@misbehavingmaiar Desolate.
That was what this place was. Maedhros has dimly thought that even
evil would have liked to dwell in paradise. Would have imagined the
maiar flitting in a garden even whilst covered in the blood and guts
of the recently slain. Lava pits were the only bloom of color that
marked the dark earth however. Just as well that their home be as
ugly as their souls. He wandered if his own stronghold was like his.
Impossibly cold but strong and unyielding. He had to get home, had to
protect what was left of his people, his brothers.
Yet
he was here.
In
a cell so small he couldn’t stand if he wanted to. He
didn’t really. The pads of his feet were cut up and oozing blood. He
was half convinced that there was poison pressed in to keep them from
clotting and scabbing over. That wasn’t really something to worry
about. They were only cut up from the walk up roughly hewn stones,
not from injury inflected upon his person by other hands. No- that
was still to come, he was certain.
This
was the land that bound his people to darkness, that twisted their
fea and their hroa to match. He smiled bitterly as he pressed his
forehead to his knees. Was that what was to become of him? An orc? If
Manwe gave any blessings to his family, to his kin, he hoped they
wouldn’t have to face against him on the battle field. Better he
bleed out here in this tiny cell alone and forgotten in the dark.
@ashandbrine There was no shuffle of feet to announce his entrance, no entourage of Orcish guards to mark the arrival of an officer. When he came, he merely appeared, stepping from the lamp-black shadows into the furnace light of the volcanic cell.
“You.” The somber voice curled with disdain. “You’re the one He wanted so badly?” Sauron came forward, thrusting a hand between the bars of the cell to clamp the elf’s bruised jaw between his fingers. He seemed to be appraising a cut of meat, finding it inadequate. “So many sent to die, for this? You look nothing like him.” This was not addressed to Maedhros, and the lieutenant did not bother to clarify who or what he meant as he relinquished his grasp.
“Such a waste.”
The great maia’s back was turned as he examined structures obscured by the darkness of the chamber. Soft metallic sounds echoed amidst the rumbling of the subterranean pit; quiet clinks and clacks of some device turned in the hand, the creak and slither of leather, chilling in their ambiguity. A spray of distant magma illuminated briefly the walls lined with what seemed workman’s tools; racks and rows of hanging instruments, long empty tables, vials and troughs of liquid. He hummed a low note of satisfaction, selecting at last a tool that met with his approval.
“You are… Maedhros. First and eldest of the sons of Fëanor. Yes?” The maia asked, unhurried. He knelt, huge and graceful, before the iron cage, red-gold eyes searching out the prisoner’s. “I am Sauron, first lieutenant and forgemaster of Angband. My Master has given you to me for the purposes of breaking.” He unfurled the whip that had been coiled lazily in his hands, all black braid with many silver-tipped tails. “If you choose to be forthcoming with information that is useful to my Master, we may forgo many painful formalities, but not all. I myself hold no personal grudge against you… if it were in my power to break Lord Melkor’s fascination with those of your house, I would happily do so. To me, you are an enemy soldier, an irritant, worthy of no more attention or special effort than any other. But to my Master…” The maia blinked slowly, lips touched with an expression of irony; “To my Master, you a most sought and toothsome prize.”
As he spoke, he unlocked the mechanism keeping shut the cage, springing it open. He looked not at all distressed that his prisoner might escape. With one hand he pulled the captive’s chain, forcing him out of the cell at the behest of his neck.
“I do as my Master bids– happily, unhesitatingly, exhaustively. And what He bids is that you shall have the memory of Him burned onto you forever, that His unsatisfied desires, His wrath, shall find satisfaction.”
Sauron tilted his head, eyes flashing in the gloom like an animal’s. “You are to be your father’s whipping boy, Noldo. You can thank Fëanor for what you will endure here; it was he my Master wanted, but He has you instead.”
Where’s that hound of yours got to, Tyelkormo? Didn’t you have a big splendid one? You did, didn’t you. Shone white as anything. Run off to court some other bitch, has it? Well, dogs will be dogs. Pity… perhaps it will have better luck with Luthien than you did.
…In any case– what is it, huntsman, you want me to answer for? I’ve done nothing but strike up conversation.
What kind of fool, precisely, do you take me for? A blind one, a deaf one, a stupid one? Never mind, do not even bother answering, but I am not so much of a fool to know that you striking conversation is far from being innocent, no matter the situation. I will say it only once more. Leave Curufinwë alone, a difficult concept as it might be to a bastard like yourself.
