Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Days of the King ❯ Rai Hasdral ( Chapter 15 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Queen-of-Blades138 
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.12.2008 | Updated On: 12.18.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 179 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.12.2008 | Updated On: 12.18.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 179 | Status: Work In Progress
chapter 15 - Rai Hasdral
Rai Zelea Stejadar Hasdral opened his eyes.
He sat upon cushions of silk and brocaded fabrics on the stone floor, dressed
in a simple wrap that left his upper torso bare. He had perspired heavily, in
spite of the perpetual chill of this environment. These new powers he commanded
could exhaust as easily as excite. Through intense concentration he could move
his men, the Haradrim, orcs and trolls, and the metal and flesh golems he created
ever greater distances. Soon, he might not have to physically travel at all, merely
bend these forces to his will from Khazad-Dum. He knew the Men of the West called
this place Moria, but the Dwarven name struck a stronger chord. He would not
adopt the cursed Gondorian or Rohirrim name for his new stronghold.
He had been meditating, using his will to see into the minds of those
weaker than he. The White City was a hotbed of intrigue, rumor, gossip,
lascivious thought and action, a murder or two - oh, so very entertaining.
But the palace! The sins and plots of the nobles of Gondor would make
salacious reading. He might write it yet, for the entertainment of his
ladies and as part of his memoirs in later life. What secrets they held!
As he watched, tendrils of arcane energy flowed and surged around his
outstretched left arm. He made a fist; the sorcerous energy coalesced to
become a glowing blue-black nimbus surrounding his hand. He opened his
hand, palm upward. A glowing fountain sprang from him, to bubble and
sizzle vertically about four feet in the air.
The necromancer extended his right arm, hand open, palm upwards - the
fountain became an arc from palm to palm; cold, crackling energy humming
like the murmur of a multitude, faintly heard. He placed his hands on the
stone floor and saw serpentine lines of force race and wriggle across the surface
and under it, like seals frolicking in the waters of the sea.
Khazad-Dum had been refurbished to his liking. His slaves had scoured
the mine made foul by the occupation of countless orcs and other
servants of Sauron. The remnants of the slain, bones picked clean by
vermin, their rusted swords and armor, were all removed, Haradrim
furnishings had been installed. His early experiments with his new powers
had allowed him to move the contents of his palace in Southeast Harad to
his new stronghold in the blink of an eye.
Ornate draperies hung from the walls of many of the larger chambers;
countless lamps burned sweet oils, sumptuous furniture of dark woods
and immense size were plenitful, though they were dwarfed by the scale
of the cavernous spaces. Rugs and carpeting of vibrant colors and fantastic
design covered most of the floors of the rooms occupied by Hasdral and
his immediate household; the floors of the outlying chambers had been sanded
and polished to mirror brightness. None of the mine's previous inhabitants,
either Dwarven and Orc, would recognize the place. In addition to it's
strength as an almost impregnable fortress, it also allowed him to absorb
more of these new powers conferred upon him directly from the bones of
the earth. It was as if he was nourished by his mother in the womb.
She-who-was-before-all was eager to empower him, the vessel of her
revenge on the world of the Men of the West. SHE had found Hasdral a
willing and apt pupil. Her ancient hatred of the Men of the West was more
profound than his own. Their shared animosity gave him access to her
vast powers, a fraction of which was more than any mortal could absorb.
Hasdral was sure that the King did not know he about to be cuckolded by
one of his Elven friends, that his lordship was in jeopardy from political
intrigue, and that his precious wife had already been in his arms. Well, in
another form. For the foolish Elf that gave the desperate Queen the spell
for conception that Hasdral wished. It was Hasdral that enjoyed the soft
skin, sweet body and piquant terror of the Elven Queen that night,
though it was Aragorn's body that did the deed. That too, was wonderful.
Already the seed of doubt, the corruption of their love was decaying the
relationship.
Arwen had hid Legolas' involvement in her magics. She was hiding the new
powers her kinsman was manifesting from her husband; indeed, she concealed
his very presence in the city. But for these powers, friendship and loyalty
would have won over desire and ambition. The magnification and corruption
of the Elf's baser instincts was part of the absorption of these arcane skills.
And these powers infecting the Elf were being manipulated by Rai Hasdral.
Hasdral already possessed an impressive thraya, upwards of fifty concubines;
he had lost count. There had been one or two new additions from some
of his raids. But the jewel of his northern conquests was being prepared for
him. Soon enough, she would be driven from her husband into the arms of her
kinsman, and that alliance was doomed, by his hand, to fail.
