Flowers

Canon compliant AU.  Angrod considers giving up for the first time.  Quenya names used (Angrod = Angaráto).  Also, as this is important, I'll put it here--his wife's Quenya name is Eldalótë, translated as Flower of the Eldar (Elves).  There is a connection there (as should be obvious when one looks at the name of this piece).  Moving on, this is a continuation of the same AU as "Defiant", "Powder", "Parade" and "Impulse" but takes place after all four of them, and therefore after Nirnaeth Arnoediad.  Obviously the setting is in Angband.

Side note: This is another of my sister's stupid prompts, but I'm satisfied with how I twisted such a corny concept to my advantage.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion.

Pairings: implied Morgoth x Angrod (very one-sided), Angrod x Eldalótë

Characters: Angrod, Sauron (mentions Morgoth, Eldalótë, Eru and Fingon (in a very roundabout way)

Warning: canon compliant AU, heavily implied non-con, slavery, references to torture and sadism, suicidal thoughts, blood, etymology

Song: Beautiful Cruel World

Words: 1,215
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flower (noun): the part of a seed plant that normally bears reproductive organs: blossom, inflorescence; a plant cultivated for its blossoms
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/flower

For the first time, Angaráto wanted to surrender to his foes.  He wanted to give up and lie down and die in the darkness.

Every inch of his body ached, all his nerves screaming as though they had been dipped in lava and his bones creaking under pressure that made a mountain's weight seem as a feather's in comparison--that could easily bend and twist iron to its will.  Truly, he did not think he could move even if he had wished to do so.  Instead, he lay motionless on the ground in his cell, shattered and torn to pieces.

"Get up, slave.  My master has bid me bring thee to him, finally, so we must prepare.  It would not do to present something so pathetic and filthy..."

He had hated the Lieutenant.  But he knew now that it was not Sauron he truly needed to worry about.  It was not that sadistic beauty who played the true villain in this tragedy of reality.  It was not that fire-eyed demon whose attention was so riveted in jealousy or whose goal was to ravage all that dared exceed his glory.

It was Morgoth.

And after only an hour in the Dark Lord's presence, crushed beneath the ambient power and the nauseating shadow that encompassed that disgusting, traitorous monster, Angaráto wondered if it was even worth the energy and stubbornness it would take to sit back up and crawl away from this pool of his own blood.  All he could remember within his tangled mind were those red eyes piercing and that slithery voice like slime and the feeling of that black skin rough against his flesh, bruising with a mere touch, rending apart with ease...

All he did was stare at the red and the little white flowers floating on the surface.  Their petals were stained and bent, hanging on by a mere thread.

"These blooms were nurtured upon the rotting corpses of thy comrades and kin.  Thou shouldst be grateful to wear them, slave."

Grateful to be dressed up in finery and silk and diamonds to be sent to the Dark Lord--to be a mindless, broken pet on a chain.  A doll to be raped and played with and tossed aside at a whim.  To sit on the floor at that monster's feet as a prized trophy of dominance and victory over the Eldar.  To be mocked and gawked at and leered at by the enemy who both envied and despised his faded beauty.

And he didn't know if he could resist anymore...

"That will be all, slave.  Thou shalt be returned to thy cell, and maybe thou wilt be more grateful at my generosity in the future..."

His eyes fluttered shut.

Flowers...

They reminded him of home.  Of somewhere far away from this place.  Of meadows and mountains the twining of silver and gold light refracting into a thousand shades.

Of warm embraces and soothing voices.

Of her.

His flower.  His Eldalótë.  With her rich bronze curls spilling over her shoulders and her soft green eyes bringing back long-lost memories of the feeling of vibrant grass on his feet and the sweet smell of spring on the air.  By Eru! he missed her!  So much did he long to see her!  And maybe if he just drifted off into the welcoming darkness creeping into his psyche...

Maybe she would be waiting for him...

Except...

Except he could also see those little pale flowers speckled in blood.  The remnants of his destroyed people floundering in this ocean of death, hanging on for survival even in the bleakest and most hopeless of conditions.  Something pure and brilliant sullied but somehow still so very lovely...