A fool? No, no… Foolhardy, maybe. A vain, tempestuous braggart whose tongue is out the door before wisdom has got both feet on the ground, certainly. But no fool. Why, were you lacking in wit, I doubt you could have squirreled your way behind the throne of Nargothrond. You are at least as clever as a weasel, and as admirable.
But you are not your brother’s keeper, nor are you mine. I will do as I please.
Why, you flatter me, though not undeservingly, I must say. Foolhardy I might be, but your own thinly-veiled efforts at getting closer to my brother are pitiful at the very least. I wonder, did service to Morgoth dull your wits, or have you simply abandoned all pretense?
Never mind. I, too, will do as I please, and if it involves getting between my brother and a sick rabid bitch like yourself, so be it.
*sighs deeply*
I have sworn not to slay you as a boon to your much more reasonable brother, in exchange for something I desired.
I have already gotten what I wanted. This exchange becomes redundant, and your insults, toothless.
Fight me if you feel you must… you should do something with that excess choler. I never promised to spare you humiliation, after all.
A fairly reasonable offer, had it involved anyone else than you. As if you could be trusted other than with your throat rent apart! Lay a finger on him, and you will pay in blood. Because I, on the other hand, have not made any deals at all. And the only sight more present than your decapitated head would be the sight of the carnage of your armies, ruin of your fortress and chains about your master.
Oh, Hasty-Riser. I would love to see thee try.
Who art thou, after all? A pup scrambling in the shadow of his elders and their mistakes… Fëanor himself fell before laying eyes on our front gate– and while your uncle made slightly better headway in the wake of the most crushing defeat your people have yet experienced, he too fell without setting a single foot inside our door.
Thinkest thou can do better than they, Celegorm? You are running short of High Kings, I note… Can the Noldor afford another futile charge when the line of succession grows so perilously scant? And you, not even in the running for the crown, would bring disaster on your kin.
Answer truly before thou makest reply with thy sword, if thou canst.
you say mistake, i say a beautiful relationship that ended unfortunately in a misunderstanding and an exercise in taxidermy…
*clears throat* Indeed! Did you know before I compiled the complete Lumbut-Hai lexicon (what you refer to crudely as ‘the black speech’), orcs had over 900 separate dialects, half of which were incomprehensible to each other except with aid of pidgin languages and common gestures? A rich tapestry for linguists, but disastrous for an army!
Did you know, orcs have twelve separate words just for the scents associated with different stages of decaying flesh? It’s fascinating! With such nuance in their language, it would have been a shame not to maintain as many common root words as possible! And indigenous Orcish is highly adaptable– many of the loan words from Sindarin were in use already, I simply had to adapt and standardize them for syntactical clarity.
Ah– and here we find a most fortuitous segue into another shared interest! Orcs, in their advent as a species, were not a metalworking society; they relied on flintknapping and bone carved tools primarily and, if I may say so, ingeniously. But after the Great Inscription into the service of Melkor and Angband, they acquired basic smelting and forging technology, but lacked the terminology of the craft. Here, I took it upon myself to introduce some words from my native Valarin, of course adapted to Orcish pronunciation and spelling.
Truly, the construction of a common language was one of the most expansive and satisfying projects I’ve ever undertaken! Sadly I believe it will not be counted as one my great creations… for many centuries my work has been relegated to the mechanics of war. But for myself, I look upon Lumbut-Hai as a work of smithcraft, perhaps one of my best.
There– now you know something of me that is not merely enemy intelligence.
*tilts head, ponders speech, calmly*
I have indeed noticed the differences in the dialects that I have
encountered, but my researches barely helped me distinguish a
few different dialects only. Pathetic, I know, but I was not given
the tools for a deeper study, without taking into account the words
which I did not manage to relate to anything I had heard before.
And unfortunately most of my notes on the matter have disappeared
with the loss of Himlad… A tragic event, to say the least, in which
you played a significant part, did you not?
But the Eldar are blessed with an incredible memory, as you must
know. Thus nothing is lost, and every bit of information is careful
kept here. *points at own temple*
Concerning these pidgin termes which they had in common, did they appear naturally
among the orcs? If they did, then there must be a few common roots.
The dialects themselves seem to be no more than
accidental derivations of the elvish tongues, twisted by the nature of the orcs and their evident
disrespect for them. But did you, or your master, have to decree the use and the preservation of a few pidgin languages, if only for the sake of a general understanding?
