The Lion's Oath (July 3008) - [Sauron]
Feb 23, 2018 8:27:19 GMT -5
Post by Chief Maalik Asad on Feb 23, 2018 8:27:19 GMT -5
When the orc had told him that Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor, needed him, Chief Maalik Asad, to venture to the depths of his own kingdom to swear allegiance, the Lion of the Haradrim had not been impressed. “The mustahdir al'arwah does not trust my word?” He had enquired, and the orc that had come, parading as bold, had begun to fear the men about Maalik trusted with sabers.
“’tain’t that,” one of the orc had assured. Maalik was, he knew, the Haradric chief the Dark Lord had desired allegiance from the most. It was not often that multiple chances were given; those who refused were meant to be bled dry. Many under Sauron’s employ did not understand why Maalik Asad, the terror of the Haradrim, had been spared. At least, until they had met him.
“Your Westron is poor, orc,” Maalik said, voice low like the rumble of a lion’s throat before its roar. “What does that mean?”
“What Morbog means,” a taller, more pulled-together orc said, yellow eyes gifting Morbog a firm glare to still his tongue. It was, after all, not Morbog’s task to speak. That was Crorgol’s. “Is that this is a visit for you.”
“For me?” Maalik replied. He sank into his throne, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in study of the two orc. Beside him, a woman eyed him. Maalik knew Rashida had thought and opinion on how the Dark Lord was to be received, how this alliance should have been established and how the Lion of the Haradrim should have been groveling. The Chief, however, cared little for her wit, and was never one to sit upon his knees.
“Aye,” Crorgol replied, bowing faintly as he had been prompted to do. “It’s so you can see that the Dark Lord will not fail. Your allegiance won’t be wasted.”
“My husband shall get to see the lands of Mordor?” Rashida drawled in question, her eyes and movements as silken as her dress.
Maalik growled. “Enough from you. Leave us.”
For a moment, Rashida hesitated; there had been many years since Maalik had looked or shared kind word with her. Not since the harlot that had made herself too comfortable among the harem had come to live in the palace. She had been hoping that in the past year and a half, Maalik would have returned once more to the way he was before Amira Ikraam had poisoned the halls. He had not. “As you desire, my Lord,” the woman murmured in velvet, the rolling, musical language of Near Harad spilling from her lips as she rose. She nodded to the orc, offering an acknowledgement and apology in the motion before turning, the silken skirts rustling with color and life as she went.
“Now,” Maalik drawled, shifting his obsidian eyes back to the orc, the strength upon his face for a moment forgotten in favor of interest. “You were saying?”
--
It had been a long ride, for the orc had been insistent that he and his emissaries enter the Black Lands by way of the great Black Gate and not over the lands of Nurn. The Lion had come in company; his sons and a few of his trusted generals had found their saddles and readied for the travel. Saif Ikraam, his most trusted general, was left behind to watch the throne while Maalik was away, and with Saif’s bloody reputation, the Chief was confident none would dare rise while he was away.
“I do not understand why you let that pretender guard our seat,” Kamal said to him, frowning. Saif, the father of the woman who was seeking to usurp their line, had a mind for reaching, a mind for more. “I think by the time we are back, he will have claimed your lands.”
“He is welcome to try,” Maalik answered, a glint catching in his obsidian eye. “For I shall be happy to remove him.”
Kamal thought it best to not press the matter further.
Finally, they arrived.
Maalik pulled back on his reins, the white, gleaming stallion coming to an elegant halt. His dark eyes like beacons lifted, spying up the tall height of Barad-Dur, the orange flame at its top. His orcish escort dismounted their wolf-like mount, and turned to face him.
“This way, Chief Maalik,” Crorgol said, the smirk upon his face brighter than the Chief himself understood.
“Father,” Bahadur marveled. He was tall for nine, though stronger than either of Maalik’s other sons had been at his age. The trip to Mordor was going to be one he wished his son to see, one that could shape him for his bright future. “This is a mighty stronghold,” the boy observed.
Maalik dismounted, handing the reins to a waiting hand, grinning in a wolfish fashion at the tall, black tower. He reached, ruffling his son’s hair and pulling him to his side. “You are right, alshabal. Come. Let us see to this alliance?”
“Even Mother would see the power of this Dark Lord, should she see this place,” Bahadur offered, a hint of sadness in his voice.