Hasdral concentrated, and allowed the power to flow to every particle
of his being. Any observing him would have seen a man-shaped shadow
of absolute, unrelieved blackness, surrounded by a bluish, smoky flame
that crackled with energy, like lightning among stormclouds, but did not
consume him. He was close now; close to an evolution of his being that
would increase his powers one hundred fold. His consciousness was expanding
beyond the limits of his physical being. Soon he could be a dozen places
at once. Then a hundred places. He would be legion.
It was his intention to beseige the King of Gondor from all points. He
would meet him on the battlefield, eventually, perhaps, but when it suited
his purpose. He would cause those closest to him to confuse, exhaust,
confound and betray him. There were so much harm he could do with
these new powers, he hardly knew where to aim next.
But a plum had dropped before his feet. The wife of the former Steward line.
With a secret that would further rip apart the Ranger King from his Elven
Queen. The woman from the horse country was heavy with child. Just a little
fright had done it. And we would see how the barren she-elf would fare
with the fecund daughter of Rohan bearing her foal under the Queen's very
roof.
Delicious.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Aragorn had sought Faramir soon after Augra had been dispatched to tend
to the stricken Eowyn. He found him in his son's rooms on the floor
below. The household staff, many of whom had known Faramir in his youth
(for the palace was his former residence), doted on him, and every
consideration had been given to the family at this time of crisis without
an order having been given. The staff had also come to know their King.
Having witnessed the affection and comraderie of the King for the 'prince'
of the Steward line, and the respect he bore for the princess of Rohan,
they knew that it was as Aragorn would wish it.
Faramir had been in the middle of answering questions from the boys
regarding their mother's condition. A practical man, and a lifelong soldier,
he would not sheild the boys from the basics of the situation.
Theodred Castimir, the older boy, was serious, though calm. His questions
were factual, though the concern was clearly evident. The younger ones
needed more of their fathers' comfort however, so the explanations to them
were generously interspersed with sniffles and what sounded like a kiss or
two. This moment of paternal love and leadership was unexpectedly moving
to Aragorn. For the first time, he consciously percieved the lack of
family life, and felt an unexpected jolt of envy, even in this extremity.
It was an unworthy sentiment, and Aragorn pushed in quickly from his mind.
He waited at the entryway to their rooms, not wanting to intrude on the
family's moment of solace and solidarity. Faramir emerged, relinquishing
the care of his children to the bevy of handmaids who waited in the ante-
chamber to lavish a woman's care on the worried boys.
"She is a strong woman, Faramir. She has given you three healthy children
already, so she is a veteran of this campaign. The woman Augra is a very
skilled healer, appearance notwithstanding. She has mended many of my
Rangers who were broken on the field of battle with little more than
water and her will. Let us retire to your rooms. I'll have some bottles
of the best the cellars have to offer brought to us. You will be close to
your Lady, and we will toast to her health and the new addition to your
fine family!"
Aragorn's placed his hand in sympathy and comradeship on Faramir's
shoulder. It seemed to have the opposite effect at first. He slumped,
passed a hand over his brow, and let out a long sigh.
"Eowyn has never had an easy time of it for any of the births. This one is
too soon by some weeks. There was so much blood! I do not know what caused
this hemorraging. But, just the thought...", here, he took a shuddering breath,
"the very thought of losing her unmans me, Aragorn."
Aragorn gripped his forearm. "None of that. All will be well. Your fellows
are with you; both your entourage from Minas Ithil, and all your many
friends and well wishers here in Minas Tirith. Come. Let us get news of
your Lady."
The corridor outside Eowyn's chamber was a veritable beehive of activity.
Fresh linen, ewers of hot and cold water, a variety of fresh and dried
herbs, tinctures, salves, and a bottle of the Kings best mead were
delivered; a dismaying quantity of bloodstained bedding was being removed.
Aragorn had hoped to reassure Faramir; he now thought that staying away
from this floor might have been better. But Faramir would have none of it.
He was too devoted to Eowyn, and would insist on being near.
"Let us not interfere with the work of these good women. To your rooms;
we will be within a dozen steps of your Lady's door when it is time for
you to be by her side". With Aragorn's reassurance, Faramir let himself
be guided into the adjacent quarters.
Aragorn signaled the handmaid closest to Eowyn's door. "Let us know the
moment the child is born, and let us know her condition every half hour
till then. My Lord Faramir will not allow himself to rest knowing she suffers.