It seems to me that the orcs
instinctively turned toward the sounds which they had encountered the
most, and intuitively adapt them to their own needs.
Changes and evolutions must be expected, that is a certainty. Are
they not, after all, at the root of every languages, be they willing
or not? But corruption is a whole different thing, and I would
not define it as an evolution.
This language you devised, is it not an evolution per se? An
evolution of an already corrupt tongue, accompanied by the merging of your own
knowledge with the specifities of your requirements.
And these root words in the orcish dialects, they are not all
coming from a thindarin root, are they? Your master, and his own
knowledge in the different elvish tongues and Valarin, must have had a
certain influence on his servants’ speeches. I cannot believe that
you, and you only, were involved in these designs.
Regarding the forging terms, I must admit that I am not totally surprised either. You
used Valarin as a reference, you said… It is an interesting concept
in itself, if only for its bitter irony. You helped your master in the
elaboration of a species which is nothing but a mockery of the
Eruhíni, and for them you shaped words that happen to be a mockery of
the Valarin tongue. If it was not an act of sheer provocation,
Thauron, I would call it desperate.
I have never seen any of these
creatures at work, and something tells me that their skills in metalworking are
somewhat rudimentary; In addition to the basic artefacts that I
have occasionnally found on their corpses, it does not seem to me
that they are provided with a creative mind, nor with a mind adapted
for the subtlety of such crafts. I daresay their nature is not suited
either for any complex or delicate languages. And the first reason
for it is their lack of respect, of love, for the speech itself. If they treat
metal like they treat their speech – and its roots matter not –
then they will never master any of these arts.
I cannot ignore your filiation with
your first master, and the language he devised for his own children; I was introduced to the Kasari’s languages, the spoken one and
the silent one, long before the loss of my land. Did they somewhat
have any impact on your own production? You speak of Valarin,
or I should say, corrupted Valarin, but do you not have any knowledge
in khuzdul and iglishmêk? I doubt your relationship with the
Kasari was peaceful enough to bring them to teach youtheir so secret languages, but your
former partnership with Aulë, along with your wisdom, as wicked as
it can be, could have been useful in your attempt to deal with them.
The creation of a Language is an
impressive work, but did you really expect the people of Arda to praise your
for it? You devised a language, indeed, but out of greed and lust for
power. You devised a language for the sole purpose of gaining control
upon your servants’ minds. You devised a tongue through corruption,
through scorn, and this language is but the mere reflection of your
mind. A language must be loved and respected, not despised and drag
through the mud. How could you expect to be remembered for such a
pathetic sacrilege?
You speak of your personal devices for
the creatures who slain my people, and you dare talk of an
intelligence that is not an enemy… You whole speech is a provocation, if not an insult.
Oh, Thauron, I imagined you smarter
than that.
You imagined me? How sweet!
Tssch. It’s like talking to someone using a string and a pair of cups…
Happily for you, I am entering into this conversation for my own amusement. I realize now that was a foolish gambit, as you are as predictably boorish and narrow-minded as the rest of your ilk.
I see you believe the Valar’s fairytales about the creation of the Uruk being a mockery of the elves… and I dare you to find a more self-centered ideology in the whole of Arda.
You use the word “corruption” so freely that I cannot help but think you do not know what it means. One cannot corrupt a language. Language adapts to meet the needs of its speakers. Likewise a free and speaking people different from your kind are not a corruption of your own. Accidental derivations of elvish? Don’t make me laugh.
I am a maia of the forge, and if -I- do not hold the workmanship of the Orcs in contempt, then by what measure canst thou? Their work is not elaborate, and it is neither durable nor beautiful– true. But this is due to the necessities of war, not a lack of basic capacity. They produce quantity, and their naturally robust constitution does the rest…. As I am sure you know, from the number of times they have overwhelmed your forces.
The language I devised was likewise a necessity of war. It was adopted by the Orcs in the service of Angband and ancient Utumno, we did not press it upon their people as a whole. I have not the same disrespect of alterity as you– I merely recognized the need for organization, and a coherent system of communication between our forces.
As for the Khazad; by your use of a term coined by your people, I gather that your esteem of their languages is somewhat flippant. I am indeed familiar with their history and their tongue, for I was present at their creation. I did not leave the service of Aulë until long after. It is true that they have had no dealings with me since, and have refused all of my Master’s parleys. That does not mean I do not respect them. They are Aulë’s children, as was I.