Maalik’s smile failed, and he grunted. “I think so as well,” he finally uttered. “Come. They are leaving.”
Crorgol was indeed moving into the tower, holding the door open with a bow and motioning Maalik and his company inward. Obediently, and with a step that was a shade eager, the Lion moved inside.
“’tain’t that,” one of the orc had assured. Maalik was, he knew, the Haradric chief the Dark Lord had desired allegiance from the most. It was not often that multiple chances were given; those who refused were meant to be bled dry. Many under Sauron’s employ did not understand why Maalik Asad, the terror of the Haradrim, had been spared. At least, until they had met him.
“Your Westron is poor, orc,” Maalik said, voice low like the rumble of a lion’s throat before its roar. “What does that mean?”
“What Morbog means,” a taller, more pulled-together orc said, yellow eyes gifting Morbog a firm glare to still his tongue. It was, after all, not Morbog’s task to speak. That was Crorgol’s. “Is that this is a visit for you.”
“For me?” Maalik replied. He sank into his throne, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in study of the two orc. Beside him, a woman eyed him. Maalik knew Rashida had thought and opinion on how the Dark Lord was to be received, how this alliance should have been established and how the Lion of the Haradrim should have been groveling. The Chief, however, cared little for her wit, and was never one to sit upon his knees.
“Aye,” Crorgol replied, bowing faintly as he had been prompted to do. “It’s so you can see that the Dark Lord will not fail. Your allegiance won’t be wasted.”
“My husband shall get to see the lands of Mordor?” Rashida drawled in question, her eyes and movements as silken as her dress.
Maalik growled. “Enough from you. Leave us.”
For a moment, Rashida hesitated; there had been many years since Maalik had looked or shared kind word with her. Not since the harlot that had made herself too comfortable among the harem had come to live in the palace. She had been hoping that in the past year and a half, Maalik would have returned once more to the way he was before Amira Ikraam had poisoned the halls. He had not. “As you desire, my Lord,” the woman murmured in velvet, the rolling, musical language of Near Harad spilling from her lips as she rose. She nodded to the orc, offering an acknowledgement and apology in the motion before turning, the silken skirts rustling with color and life as she went.
“Now,” Maalik drawled, shifting his obsidian eyes back to the orc, the strength upon his face for a moment forgotten in favor of interest. “You were saying?”
--
It had been a long ride, for the orc had been insistent that he and his emissaries enter the Black Lands by way of the great Black Gate and not over the lands of Nurn. The Lion had come in company; his sons and a few of his trusted generals had found their saddles and readied for the travel. Saif Ikraam, his most trusted general, was left behind to watch the throne while Maalik was away, and with Saif’s bloody reputation, the Chief was confident none would dare rise while he was away.
“I do not understand why you let that pretender guard our seat,” Kamal said to him, frowning. Saif, the father of the woman who was seeking to usurp their line, had a mind for reaching, a mind for more. “I think by the time we are back, he will have claimed your lands.”
“He is welcome to try,” Maalik answered, a glint catching in his obsidian eye. “For I shall be happy to remove him.”
Kamal thought it best to not press the matter further.
Finally, they arrived.
Maalik pulled back on his reins, the white, gleaming stallion coming to an elegant halt. His dark eyes like beacons lifted, spying up the tall height of Barad-Dur, the orange flame at its top. His orcish escort dismounted their wolf-like mount, and turned to face him.
“This way, Chief Maalik,” Crorgol said, the smirk upon his face brighter than the Chief himself understood.
“Father,” Bahadur marveled. He was tall for nine, though stronger than either of Maalik’s other sons had been at his age. The trip to Mordor was going to be one he wished his son to see, one that could shape him for his bright future. “This is a mighty stronghold,” the boy observed.
Maalik dismounted, handing the reins to a waiting hand, grinning in a wolfish fashion at the tall, black tower. He reached, ruffling his son’s hair and pulling him to his side. “You are right, alshabal. Come. Let us see to this alliance?”
“Even Mother would see the power of this Dark Lord, should she see this place,” Bahadur offered, a hint of sadness in his voice.
Maalik’s smile failed, and he grunted. “I think so as well,” he finally uttered. “Come. They are leaving.”
Crorgol was indeed moving into the tower, holding the door open with a bow and motioning Maalik and his company inward. Obediently, and with a step that was a shade eager, the Lion moved inside.