And send Madam Augra to us when she can be spared".
Aragorn sighed wearily. It promised to be a tense and sleepless night.
Rai Zelea Stejadar Hasdral opened his eyes.
He sat upon cushions of silk and brocaded fabrics on the stone floor, dressed
in a simple wrap that left his upper torso bare. He had perspired heavily, in
spite of the perpetual chill of this environment. These new powers he commanded
could exhaust as easily as excite. Through intense concentration he could move
his men, the Haradrim, orcs and trolls, and the metal and flesh golems he created
ever greater distances. Soon, he might not have to physically travel at all, merely
bend these forces to his will from Khazad-Dum. He knew the Men of the West called
this place Moria, but the Dwarven name struck a stronger chord. He would not
adopt the cursed Gondorian or Rohirrim name for his new stronghold.
He had been meditating, using his will to see into the minds of those
weaker than he. The White City was a hotbed of intrigue, rumor, gossip,
lascivious thought and action, a murder or two - oh, so very entertaining.
But the palace! The sins and plots of the nobles of Gondor would make
salacious reading. He might write it yet, for the entertainment of his
ladies and as part of his memoirs in later life. What secrets they held!
As he watched, tendrils of arcane energy flowed and surged around his
outstretched left arm. He made a fist; the sorcerous energy coalesced to
become a glowing blue-black nimbus surrounding his hand. He opened his
hand, palm upward. A glowing fountain sprang from him, to bubble and
sizzle vertically about four feet in the air.
The necromancer extended his right arm, hand open, palm upwards - the
fountain became an arc from palm to palm; cold, crackling energy humming
like the murmur of a multitude, faintly heard. He placed his hands on the
stone floor and saw serpentine lines of force race and wriggle across the surface
and under it, like seals frolicking in the waters of the sea.
Khazad-Dum had been refurbished to his liking. His slaves had scoured
the mine made foul by the occupation of countless orcs and other
servants of Sauron. The remnants of the slain, bones picked clean by
vermin, their rusted swords and armor, were all removed, Haradrim
furnishings had been installed. His early experiments with his new powers
had allowed him to move the contents of his palace in Southeast Harad to
his new stronghold in the blink of an eye.
Ornate draperies hung from the walls of many of the larger chambers;
countless lamps burned sweet oils, sumptuous furniture of dark woods
and immense size were plenitful, though they were dwarfed by the scale
of the cavernous spaces. Rugs and carpeting of vibrant colors and fantastic
design covered most of the floors of the rooms occupied by Hasdral and
his immediate household; the floors of the outlying chambers had been sanded
and polished to mirror brightness. None of the mine's previous inhabitants,
either Dwarven and Orc, would recognize the place. In addition to it's
strength as an almost impregnable fortress, it also allowed him to absorb
more of these new powers conferred upon him directly from the bones of
the earth. It was as if he was nourished by his mother in the womb.
She-who-was-before-all was eager to empower him, the vessel of her
revenge on the world of the Men of the West. SHE had found Hasdral a
willing and apt pupil. Her ancient hatred of the Men of the West was more
profound than his own. Their shared animosity gave him access to her
vast powers, a fraction of which was more than any mortal could absorb.
Hasdral was sure that the King did not know he about to be cuckolded by
one of his Elven friends, that his lordship was in jeopardy from political
intrigue, and that his precious wife had already been in his arms. Well, in
another form. For the foolish Elf that gave the desperate Queen the spell
for conception that Hasdral wished. It was Hasdral that enjoyed the soft
skin, sweet body and piquant terror of the Elven Queen that night,
though it was Aragorn's body that did the deed. That too, was wonderful.
Already the seed of doubt, the corruption of their love was decaying the
relationship.
Arwen had hid Legolas' involvement in her magics. She was hiding the new
powers her kinsman was manifesting from her husband; indeed, she concealed
his very presence in the city. But for these powers, friendship and loyalty
would have won over desire and ambition. The magnification and corruption
of the Elf's baser instincts was part of the absorption of these arcane skills.
And these powers infecting the Elf were being manipulated by Rai Hasdral.
Hasdral already possessed an impressive thraya, upwards of fifty concubines;
he had lost count. There had been one or two new additions from some
of his raids. But the jewel of his northern conquests was being prepared for
him. Soon enough, she would be driven from her husband into the arms of her
kinsman, and that alliance was doomed, by his hand, to fail.
