GODS WILL BLEED.
( lord of the rings. )
01. MAY IT ALL BURN.

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of blood, death, and violence with graphic scenes.

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YEARS HAVE PASSED, COME and gone and yet, Îla swears she can still hear the screams... still feel the fire.

She relives destruction every night; sees it in the torment of dreams, as if it could have happened only days before. But, time has softened the memory and most things have faded out of focus. For, in truth, countless years have passed since the ruination of Îla's nameless home and of her nameless people.

Yet, nothing haunts her more clearly than the fumes; from the scent of burning homes, to the smoke as it wrapped its hands around her throat, and the cries— oh, those horrible cries. Îla had been too young to understand what was happening, but that was no prerequisite for the fear to take hold. Its presence was palpable.

It clung to everything that moved and since the world seemed to be in constant motion around her, it clung to that too.

But, it did not cling to the girl, too weary for fright, for her tears were not yet ready to salt the earth. Îla stood, still as stone among the desolation of a once-small village, and if time had worn away at her memory, it left one part untouched. The vision of those valiant soldiers.

  Heroes of men.

Adorned in armour of red and black, they swept into the fray of smoke and unforgiving flame. She could still remember the symbols marked across their chests; the people of a land and sea not yet known to her. Shadowed by the night and the turmoil around them, she watched in a suffocated delirium as they stole away with bundles and smaller children.

Saviours of the fire.

They stole away with her too, though that was never how Îla had seen it— never how she'd been taught to see it. Îla was saved from a poor village, overlooked by the kingdom of Gondor, but not by the people of Rhûn. When the men of the East came to offer their aid in return for her village's loyalty, the villagers had rejected it with a violence and sure chaos had ensued.

Her home burned as a result of the selfishness of man. When the civilians had fled, or were slain in a battle of their own making, they left behind all that they knew. Even their own children. The warriors of Rhûn had saved her from a bitter life of selfish thought. A life where all that lay ahead of her were poverty and death.

Îla could not have been more indebted to them.

And so she grew among a secluded and civilized village across the sea. It was there in Rhûn that she was taught to learn languages, foreign to her native tongue. Îla learned and learned until the last traces of her people were all but dead and gone.

Îla could not bring herself to care, for her home had been traded for a better one. If the cost of a good life was the loss of her people's memory, then it was a small price to pay for all that Îla had come to survive as a result of Rhûn's kindness. And Îla swore that she would give more in return.

And give she did.

Îla was provided with an opportunity like no other, destined to become one of the greater warriors of Rhûn. In return for her loyalty, she was promised a stable future under her master's rule. A life of glory. Her effort in strengthening the Dark Lord's might and the power of Rhûn was a chance for Îla to prove how far her gratitude measured, and Îla was sure that her loyalty stretched farther than the Sundering seas.

She would remain forever in service to the people who saved her and as such, that meant a life in service to Sauron as well.

So, Îla swore to herself that she would rise high amongst the ranks of his army. She was going to ensure that any enemy who came before her master would fall and, if that proved too difficult, then at the very least she would not. Îla refused to give up until her future was safe in the hands of the Dark Lord. For she was sure that people, not even the likes of herself, could be trusted with their fate in their own hands.

Certainly not, when they could hardly be trusted with the lives of their own children.

Îla curled her fingers into the man's hair. She pulled his head back, speaking inches from his ear. Rage burned a course through her veins and it had a vengeance like no other.

"You would let your children— your family, starve?" She asked, her careful eyes watching his expression. Îla could see his arm stretched out, just at the corners of her vision. His fingers searching for anything he could use against her.

She grinned with a malice, for there was nothing of threat to her here. Îla pressed the knife harder against the village man's throat. He ceased all movement, stilled as if she'd already drained him of life.

She drew in closer, "There is an opportunity like no other before you and even still, you falter." Îla pushed and drew blood— a small cut and an even smaller justice for his ignorance.

"You even go so far as reject it," she seethed. Îla withdrew her blade and dropped the man, leaving him to scramble on the ground. He drew away, but was quick to get up, ready for a fight. His eyes were wild with dedicated anger— as if he had any true cause to fight for.

Îla lowered her blade and grinned, for it was a humorous sight. His build was small, with even smaller arms. The prime product of a life lived on the edge of hunger. A fairly long life as well, judging by the weary lines upon his face. But, time had not made him wise, if he dared to challenge her.

She had seen his face among the crowd when they first approached. Her people had been peaceful in their advance, seeking polite welcome until they'd been brutally attacked without warning. He must have seen then how easily she'd slain his neighbors, and how quickly they had fallen. The moment her stroke fell, none rose again. Neither would he, if that was his wish.

Still, Îla sheathed her blade with only minor reluctance. She did not relish in the spilling of blood. Behind her, the door creaked open. Îla turned and was met by Zorun's stern expression.

