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tolkiensring22 · 2 years ago

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He Who Sang the Song of Creation

Blood covered the land. Blood of hunted wolves and birds. Blood of slaughtered bears and snakes, the friends of the Singers. And, the worst of all, the blood of their young. Slaughtered and broken.

Astra held her son's body in her arms. He was so young she didn't even give him a name yet. So small and tender child. Her ears were full of tears, though she was quiet and made no sound. She hugged him for one last time and placed him on the grass.

The Man started coughing. His mouth was full of blood, his limbs broken, his eyes still shinning in the forest. He tried to move, but pain was too much. His wounds were severe. But not lethal. He would survive. If spared.

Men didn't spare anyone. They came from East and the first they did when they set foor on Westeros was destroy.

They cut the weirwood trees.

They killed animals without mercy.

They even killed each other, and not just from time to time, but regularly.

They slayed the Giants.

The hunted unicorns.

And they hunted them. They treated them like beasts. They showed no concern, no mercy, not even regret. They even enjoyed it.

Demons. Godless demons from east. That is what Men were. Their males hunted and killed, more bloodthirsty than wolves. Their females did so as well sometimes, but they mostly bred like animals, showing no respect to each other and hated everything except their own offspring.

Demons. Monsters.

The Singers gathered around the Man, forming a circle. The Men called them Children of the Forest, but it is Men who were the real children. They had no knowledge of magic and no skill like the Singers did.

The other Singers remained still, nodding to Astra. They lost loved ones as well, but only she lost her child.

She pulled out her obsidian dagger, black as night sky and approached the man. Though wounded, he knew what was to happen very well. His eyes widened and he started crying. "No." he said quietly in his language. "Please, don't."

She didn't listen. She cut his throat and life faded from his eyes.

The sole surviving Weirwood Tree stood in the middle of the forest. The face in the tree was crying tears of blood, mourning just like them. The milk white wood made it seem like the tree was dying.

Astra sat in front of it like the other Singers and the ritual began. They started singing and touched the roots.

They did this so many times and...nothing happened. The gods did nothing. They did not help. They didn't offer counsel. Not even comfort. They were doing nothing. Like dead people.

There is nothing. Nothing but pain, sadness and death for them. Their end is coming near. Men are not as wise, but they are stronger and they have better weapons. They have the will to kill.

Even if the Singers survive, they will be left with nothing.

And their gods will say nothing. They abandoned them. Astra and her kind did everything for them. They worshipped them and gave them gifts. They died for them. They did everything they could.

But gods wouldn't do anything.

My children.

A voice spoke and they all opened their eyes. They could not believe their ears. What was it?

My children, it is I.

"Who are you?" Yaltak, the greenseer asked for everyone.

I am one of those you worship, my children. One of those you have been faithful to for so long.

They all looked at the tree. And the voice spoke out of it.

It is I.

They all knelt.

Astra couldn't help, but cry.

The gods answered. They finally did! With words! In ages long past, gods sent messages through images. But they never spoke. Never. Until now.

Yaltak cried as well. "They hurt us. They are killing us everywhere. They..."

We know, my children, we know. We know your sorrow and we feel them. We feel your pain, we feel every wound, we feel every tear. We are always with you. We have prepared a way out. We have prepared salvation.

"Please!" Astra yelled, with tears in her eyes. "Please, Holy Ones, tell us!"

It is a heavy price we are asking. A sacrifice. But a sacrifice that will bring you salvation.

The Singers reached the Empty Land. The land of sand and snakes, the land were there was almost no grass and no trees. They could not survive here longer than a few days.

Why did the gods send them here?

Astra held her daughter close. She removed hair from her child's eyes, staring at her beautiful golden eyes. It was her only child left.

"Mother?" the child said, the daughter she didn't name yet.

Astra placed a finger on her lips.

"Quiet, child." she said softly. "Quiet. Everything will be alright." Astra pulled out her canteen of water and offered it to the child, who immediately drank it. Almost instantly, the child's eyes closed and she fell asleep. She was the greatest treasure in tha moment.

Astra cried, stiffling her shouts. She stared at other adult Singers. Some of them were crying quietly like her, holding back their shouts. Others were not holding back and openly shouted. The rest neither cried nor shouted. Their eyes were dead and their faces emotionless. They were dead inside because of what they were supposed to do.

Everything around them was quiet in the moment, as they prepared to do what must be done. All of them then went silent.

Astra pulled out her obsidian dagger.

This is not for nothing. This is the only thimg that will save them. This sacrifice will not be forgotten. The Singers will always remember the names of their children. Every single one of them. And future generations will recite them by the heart.

