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6 Fourth Age: Into His Service; [ One-Shot ]
Topic Started: 29 Sep 2008, 08:12 PM (417 Views)
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Age of Arda: Second
Year: 3225
Location: Hyarrostar, Numenor


Under the hot summer sun, the boy sprinted through the fields of wildflowers towards the forests where his uncle’s woodcutters were felling trees for the new manor. He liked watching their rhythmic work and hearing the songs they sang to pass the time.

His legs pumped furiously, and his ten-year-old mind sprang into action. He was on the field of battle, not among wildflowers, and that was his enemy, not a large rosebush. The boy dipped and scooped a fallen tree branch from the ground. Raising it like his uncle did during lessons, the boy charged the rosebush-enemy. It put up a valiant fight, ducking and twisting like all the best opponents do, but it was defeated by the boy’s tree branch-sword.

The boy raced on to the next enemy. Far behind him, a small voice shouted through the still air. He did not hear it right away. He was too wrapped up in his games of make-believe war.

“Marillion! Marillion! Wait for me!”

When the boy finally heard the voice, he slowed to a crawl. Minutes later, his little sister jogged into view. She was panting, and her long dark hair was a tangled mess. Their aunt was not going to be happy this evening.

“Merileth,” the boy complained. “You know Aunt Tirien will scold me for letting you get so dirty.”

The seven-year-old girl scowled deeply at her brother. That one expression told him quite clearly that it was his fault for running so fast and through a series of mud puddles and streams. She had only been following, as she always did.

“But I’ll make sure she knows it was my fault,” Marillion sighed. “Just, let’s go, yeah? I want to hear the woodcutters’ songs.”

The siblings set off for the forest again. As they walked, Merileth intertwined her arm with her brother’s. The boy glanced down, frowning deeply, but tightened his grip protectively nonetheless. The woodcutters were not where they usually worked. Marillion led his sister further into the forest.

“I think we should go back,” the girl whispered. “I don’t like this place.”

“What?” Marillion laughed. “Nothing bad ever happens on Numenor. The Valar promised us so.”

The boy heard the sound only a moment too late. He lunged forward, trying to push his sister to the ground. The whizzing flight of the arrow ended with a dull squelch. Marillion stared down, not noticing the chunk of flesh missing from his right hand or the heavy pounding of footsteps behind him. He only saw his little sister, sweet Merileth, and the white-fletched arrow in her neck.

The footsteps trailed off. Someone cried out to Eru. Others were shouting about calling off a hunt and an accident. Marillion was being pulled away from his sister’s lifeless body by strong hands. He saw the men gathering around Merileth, all of them in hunting gear, and knew he was being taken far away.

“The Valar promised us so,” the boy said dumbly, a tremble in his voice.

“The Valar?” a man asked, kneeling down in front of Marillion. He was a beautiful man, like a painting come to life, with fair skin and shrewd eyes. “The Valar promise us many things. What did they promise you?”

“That nothing bad would happen.” The boy was startled to realize he was crying. He lifted his hand to brush tears away. Blood from his wound smeared across his cheeks. “They promised nothing bad would happen.”

“A Vala once promised me something as well, and he broke that promise too. They cannot be trusted.”

“What manner of man are you that a Vala would speak thusly to you?”

“I am not a man, but a Maia to whom they speak often. My name is Annatar, and I am a friend to Ar-Pharazôn. Let me heal your hand?”

The boy held out his right hand without a second thought.



Dramatis Personae:

Marillion = Given name of the Hand of Sauron which is now forgotten.
Annatar = A name used by Sauron when in a fair guise and deceiving his enemies.
Ar-Pharazôn = Last King of Numenor persuaded to defy the Valar by Sauron.

 
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