– One excerpt in a compilation of many recordings of the Thaliondor brothers and what occurred to, by, and between them during the Age of the Obsidian Throne. –

The chains that were bound around his arms and hands were forged of Lorenium, the same metal as his armor, which they had taken from him. This metal was strong and extraordinarily light– but above all, it was virtually unbreakable. Even the captive’s hardened strength would not make the chains even yield or give as he strained against them. The men around him shoved and dragged him though the black marble corridors toward a doom he would have given much to escape.

They halted before two massive pitch-black doors made of opaque glass; six guards in Lorenium armor barred their way. He thrashed and struggled against the chains and his captors, shouting elvish curses with all the fury he could muster. The wound in his arm re-opened under the strain of his exertions and blood trickled down to his bound hands and dripped off his fingertips. The men around him shouted, their voices echoing off the stone around them, as they fought to control him. A knee drove into his gut, a gauntleted fist into his face. He gasped, grunted, and staggered to a knee. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He spat it out onto the shadow-hued floorstones.

They hauled him upright as the doors swung open. He kept his head down, his eyes squeezed shut, as they dragged him into that dreaded room. He fell to his knees on hard marble floors as they halted before the dais, and his captors let him stay there.

“Ah… Aerandír eldn Thaliondor…” The voice was sibilant like a serpent’s, yet rough and deep as subterranean mountain rivers. Every corner of the room became cluttered with its echoes. “First of the last two heirs of House Thaliondor… How fares your Realm, princeling?”

Aerandír opened his eyes and lifted his aching head. Before him was the thing he dreaded and the man his brother had become enthralled to. The King of the Obsidian Throne– that terrible relic of old that corrupted everyone who sat upon it.

Gildran was present, standing on the dais, behind the black, glass throne, to the king’s right. Aerandír’s eyes flicked to his brother and then away, dismissing and ignoring Gil. Acting like the assassin didn’t even exist.

He noticed the woman in the black and silver cloak as well, but wasn’t concerned about her. He was familiar with the embroidery on the hems of her heavy garment.

“What do you want of me, Eldragor?” The captive knight asked, tilting his head at the king, his voice slurring slightly and his chin stained with blood.

“Why, your willing service and good will, of course.” The king purred.

“My service and good will, eh?” Aerandír mused, looking at the floor. He watched as blood dripped from his upper lip to splash on the marble beneath him. Crimson on black. His nose was still bleeding from his captor’s fist to the face.

“And… one other thing.” Eldragor said. Aerandír picked his head back up.

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“And what would that be?” He asked warily. Eldragor leaned forward, smirking as he rested his elbows on his knees.

“Surely you didn’t expect me to not be informed you were carrying a message of great importance to the Fifth Realm, little princeling. I need that missive, and I need it now. Give it to me, and you will save yourself much suffering.”

Aerandír’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smirk. “What makes you think there is any such message?” He asked. Eldragor’s nostrils flared slightly with irritation.

“Don’t play games with me, whelp!” He snarled. “I know you have it!”

Aerandír chuckled mirthlessly, his breath scraping in his throat. “Do I?”

A low growl emitted from behind Eldragor’s gritted teeth, and his fists clenched upon the armrests of the Obsidian Throne. Aerandír tilted his head at the king.

“Your men searched me thoroughly when they brought me here. They found no message.” The captive knight said, with a hint of satisfaction.

“Cipher!” Eldragor barked, turning to the woman in the silver and black cloak. “Does he lie?”

The Cipher regarded him coolly. “It is not my place to answer such a question.” She said calmly. “I merely observe and record. No more. I am not your servant, Dark King; nor a dog, to come and obey when you call.”

A plethora of vile curses spewed from the king’s mouth as he stood abruptly. He stalked down the steps of the dais, the heels of his boots clicking on the marble floor until he stopped directly in front of Aerandír. He grasped the knight’s jaw and locked gazes with him.

“I will have that missive and I will have your service, if I have to rip it out of you!” Eldragor snarled. “You will endure pain the likes of which you have never known, and in the end, I will break you like I did your brother! When all is finished, the Thirteenth Realm will be mine, as will the rest. You will be able to do nothing but bow to me.” Eldragor smirked and released Aerandír. He looked up at his men and gave them a nod. “Take him below and do what you must to extract the information. Bring him before me when you’ve finished.”

They hauled Aerandír to his feet and turned him back to the doors. But before they could exit, a pale elf, his flaxen hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, entered the room from a small door behind the dais.

“My king,” the pale elf said, walking forward with confident strides, smirking arrogantly. “If I may, would you grant me the privilege of overseeing this interrogation?”

Aerandír stiffened at the sound of the pale elf’s voice, and he looked over his shoulder to eye him angrily. “Vandril.” He spat.

Vandril’s smirk grew wider, and he gave a mocking bow in Aerandír’s direction. “In the flesh. Clever trick, wasn’t it, escaping from your dungeons like that. You thought I was dead, when all along I was here safe and sound at last.”

“I should have killed you the second I laid eyes on you!” Aerandír shouted, struggling to lunge at the pale elf.

“But you didn’t.” Vandril grinned. “And now look at you.” He turned back to Eldragor. “My lord?”

The king waved his hand, clearly enjoying the animosity between his captive and his lieutenant. “Granted.” He replied. “Now get out of my sight.”

As Vandril followed a fair distance behind, the guards dragged Aerandír out of Eldragor’s throne room, the young First Heir shouting defiant curses and threats all the way.

“I’ll kill you, Vandril! I will finish what my father started! I will destroy you, and your filthy king, and that cursed Throne. I swear it! Do you hear me? I swear it!”

~

On the dais, his emotions hidden behind a mask of indifference, Gildran eldn Thaliondor heard every one of his brother’s shouted threats. With every word that left Aerandír’s lips, Gildran flinched.