Hasdral concentrated, and allowed the power to flow to every particle
of his being. Any observing him would have seen a man-shaped shadow
of absolute, unrelieved blackness, surrounded by a bluish, smoky flame
that crackled with energy, like lightning among stormclouds, but did not
consume him. He was close now; close to an evolution of his being that
would increase his powers one hundred fold. His consciousness was expanding
beyond the limits of his physical being. Soon he could be a dozen places
at once. Then a hundred places. He would be legion.
It was his intention to beseige the King of Gondor from all points. He
would meet him on the battlefield, eventually, perhaps, but when it suited
his purpose. He would cause those closest to him to confuse, exhaust,
confound and betray him. There were so much harm he could do with
these new powers, he hardly knew where to aim next.
But a plum had dropped before his feet. The wife of the former Steward line.
With a secret that would further rip apart the Ranger King from his Elven
Queen. The woman from the horse country was heavy with child. Just a little
fright had done it. And we would see how the barren she-elf would fare
with the fecund daughter of Rohan bearing her foal under the Queen's very
roof.
Delicious.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Aragorn had sought Faramir soon after Augra had been dispatched to tend
to the stricken Eowyn. He found him in his son's rooms on the floor
below. The household staff, many of whom had known Faramir in his youth
(for the palace was his former residence), doted on him, and every
consideration had been given to the family at this time of crisis without
an order having been given. The staff had also come to know their King.
Having witnessed the affection and comraderie of the King for the 'prince'
of the Steward line, and the respect he bore for the princess of Rohan,
they knew that it was as Aragorn would wish it.
Faramir had been in the middle of answering questions from the boys
regarding their mother's condition. A practical man, and a lifelong soldier,
he would not sheild the boys from the basics of the situation.
Theodred Castimir, the older boy, was serious, though calm. His questions
were factual, though the concern was clearly evident. The younger ones
needed more of their fathers' comfort however, so the explanations to them
were generously interspersed with sniffles and what sounded like a kiss or
two. This moment of paternal love and leadership was unexpectedly moving
to Aragorn. For the first time, he consciously percieved the lack of
family life, and felt an unexpected jolt of envy, even in this extremity.
It was an unworthy sentiment, and Aragorn pushed in quickly from his mind.
He waited at the entryway to their rooms, not wanting to intrude on the
family's moment of solace and solidarity. Faramir emerged, relinquishing
the care of his children to the bevy of handmaids who waited in the ante-
chamber to lavish a woman's care on the worried boys.
"She is a strong woman, Faramir. She has given you three healthy children
already, so she is a veteran of this campaign. The woman Augra is a very
skilled healer, appearance notwithstanding. She has mended many of my
Rangers who were broken on the field of battle with little more than
water and her will. Let us retire to your rooms. I'll have some bottles
of the best the cellars have to offer brought to us. You will be close to
your Lady, and we will toast to her health and the new addition to your
fine family!"
Aragorn's placed his hand in sympathy and comradeship on Faramir's
shoulder. It seemed to have the opposite effect at first. He slumped,
passed a hand over his brow, and let out a long sigh.
"Eowyn has never had an easy time of it for any of the births. This one is
too soon by some weeks. There was so much blood! I do not know what caused
this hemorraging. But, just the thought...", here, he took a shuddering breath,
"the very thought of losing her unmans me, Aragorn."
Aragorn gripped his forearm. "None of that. All will be well. Your fellows
are with you; both your entourage from Minas Ithil, and all your many
friends and well wishers here in Minas Tirith. Come. Let us get news of
your Lady."
The corridor outside Eowyn's chamber was a veritable beehive of activity.
Fresh linen, ewers of hot and cold water, a variety of fresh and dried
herbs, tinctures, salves, and a bottle of the Kings best mead were
delivered; a dismaying quantity of bloodstained bedding was being removed.
Aragorn had hoped to reassure Faramir; he now thought that staying away
from this floor might have been better. But Faramir would have none of it.
He was too devoted to Eowyn, and would insist on being near.
"Let us not interfere with the work of these good women. To your rooms;
we will be within a dozen steps of your Lady's door when it is time for
you to be by her side". With Aragorn's reassurance, Faramir let himself
be guided into the adjacent quarters.
Aragorn signaled the handmaid closest to Eowyn's door. "Let us know the
moment the child is born, and let us know her condition every half hour
till then. My Lord Faramir will not allow himself to rest knowing she suffers.
And send Madam Augra to us when she can be spared".
Aragorn sighed wearily. It promised to be a tense and sleepless night.