Astra looked at her daughter. The child was sleeping so quietly. The most innocent, pure creature in the world. Her child. Her treasure. Her world. Her heart.

Astra cried again, but closed her eyes. Then, she raised the dagger.

The land itself started to weep. It shook in agony. Far, mountains far, the sound of sea rising and agonizing over death of the children could be heard.

The Singers all rose up. Some of them couldn't take it. Some slit their throats, wanting to join their children in death or to punish themselves for what they did. Others ran away, yelling and cursing, never to be seen again. But most of them stood in their place, mourning their children.

Then, they left. Approaching the desert full of stones, they came upon their captives. Forty Men: males, females and their eldest offsprng all tied to huge rocks and a few trees. They all tried to free themselves, but it was impossible.

The Singers, with tears in their eyes, no longer felt sadness and regret. Hatred and anger burned in their hearts. It wasn't them who killed their children. Men did.

Astra walked towards the first Man she found. He was young, dark-skinned and had dark eyes. He desperately tried to free himself, even trying to reach the bonds with his teeth, it was impossible. As she came closer, he started begging, but quickly stopped. He just cried.

"Me instead!" the man tied to a neighbouring rock said. He was dark-skinned just like the man in front of her, but older. "Please! Have mercy! Please! Take me if you have to, but let my brother go. Please!" he cried, so loudly and so many tears went down his faces that she couldn't believe it. Never before had she ever seen a Man cry so much. Not even for their own life.

For a moment, Astra's heart was struck by something. A feeling of...pity. Sadness. Regret. Pain. Like an arrow that hit her, it hurt and, in a moment, she wanted to show mercy.

But it quickly faded. She gritted her teeth. As fast as she could, she plunged the dagger into the young man's heart. The older man cried in agony, as if he was the one being stabbed. She plunged it deeper and deeper, and so did the other Singers. All of them plunged their daggers into the hearts of Men.

The man in front of her, winced in pain, but when his chest absorbed the dagger, he grew quiet. He just stared at her.

Then, his eyes turned blue.

The Singers led their captives in carriages they stole from them. Far, far to the North they led them, and the air was growing colder and colder. More than two weeks had passed since they left the Empty Land and they reached the place where the three rivers flow. In that time, the winter already arrived and snow started falling.

Their captives also changed during that time. Men's eyes burned like blue eyes. Their body became white as milk, and warmth was slowly leaving their bodies. Their hair also turned white, even that of their children.

Then, they finally reached the forest of Weirwood trees they were looking for. Astra left the carriage behind her and joined her kinsmen in prayer in front of the tree.

Then, something happened. A foul spirit appeared in the air, making them turn around. And they saw.

Their captives all rose from their carriages. Moving slowly and gracefully, they made no sound whatsoever. Everything around them grew colder. Air was going away, slowly.

Their white skin almost seemed to shine in the night, though not like their blue eyes. In a way, they were beautiful creatures...and terrifying.

All the Singers stepped back, all except greenseer Yaltak. Yaltak held his fear away and stepped closed to these...Men. Slowly, carefully and quietly.

He stood in front of them. Men slowly moved their faces towards him. Yaltak raised his hands, offering it to them, looking like an ant compared to them. One of them walked to him.

Then, in a slash, Yaltak's head fell from his shoulders and rolled away. The Singers gasped, staring at their greenseer. In unbelief, Astra looked up. In the man's hand shone a sword, the weapon that Men used, and the blade glowed with a pale blue light.

The Singers started running away, the Men chasing them quickly and slaughtering them as if they were flies. While Astra was running, one of them slashed her leg and she fell to the ground. The Man didn't plan to finish the job immediately. She crawled back to the Weirwood Tree, grabbing it by the roots and staring at it's face.

"Why?" she asked it, with tears in her eyes. She wanted to yell. Hatred, anger, confusion, all of that was mixed inside of her. "WHY?!"

They can't hear you.

All the Singers stopped running, as if frozen in the place and even the Men paused in their movements.

"What?!" Astra asked.

They are nothing but dead trees. Did you really believe they will answer your calls? Respond to your prayers? Bring you salvation?

Astra recognized it. They all did. It was the voice that spoke to them out of the Weirwood Tree, telling them to make a horrible sacrifice. It was the same voice, but it wasn't coming out of the Weirwood Tree this time. They could hear it all around them.

You worshipped her once, you know.

Whom?

Yavanna. She probably could have heard your prayers, but even she could not protect you even if she wanted to. For her hand cannot reach these lands.

The Men slowly walked back to them, preparing to kill them.

