Bittersweet Melodies - The Forgotten Saga of Araviel - Prologue

I tell you the tale of an extraordinary life
full of dark traitors and true friends.
It is a story of joy, torn grief, dark strife,
and a strength that will never bend.

He knew too much, he knew too little,
the past haunted him night and day.
Questions unanswered, endless riddles
and pursuers that were never far away.

This is his bittersweet melody;
A tale of anger, fear and love.
Of sundered kin and ruined family.
and bonds far stronger than blood.


The Fortress of Barad Dur was rebuilt.

The dark, narrow roads once more teemed with slaves, the dungeons were full of lifeless, helpless souls. The tower rose like a skeletal castle, pointing its deadly finger to the gassy vapors that choked the black sky. The Eye of Sauron, wreathed in its cloak of flame, watched everything with ceaseless vigilance. Trolls groaned under the yoke of work, their evil eyes glinting at the sight of all the destruction. Orcs labored unceasingly, their Masters always behind them, watching with a ready whip. The Nazgul screamed in the night, filling the empty, lifeless void with terror.

Sauron had returned.

Yet his sinister thoughts were not focused on his vast realm, on all that he had destroyed and distorted, nor all the innocent lives he had ruined. His evil mind was focused on a more malicous thought: revenge, the sweetest of all evils. Now he was ready to wreak havoc on one of his most hated enemy's life. The time, at last, had come.

He spoke, through the thought and will that bound all his slaves to him, to his most trusted captain; the Witch King, Lord of the Nazgul.

"Gather your most powerful force of men," he ordered.

"As you wish," the wailing voice of the Ringwraith replied.

"Order them to make haste to the North in secret, where they will find a child of the elves. He lives alone in the wilds and will be simple to capture. I want him, alive."

"How will they know him Master?"

"He is flaxen haired, dressed as a Ranger. His name is Araviel." The Nazgul licked his dead, rotting lips, imagining what awaited the elf, his fathomless eyes sparkling brighter than they had in years uncounted.

"What is intended for him?" he asked mischievously. Sauron was pleased by the glee in his servant's voice.

"He is a beloved son of my great enemy, and vital to my vengeance. He will be bait; a tormented, helpless trap to ensnare his meddling family. His father will rue the day he dared cross my path; he will learn under my guidance that Sauron the Mighty is no elf's toy."

The Witch King grinned evilly, his eyes gleaming with malice. His withered hand strayed to his long unused sword. He would gather men, he would send out his best, but he would see to it that the the prisoner paid him a visit before he was sent to the tower...

All throughout the wasteland of Mordor, evil laughter rang out into the endless night. Even in the darkest, foulest orc hole it was heard, and all of Sauron's slaves cowered to hear their master's mirth.

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