His eyes fluttered open to white and red.  His shaking fingers reached out and brushed the soft petals, striping them with crimson.  It had been so long since he had seen real blooms, for they did not grow this far north, would not take root and sprout beneath the haze of death and dust blocking Arien's rays or the poisonous taint seeping deep into the earth.

These were different.  Grown from death.  How ironic.

And was he not one of these little blossoms?

He could give up.  He could die and fade away.  But as he brushed another flower, half-sunken beneath the blood, drowning, he couldn't help but think of his people.  Was he not also their prince?  Was it not his duty to keep his eyes open and keep his lungs breathing until every last thrall was dead or free from this hell?

Could he fade away before his foe was crushed and defeated under the feet of the Valar and the free peoples of Arda?  Until he knew they were safe from those red eyes and that blistering touch?  Until he knew that never again would any of his family become victims of this same wickedness?

Was he allowed to leave these people behind to suffer and die alone?

"Rest now.  I shall return for thee tomorrow.  Thou hast quite masterfully captured the eye of our lord, pretty little slave..."

Angaráto sighed.  And then laughed softly, ignoring the jolts of pain that racked up his spine as his body shook with mirth.  How could he even think of surrendering?  To them.  What kind of a person--a man and a husband and a prince--would he be if he turned in the other direction at the first suffering of true agony when many of his people went through such trials daily?  Many of them--man and woman, elf and man, all alike--went through this every day and still refused to roll over and give up on life.

They had a will of iron.

And so, too, would their prince.

How could he even think of betraying his namesake?

No, he was the last of the leaders.  One of the last bits and scraps of hope and strength his people still had to cling to in this hellhole, and--pride and purity be damned!--if that meant crouching on the floor like an animal and gracing the Dark Lord's bed and pretending at subservient obedience for decades on end, he would do it without remorse.  And wait for his chance.

And those iridescent eyes formed of the earth's blood and malice personified were watching him with interest and fascination--with expectation...

And maybe take a page out of his opponent's book.

With new determination, somehow, his arms found the strength to lift his upper body despite the burning and stabbing feeling wracking his back and gut.  Twisting upwards, he forced his body to wobble without stability upon shaking legs and held back the tide of nausea and dizziness that rained over his senses.  

Today would not be his last day.

The rules had changed, but he wasn't about to let that stop him.

Rather, Angaráto smirked, glancing out into the darkness beyond his prison, spotting that oh-so-familiar face.  That horrible, beautiful smile full of cruelty and sadistic pleasure.  And those watching, waiting eyes, unblinking and unceasingly bright, half-hidden in the shadow of a diaphanous veil of curling, silken waves.

Knowing eyes.

He was ready.

Let the game begin...
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This idea has been in my literally since I began this arc.  I mean pairing-wise.  Heavily hinted at it in "Defiant", but this is confirmation, I guess.  I was waiting for the perfect prompt to come along, and who would ever have guessed that it would be "Flowers".  Thinking back on it, were it not for one song I would have ended up using this for some romantic fluff between Finrod and Amarië or something.

Thus, as you can guess, the song is a little important.

So, this week I watched Attack on Titan for the first time.  For those of you who don't watch anime, it's awesome, but it's highly suggested that if you can't take blood and dismemberment you avoid it.  My friend showed it to me and was like "It gets worse!  It gets worse!" but the worst was a large amount of blood, dismemberment and disturbing psychological aspects--not as gory as Hellsing.  Anyway, the song today is the end theme of that anime: Beautiful Cruel World.  It is originally by Yoko Hikasa.

In English.  Technically this is not official in any way, and the lyrics are roughly the same idea as the Japanese ones, done by Adriana Figueroa (at least, I think that's her name).  But I love this version so much.  My friend showed me this to me after we watched the first ten episodes or so and I fell in love with it.  And it heavily inspired this story (if you can't tell from listening to it), so much so that some of the lyrics--my interpretation of the lyrics--reflects themes from the story.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm obsessed.  But this makes me seriously happy, so I hope you enjoy both the piece and the song.  And listen to it in Japanese, too, if you have time--it's pretty in both languages.