbed his weapons and without a second thought walked out of his chambers, only keeping the lush courtyard in mind as he started to run through the halls.

The relief Talion felt when he saw the tower's upper gardens was almost indescribable.

A heavy sign left his chest numb from the, now released, pent up emotions. He fell to his knees in relief right into the sparkling, emerald green grass.

The bastion, as well as the city, were still under heavy reconstruction work from the last war, but it still glowed with a protective inner light. A light unwilling to die out without first serving its purpose and illuminating its surroundings, turning corners, and staying on the leaves of the city's vegetation, making it seem as if the plants themselves glowed brighter than the tower. Running his hand through the grass, Talion found it to be as soft as ever.