"Îla," he spoke her name, his voice such a strange tune. Stern and soft, a warning melody. The address made her angry. The sound of a bottle smashing sounded behind her and Îla watched as Zorun drew an arrow into his bow.

It was such a graceful movement. His fingers were sure and swift as he pulled back his string. Before she could even blink, the arrow was released with a gentle twang. The feathered end kissed her cheek as it flew within dangerous proximity. Zorun made no expression, no indication that his arrow had hit his mark, but Îla knew it had.

For Zorun was of the Elves, and they never missed.

Still, Îla spared a glance behind her. The arrow had struck the man's heart and he was choking. Îla was struck by the image of his blood, pooling at his lips. Such a jarring sight. His body was inches away, with the jagged remains of the bottle still clutched in hand.

Îla reached out and gave the man a gentle push with her finger. His body fell limp against the ground, the glass bottle following behind. Upon hitting the floor, the bottle shattered and shards were thrown to every corner of the room.

Thump.

Îla and Zorun shared a glance. She did not have to be of Elven descent, with their keen sensitivity, to feel the way the floor seemed to jump in response to the glass. There was a poorly muffled whimper and Îla followed Zorun's gaze to the small carpet just below the man's body.

She could see his blood was already seeping into the floor and realization filled her heart with horror. Îla moved quickly, not needing to gesture for Zorun to aid her as they moved to hide the man's remains. Zorun kicked the blood-stained carpet aside just as she hid the village man behind a small counter.

Îla's worst thoughts were confirmed; the blood had seeped into the cracks of a hidden cellar and the floorboards just beneath.

There was no use hiding the father, his children would know whose blood it was. Îla pursed her lips. She did not relish in unveiling that horror to them. Îla grabbed her knife and made a small cut, just at the edge of her hairline. The surface would would provide enough blood to fool the children. Zorun watched in horror, but made no move to help as duty ordered him to stand still.

Îla bit back her cries as she allowed the blood to drip down her face. Her teeth dug painfully into her lips and she could taste metal in her mouth. She went to cut again, but Zorun stepped in before she could go any further.

"It is enough," he said, the words low enough for only her ears to pick them up.

Îla glared at him, but a part of her was grateful for the interruption. She put the knife away. If there was anything redeemable about the warrior maiden, it was that there was no telling what lengths Îla would go to protect other children from the terror of war. But, she knew the truth. There was nothing to be done that could save the last fragments of her humanity. Too much blood had drowned out those possibilities long ago.

This blood of hers that she spilt? It meant nothing.

Îla made a show of her pain. "Perhaps you can react faster next time?" She spoke, as she knelt down and threw the cellar door open. Dust and dirt and glass shards drifted down into the darkness.

Îla let her gaze wander in the dim light and among the small space, in the furthest and darkest corner, there were two girl's. She breathed a sigh of relief. They were young. They could be spared.

She gestured softly to them, beckoning the pair to come forth. "It's okay," she told them softly, "I won't hurt you." Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, she could see an uncanny likeness between the two. Twins.

They stared back with terrified eyes, but there was one bolder gaze of the two. It was determined. "Where's our father?"

Those eyes demanded an answer to the question it's lips spoke. "What happened to him?" The shyer twin shrank against their sister, who spoke with defiance.

Îla's heart twisted in her chest and she softened her gaze, "He ran. Did you not hear the door open?" The lie felt so bitter. So cruel.

But, she could not give them the truth. It would ruin them and Îla would never forgive herself if she was forced to spill the blood of the young and innocent. She would sooner die.

But, even then, death was too great a kindness for such a sinister deed.

Îla pushed past the hesitation. The anxiety that she may have to do what she so greatly feared. But, she reminded herself that her people were not cruel. They had been kind to her, in spite of all her crying and the longings for her old home. The adjustment would be slow and hard, but the two girl's would soon realize that they were not the enemy.

Îla buried her guilt with the comfort of that truth and continued. "Your father injured me with a bottle and ran. My friend tried to stop him, but he was too fast. Too desperate to escape. Do not worry about the blood, it is only my own." She plastered a kind smile onto her serpent lips and held out a hand.

"Come with me," she spoke gently, "I will take care of you, I promise." And it was a promise she intended to keep.

Those hardened eyes in the darkness softened their defense's all-too-easily. They were so comforted by the idea safety, they threw themselves at the first chance they might find it. So young and trusting.

Îla was burning with guilt as the young girl took her hand. The warrior helped her out of the cellar. This defiant child was the taller of the pair and was followed by her smaller sister, still frightened, but more docile.

Zorun looked down on the children with indifference, but the smaller twin watched him with awe. Even with his grim features and large stature, he looked ethereal. The beauty of the Elves had not passed him. At Îla's commanding nod, he held out a hand to the younger child. She took it quickly and, together, they led the two children outside.