I never liked humour as a concept in Creation. It always seemed unnecessary and useless. A stupid thing. However, the voice chuckled, I have to admit, these events are rather hilarious.

The Man killed another Singer and some of them started running again, but Astra wasn't one of them. She couldn't even do it.

You hate Men. You curse them. You think you are better than them.

But I deceived them in the exact same way I deceived you now, long ago, when all life was young. When they haven't even met the Firstborn or the rest of my former kin.

And now, you have doomed yourselves, just like they doomed themselves all those years ago.

More Singers died.

I suppose I should thank you though. This will be one of my best weapons, the one with which I will conquer all of Cosmos.

Astra cried. "Our children..."

They are mine, just like all are mine, eventually. You couldn't have stopped it. They would have died anyway one day. I would have claimed them sooner or later, just like I claim all things.

Something grabbed her from behind, but she didn't care. "Who are you?"

Who am I? Then, the voice grew darker. More powerful.

I AM HE WHO SANG THE SONG OF CREATION.

The man turned Astra to himself and she stared into his burning blue eyes.

I AM THE GIVER OF GIFTS. THE LORD OF ALL.

The man didn't slash her or stab her. Instead, he grabbed her by the throat, choking her. She didn't know why her breath was leaving her: because of the cold that followes the man or because of his hands around her throat.

Slowly, life was abandoning her. Her mind grew more and more distant. She didn't even try to resist. Everything around her was fading and she could barely hear the last words.

But she did hear them.

I AM LORD OF THE GRAVE.

I AM THE ELDER KING.

I AM MELKOR.

#asoif fanfic #children of the forest #white walkers #melkor

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tolkiensring22 · 2 years ago

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He Who Remains: The Threshold

"You came to kill the devil, right?" He Who Remains chuckled and jump in front of Loki and Sylvie.

"Well, guess what? I keep you safe. And if you think I am evil? Well, just wait...till you meet my...variants." he said with fear clearly heard in his voice, causing Sylvie and Loki to look at each other.

"And...that's the gambit!" he exclaimed. "Stifling order or cataclysmic chaos." he chuckled. "You may hate the dictator, but something..." he exhaled deeply "far worse is gonna fill that void if you depose of him."

He Who Remains (or Immortus, as some called him) laid his hands on the table again and smiled. "I've lived a million lifetimes. I've gone through every scenario, this is the only way. The TVA...it works."

"Or..." Sylvie raised her finger at him. "you're a liar."

He Who Remains just stared amused at her. "Or I am a liar."

Loki had enough of it. "So you just...continue to prune innocent timelines."

"Mmm-mmm." He Who Remains responded. "You two would." He pointed at them.

The One Power surged through him, a torrent greater than he could believe, from saidin into the sword. The crystal blade shone brighter than even Moiraine's fire had. It was impossible to look at, impossible any longer to see that it was a sword, only that light blazed in his fist. He fought the flow, wrestled with the implacable tide that threatened to carry him, all that was really him, into the sword with it.

For a heartbeat that took centuries he hung, wavering, balanced on the brink of being scoured away like sand before a flash flood. With infinite slowness the balance firmed. It was still as though he stood barefoot on a razor's edge above a bottomless drop, yet something told him this was the best that could be expected. To channel this much of the Power, he must dance on that sharpness as he had danced the forms of the sword.

He turned to face Ba'alzamon.

"There's two options! One!" He Who Remains started talking...unhinged, to put it lightly.

"You kill me and destroy all this and you don't have just one devil, you have an infinite amount. Or..." he pointed at them again. "You two, you two run the thing."

"You're lying." Loki said bluntly, catching Immortus' attention. "Why would you give up being in control."

Immortus paused, remembering all his lives. Memories appeared in his mind. Even some that were, technically, not his own.

"Buddy," he said lightly and played with his garments. "I am tired. And...I am old. I am older than I look. This game is for the young, the hungry. I have gone through a lot of scenarios, trying to find the right person to take this spot. It turns out that person came in two." then he exhaled, with hope in his voice. "But it's definitely...you two."

"So, no more lies." he added. "You kill me and the Sacred Timeline is completely exposed. Multiversal War. Or you take over and return to the TVA as its benevolent rulers. Tell the workforce who they are and why they do what they do."

The tearing within him had ceased as soon as his hand touched Callandor. Only an instant had passed, yet it seemed to have lasted forever.

"You will not take my soul," he shouted. "This time, I mean to finish it once and for all! I mean to finish it now!"

