Manó in Sud Siccana WIP
WIP in which my Tolkien OC Manó (Maia of Mandos and one of the Blue Istari) has arrived in the city of Sud Siccana and meets the son of Sauron and god emperor Vanimórë (owned by @spiced-wine-fic who graciously has given me permission to write about their wonderful OC ❤️). This is still in WIP form so I’m working at writing this still so it will probably be changed a little bit before it is finished.
As the Servant of Námo was marched down the bright, torchlit corridor, hands roughly forced down to his sides by the armed soldiers, Manó did not even attempt to struggle. It was evident that these Men were well-trained, and the Maia knew that even if he did try to get away, he would easily be tackled. And he could not risk showing his true powers in front of these Men. Especially when he had no idea who it was that acted as lord over them.
It would give away far too much too early. Too risky.
And he did have plans.
And where in the name of the Lord Námo are you, Aratacáno? Why have you left me to this imprisonment?
Though he searched and searched for his fellow Namodur, Manó could not locate him in the sea of consciousness that was the citizenry.
If the rumors from the caravanserai were to be believed, this city called Sud Siccana was home to the god emperor, and from here, he did rule the South with an army that rivaled any in Middle Earth.
The palace was sumptuously decorated, showing off the obvious wealth that this lord held. Secretly, Manó was in awe at it, but he kept that impression to himself. Saying nothing, the Maia could only hope that the disguise of an older man that he enshrouded himself in would be enough to keep him safe from this…this…
As they went, the group passed many a magnificent space; the Maia caught a quick glimpse of a large bathing pool with aquamarine water with white curtains hanging for privacy where one might repose in the steam. Even to Manó it was quite tempting. To have the chance to wash off the dust of the road. Another held a dining room, brilliantly colored pillows scattered around on the floor for sitting and discussing crucial matters.
An elaborately carved door was thrown open, and Manó was quickly hustled through.
Gathering as much dignity as he could muster, the Maia held his head high.
“Wait here.” One of the guards told him, and Manó was left on his own to take in his new surroundings. Fixing his dark robes, he stared around with interest. He had expected to be brought to some throne room and forced to grovel and beg for his very existence. But no, that was not the case.
This was a room with a massive table at the center, shelves of books lining the walls. Scrolls sat unopened, along with other scraps of parchment. A library of sorts, Manó told himself. When he felt it safe to move, the Namodur reached out, carefully examining one of these documents.
A letter from some important king of a Southron land that Manó did not know of. And he did feel his curiosity rise.
With a cautious finger, he broke the seal.
Inside was written a meticulously detailed manuscript that had to do with a battle off to the east, and begging for troops to come to their aid.
Lord Vanimórë.
Was this the name of the lord of these peoples?
Manó spoke the name silently to himself, felt a chill run up his spine at it, skin crawling.
“And what do you think you are doing, hm?”
The Maia jumped at the sudden voice, turning away from the table, his robes swirling about him. His green eyes widened then, as he beheld the one who had addressed him.
A tall man (no, an Elf more likely) stood in the doorway, watching him with keen violet eyes. Manó had never seen such a gaze in all of his long years, one so piercing and sharp, and it seemed to him like falling into pools of purple light. Long dark hair fell around his shoulders and down to his waist, tied back away from the elegant elegant Noldorin features. Clothed in all black with swords strapped across his back, the Elf crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe, the posture hinting at seduction. A little smile played across the Elf’s face.
Overwhelmed by the presence, as if this Elf was staring straight into his ëala and seeing all that was hidden there, Manó felt the breath catch in his throat.
Steadying himself and at once feeling small before the purple gaze, the Maia bowed, placing a hand to his chest in apology.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.” Manó finally managed to say. “I was merely curious.”
The Maia knew that he had to play his cards right with this one. A game of words and intrigue that he was not at all skilled at. Or else, he might find a far worse fate than the short imprisonment back in Tûl Harar. Manó was but a humble servant of the Lord of Mandos. What did he know of plotting and scheming?
How dare he make a Maia, an Ainu of Námo, feel so insignificant!
Anger flared then in Manó’s chest, but was quickly stamped out when the Elf locked eyes, staring him down.
Vanimórë chuckled then, closing the distance between them in a few long graceful strides, swept across the room like a dangerously prideful lion inspecting his realm.
And this indeed was his realm. No one would dare touch this king without the loss of their head and maybe a few other appendages.
Without hesitation, Lord Vanimórë spoke, the voice melodic and commanding all at once:
“I saw you and the other ride through the gates. Have the Valar sent one of their lackeys to come and spy on me? Maybe they’ve come to their senses.”
Head in a storm of thoughts, Manó felt a blush creep over his cheeks as Vanimórë came closer.
A scent of sandlewood.
The Maia a step backward, bumping against the table, sent a few of the scrolls toppling to the floor. Cornered and with nowhere to run, Manó stared straight into the eyes that watched him.
Eru’s name, did this demon have eyes everywhere?
“You…You must have seen wrong, good lord.” Manó replied, scrambling desperately for a convincing lie. “I came here alone.”
The calm smile remained, a dark eyebrow arched, as if completely unafraid and sure of himself in the face of the Namodur. The sight of it irked the Maia, but he kept his words to himself. It wouldn’t do to provoke him.
”Wrong?” Vanimórë said. “I don’t believe so. Especially when you made your arrival so obvious.”
“Sauron’s dark spawn.” Máno muttered, standing his ground.”The Valar speak of you, and not with kindness.”
The lord smirked then, fearsome as any warrior:
”Oh, I am sure that they do. Especially your Master. Isn’t that right?”