Nothing could have prepared them for what happened next, not even Îla.

Bodies, lying face down, burning in piles right in front of their very eyes. In front of their home; what was supposed to be their safe place. Their haven.

The girls screamed in horror, but it was Îla's own cry that pierced the loudest above all. Though, mixed with the shock was a rage so terrible her whole body shook. What had they done?

At the foot of the porch steps, Commander Raluz stepped into view. "Is there an issue, First Lieutenant?" His words made it clear that, even if there was, Îla's rank could do nothing about the matter.

She looked down upon him and the whole world seemed to go red with anger. Red with blood. She wanted to drown the whole of Middle Earth in it.

The girls broke free of Zorun and Îla's grips, having long since realized their true enemy. They were murderers. The twin's ran in terror and she could not bring herself to blame them. I would run from me too, she thought.

Raluz turned to the nearest soldiers. "Shoot them down!" He commanded and terror seized Îla's body.

"No— no!" She cried, the protest tearing through her throat with raw desperation. Shock reeled every inch of sense into a state of inertia. What was happening?

The bowmen notched their arrows, drew back their strings and, to Îla's horror, they willingly released. No hesitation. No second thought.

Îla screamed and, though Zorun had stepped into her line of view, she heard the thump of two small bodies hitting the unforgiving ground. From just over the elf's shoulder, one of the girl's outstretched and limp hands could be seen. Îla's scream faded.

She inhaled a cold, sharp breath of smoke-filled air and wanted to choke on it. The flames drew her back to a time long ago and those screams from the past seemed to echo through the night, mingling with memory of the twin's own cries. Îla was rendered useless in her state of numb confusion.

The world seemed suddenly wrong somehow. What had brought them to commit these atrocities so readily? Something inside of her seemed to shift.

Îla turned on the Commander, "What did you do?" The question was spoken numbly— without fear of the Commander's punishment. She had no apprehension in questioning his authority.

This was like no other act they had committed. They were soldiers of Rhûn and ruthless indeed, but not cruel. Never before had she witnessed such a scene. This was a different kind of evil, a line she had never wished to cross.

This cruelty was not her way.

The Commander laughed, cold and without malice. He was blind to this evil he had permitted. The bowmen seemed suddenly stricken as they gazed upon the two fallen children.

Uneasily, the men shifted amongst one another. She felt no pity. They were fools to believe that striking down a fighting man was no different from spilling the blood of an innocent child. A child who could not fight, could not defend themselves.

Îla prayed to her Gods that it would haunt these men forever.

But, Îla needed no God to exact righteous vengeance. She could do that herself. Îla stepped down the stairs slowly, still numb as she advanced on the Commander.

He stepped back, but not with fear. He watched the First Lieutenant with an amused grin. Raluz saw no threat in her starless eyes. The empty black hole of her gaze.

"You would question me, Lieutenant?"

Îla did not speak. She knew war was brutal. Death unavoidable. But, it should not like this. Never like this.

"You should be glad," Raluz spoke with a sigh, "I relieved you of an issue. We've wasted too much time and we have no resources to keep any prisoners."

Raluz looked into the sky behind her. Îla turned to gaze upon the highest tower of the village. On its roof, a fire had been lit. A warning and a call for aid.

At that very moment, men might have come down upon them from all sides. Their ranks would be overwhelmed. But, the night was silent. It was still.

Îla knew no one would answer the call, for she had been on the other raids to nearby villages. They were all abandoned, for she had made sure the job was done well. Raluz had stayed too long in his comfortable tent while the true soldiers did the real work.

He was a fool who knew nothing.

"Relieved me?" Îla mused, a sultry smile curling on her lips as she turned back to the Commander. "Then, shall I relieve you of something as well? To express my gratitude, of course." Îla's voice was a soft deception.

The Commander raised one interested brow. He was blind to the hidden venom in her words, but others watched on warily. They knew her nature.

"Perhaps," he replied, grinning like a fool. "You are welcome to my te—" the Commander did not finish. His grin remained on his lips, even unto death, as an empty head was relieved from its body.

What a fool, indeed.

Îla's withdrew her blade and cleaned the wicked blood from it. Her moves were swift and her stroke deliberate. She knew exactly what she had done and what she intended to do about it.

The soldiers startled, voices stirring in the night. It wasn't exactly a shocking occurrence. Fights had broken out among the men and soldiers for far less.

"How terrible, to have our Commander fall in valiant battle," Îla called out over the voices. The men went quiet.

Îla turned on Zorun, but paid no heed to his disapproving eyes. She needed no one's approval, not where it concerned her lessers. Îla sheathed her sword, but kept a hand on the hilt. 