Ba'alzamon fled, man and shadow vanishing. For a moment Rand stared, frowning. There had been a sense of - folding - as Ba'alzamon left. A twisting, as if Ba'alzamon had in some way bent what was. Ignoring the men staring at him, ignoring Moiraine crumpled at the column base, Rand reached out, through Callandor, and twisted reality to make a door to somewhere else. He did not know to where, except that it was where Ba'alzamon had gone. "I am the hunter now," he said, and stepped through.

"You treated real people's lives as if it were some kind of game." Sylvie spoke with a calm voice, but with clear anger.

"It's nor personal," He Who Remains defended himself. "it's practical."

"It was personal to me."

Suddenly, he groaned loudly. "Grow up! Grow up Sylvie! Murderer! Hypocrite!"

He could not even begin to imagine what it was that he did. The One Power raged inside him till he barely knew himself, till he barely was himself, till what was himself almost did not exist. His precarious stability teetered. To either side lay the endless fall, obliteration by the Power that coursed through him into the sword. Only in the dance along the razor's sharp edge was there even an uncertain safety. Callandor shone in his fist until it seemed he carried the sun. Dimly within him, fluttering like a candle flame in a storm, was the surety that holding Callandor, he could do anything. Anything.

Sylvie tried to keep herself from anger.

"We're all villains here." He Who Remains chuckled. His chuckle was that of a man who laughed at his own cruel fate. "We've all done horrible, terrible, horrific things. But now, we, you... have a chance to do them for a good reason."

Then, something else caught his attention. He felt something. From the Void.

From that world.

"I will not be undone!" Ba'alzamon cried. His mouth was fire; his shriek echoed among the columns. "I cannot be defeated! Aid me!" Some of the darkness shrouding him drifted into his hands, formed into a ball so black it seemed to soak up even the light of Callandor. Sudden triumph blazed in the flames of his eyes.

"You are destroyed!" Rand shouted. Callandor spun in his hands. Its light roiled the darkness, severed the steelblack lines around Ba'alzamon, and Ba'alzamon convulsed. As if there were two of him he seemed to dwindle and grow larger at the same time. "You are undone!" Rand plunged the shining blade into Ba'alzamon's chest.

Ba'alzamon screamed, and the fires of his face flared wildly. "Fool!" he howled. "The Great Lord of the Dark can never be defeated!"

Rand pulled Callandor's blade free as Ba'alzamon's body sagged and began to fall, the shadow around him vanishing.

He Who Remains knew what happened. He felt it. Slowly, he placed his hand on his chest. He could feel the blade inside it...but it wasn't there.

I have done it, he thought. I have killed Ba'alzamon, killed Shai'tan! I have won the Last Battle! Light, I AM the Dragon Reborn! The breaker of nations, the Breaker of the World. No! I will END the breaking, end the killing! I will MAKE it end!

He heard him say that speech many, many times before. More than even he, with his vast knowledge, could count. But something was different this time.

One, he could feel the timelines starting to branch. He could feel the imbalance. He knew what was coming.

And second; he never felt the pain from the blade in his chest before.

He raised Callandor above his head. Silver lightning crackled from the blade, jagged streaks arching toward the great dome above. "Stop!" he shouted. The fighting ceased; men stared at him in wonder, over black veils, from beneath the rims of round helmets.

"I am Rand al'Thor!" he called, so his voice rang through the chamber. "I am the Dragon Reborn!" Callandor shone in his grasp.

One by one, veiled men and helmeted, they knelt to him, crying, "The Dragon is Reborn! The Dragon is Reborn!"

All sounds ceased in Immortus' ear. Only the sound of those cries.

And another voice. A voice he had hoped he will never hear again.

INDEED. HE IS.

"We just crossed...the threshold." He said, without any emotion.

Then, he chuckled.

"Oh." he said, as if he was surprised. "So, I fibbed. I fibbed earlier when I said I know how everything's going to go. I..." he chuckled again. "I know... I knew...everything up to a certain point, and that point was about... seven, eight, nine, ten seconds ago. But now I have no idea." He said with terror. "No idea how the rest of this is going to go."

YOU KNOW EXACTLY HOW IT IS GOING TO GO.

The voice exploded in his head. He heard it again. He was free from it for so long...but now he heard it again.

YOU HAVE FAILED. YOU COULD HAVE NEVER KEPT ME AWAY. NOT FOREVER.

I tried, he thought. But to him that was the same as answering with words.

YOU FAILED.

YOU COULD HAVE NEVER STOPPED ME.

NOT FOREVER.

Note: All sections including Rand al'Thor's character are pieces of writing from Chapter 55 of "The Dragon Reborn" by Robert Jordan. All rights to their respectice owners.

Only He Who Remains section is mine (and even that is based on scripted dialogue).

#wheel of time #loki tva #kang the conqueror #fanfic

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