…For one with as precious little knowledge of either Orcs or the events during the Spring of Arda, you certainly hold a great many opinions on the motivations of myself and my Master– things decidedly beyond your ken as one of the Eruhini. A lust for power? Greed? Scorn? Purity dragged through the mud? Were you spoon-fed by the Valar during your time in Aman? If you are so eager to graze on their fanciful propaganda, why did you bother leaving the comfort of their pastures?
Fah. It is safe to say that the disappointment here is mutual.
‘Predictable’, ‘narrow–minded’… it’s the
pot calling the kettle black. But if this is how you see me, then
I have no reason to concinve you otherwise. I do not seek your
appreciation, nor do I want any approval from you. You obtained
what you asked for: a discussion with me, but I never promised
anything else, and surely not an obsequious understanding.
Tis my turn to laugh, now. Your pathetic
attempt to convince me of the respectable nature of the orcs will
turn to ashes. Free or not, they are still my foes, and I will call
them corrupted if it pleases me; these rotten fruits of your master’s
deeds. Are you trying to excuse them? To protect them against
my words and to restore their image? Oh, please. I would shed a tear
if it was not so ridiculously amusing. Especially when war is the
only excuse you can offer.
Overwhelmed we were, indeed, or I
should say outnumbered. But after all, we, Eldar, do not breed like
beasts as your forces do, and believe it or not, we respect life, and
alterity in its larger definition. We regard the orcs for what they
are, we do not deny their existence, we accept their differences, be
they cultural or fundamental. And we do not like them, which is actually
a fitting coincidence, since they do not like us either. Just like
you and me.
What would you not say to baffle me?
I did not use Khazad, indeed, and it is only because I do prefer my
mother tongue. Is this preference a sign of scorn? I think not.
And concidering that my mother tongue is still in use to name many
things and beings, I see no reason not to use it.
And even you, do you not choose my
people’s tongue to name yourself, Tar-Mairon? *chuckles*
You
are in no position to criticize my use of Quenya.
Casari is a term devised by my people, to
name another folk, according to this folk’s own name. It is an
attempt to facilitate the partnership between our peoples. But I am
not here to give a lesson about the origins of this term. You only
need to know that I respect them enough to spare them from being
compared to you.
Aye, the Valar nuttured us with
fairytales. Yet, in their fairytales lies the slightest truth, and
although I do find their teachings somewhat obsolete now, they are
still the bearers of a certain authenticity. A questionable one
indeed, but is it not better than nothing at all ?
Pray tell me Thauron, what do you
have to offer, except lies and fallacious illusions? Your fables
do not hold any truth, and your anthenticity is like a delicate
veil: Soft and beautiful, oddly attractive, but behind it, one would ultimately find but deceit, delusion and trickery. A fantasy, nicely
shaped, but bearer of the worst treachery; that is the nature of your
so-called wisdom.
*clenches fists and jaw*
I saw your orcs slay my friends and
ravage my lands, I have witnessed the horrors of their deeds – of your
deeds – upon my people and upon my brother’s face! Do not talk to me of
the Valar’s fairyrales, Thauron! Do not talk to me of a self-centered
ideolody when all you seek is our submission to your will!
It seems we agree about one thing, and
not the least. Disappointment. I did not live up to your
expectations, and there is something extremely
satisfying
about it.
*Growls and grins a lupine grin*
Well then.
I suppose we have nothing more to debate. As you say– there is something deeply gratifying in vexing one’s enemies. If we have no common ground, why, there is no reason to feel especially remorseful about killing you and all your kin.
…And I will do, whelp of Fëanor. One by one. Yet not before I give thee a face to match thy brother’s.
Oh, and Curufinwë– not all your notes were destroyed at Himlad. They made for amusing light reading, but ultimately I found your conclusions baseless and lacking sufficient evidence or profound insight to be worth anything. Shoddy work. Very shoddy. And here I thought the “skillful” son would show some of the family promise… Pity.
Is that what you consider skipping me across the surface of the ocean like a pebble? Did the smoothness help?
“It did, actually! Hair would have caused less skipping, more splashing. And we both know that your skipping had nothing to do with your form and everything to do with how you used it. Do not try to act innocent; you are horrible at acting innocent.”
….Would you prefer I use that form differently? I’m ready to give it another go if you are.
“And it is because of mental images like that one that I truly appreciate when you take the time to become a smoother, more aquatic form for me, cousin.”
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 