"As the First Lieutenant," she began, looking back to the soldiers who had gathered around the scene, "I will assume the position of Commander until we return to base. Zorun will serve as your First Lieutenant."

Îla's voice rang over the men with a clear and strong surety. She held their respect. She had fought alongside them for years. They would follow her, she knew it.

And she feared nothing. "Should you regard my position without respect or choose not to receive me, make yourself known. You may join your old Commander in the next world, and I will gladly send you to him."

The warrior narrowed her eyes as she gazed upon every face. She saw no resistance. No one dared to move and only the roar of the fire could be heard in the depths of that night.

Lone laughter broke out. Îla's blood burned with white, hot rage. The men shifted apart, drawing back to isolate the offender. It did not take long for the guilty party to come forth.

A soldier whose name she could not produce stepped forwards. Dauntless. So sure of himself. In his eyes was a viciousness that sent Îla's skin crawling with disgust.

"If you think we'll follow you, Outsider—" if Îla's drawing of her sword had been swift, then she was far faster in shrugging off the bow from her shoulders and notching her arrow.

No protests were heard as she drew back the string with a practiced ease. The nameless soldier's voice fell short as he stared down the sharpened tip of her arrow. His eyes were blazing.

"No, I don't think," she sneered, drawing her string back tighter, "You will follow me or die as a traitor." Îla lowered her aim in a subtle move and released.

The sound of her arrow flying was short-lived. The soldier choked as he fell to his knees, his heart open and bleeding now. Îla would let no one call her an Outsider among her own people and have them live.

The new Commander ventured closer, kneeling to the traitor's fallen form. "Look at me," she whispered, and he did.

The man trembled with the terror of death. "Give my regards to the Commander of old," she told him, "tell him I hope he burns."

Without mercy, she pushed the arrow deeper. The soldier coughed, splattering blood across her sharp features as he drew his final breath. The traitor collapsed limply to the ground and, in the silence that followed, Îla revelled in the stillness of her men. Their silent acceptance.

The road had been long and the work had been hard, but Îla of Rhûn had long-since been making her presence known among the ranks of Sauron's army. She was a force to be reckoned with— the most talented among the Stolen Children— and she had hoped this day would come. When she could continue to rise higher, when she would be respected. Feared.

Here it was at last.

Îla turned to face the fallen bodies of the two girl's and suddenly her heart, so strong and sure, seemed to give out in mourning. She faltered, face falling. If this was the price to pay, then surely it was not worth it. It was not right.

The silence continued ever on and unrest grew in the soldiers surrounding her. Îla strengthened herself, pulling back from her thoughts. What's done is done, she told herself, and you now hold the power.

She turned back to her men. "Pledge yourselves to me and to our Dark Lord."

Every soldier within the vicinity fell to one knee and, upon their heart, they lay their right fist. No words were spoken, but she needed no more reason to be sure of their loyalty. They would follow her, because this blood she spilled was a threat and a promise.

Their word held no honour, but if she did not have their word, then she had their fear and that was even better.

Îla turned on the bowmen and, in their eyes, she saw terror. "You will put out every fire and you will bury every villager by sunrise. If you wish to spill the blood of the innocent, then you will see to it that they get a proper burial."

The men nodded and set to work. It was an easy choice, between death or deference. Îla began to make for their distant camp, whether it be on foot or by horse. She would need the time to think.

"Commander!" Îla stilled at the voice and spared only a glance over her shoulder.

A soldier she knew well stood behind her. Aldör was his name. A skilled swordsman she often trained with. She turned to regard him.

"What shall we do with the other bodies?" Aldör nodded at their fallen comrades. There was a glint in his eyes, somehow amused by the chaos and destruction that had ensued.

Îla smiled, but it was not sweet, "Leave them to rot. The birds can make use of their bones." The glint in Aldör's eyes burned brighter. Her cruelty was respected.

"Yes, Commander," Aldör spoke quickly, thumping his chest in salute.

With the matter dealt with, Îla turned and began the journey back to camp.

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AN: So, yeah, Îla is fucking terrifying and I love her.... but also y'all Îla is definitely in no way a good person. Don't think she'll be tormented over everything. She buries much. She does some shady shit and she's actually incredibly ruthless and I won't be brushing over that in any way. But, also, she doesn't brush over that either so, yes, my girl is self-aware. We'll definitely be seeing more of her in the coming chapters (duh), but this book will be set from different points of view. IE; the second chapter will come from Zorun's point of view and then so on it will unravel with the POV's of other characters, you see? However, we won't be seeing much of Sildawen or Kamîn until Part II :( They may have a couple chapters, but if so they'll be fairly short. BUT, feel comforted by this; though Legolas and Îla don't meet until Part II, he will have his own chapters from his POV.