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Headcanon: Before the Fall (of Numenor) Part I
Category: Stories
//alright, this is a headcanon of piece of Hou Xin set in the Tolkien verse for a great SL with my dear Airi (an Avari Elf) - For this setting Hou Xin was made Dunedain.. with a past going back till before the Fall. - How he is still alive ages later (even for a Dunedain an unusual life-span) in the storyline and how he came to be who he is in the story - a blind, human living with a clan of Avair Elves being a Scholar and the caretaker of their Library for them... well, those at least next two upcomming drabbles are a bit of his backstory in more detail - warning this one might hold a few graphic parts, so if do not like to read dark stuff, step back now ;D - it was also inspired by the pic below// 
Before the Fall - Part I
Cutting, damp coldness was again the first impression he noticed when regaining consciousness – bare, icy stone underneath and the breath of chill gusts brushing across his exposed skin only poorly covered by what was left of his silken robes.
The sensation of agony, a familiar companion by this time, set in only moments later when he tried to open his eyes – again against better judgment. It still was just a simple reflex, a useless one now, a painful one even. The tiniest flutter of his lids felt like someone put hot grinding shards of glass in his eyes.
And then there was the searing, dragging pain engulfing all of his body, mostly his back - the lashing, he remembered. They beat him till his consciousness left him, again…the stones underneath where he had been lying curled up like a fetus were sticky and the coppery smell of his own blood surrounded him in a sickly manner.
Lumps of the cold, crusty substance stuck to his hair cascading down his back and shoulders, a dull, sad, black mass, soiled and tousled.
Weakly he moved, trying to find something to focus on within the numbing, terrifying blackness which had become his new world.
Slowly, his limps feeling like being filled with lead, Hou Xin sat up, the iron shackles round his wrists resounding with a now familiar clang, echoing mockingly along the stone walls surrounding him.
This prison though was not the usual one for any kind of criminal – no, this cell, this place was far worse.
It was a dark place, even for those still able to see and in both the literally but also a metaphorical meaning.
It was located beneath what had become a place of torture and slaughter, a place that should not exist on this realm, the temple dedicated to Mulkher (Adûnaïn for Melkor).
The Dunedain worshiping the Dark Lord… had someone told him this absurdity a few years ago, Hou Xin proably would have laughed right into his face – and yet that was exactly what was happening.
The slowly seeping poison of dark power and well placed words manged to get the Dundeains´ former prisoner Sauron not only out of his confinement, but also caused their King Ar-Pharazôn to replace his former advisor, him Hou Xin, with the fallen Valar´s closest and strongest warrior – and even more, to urge the Dunedain to worship the Dark Master as their only god.
Those who resisted became human sacrifices at the feet of the statue of the dark god, the centerpiece of the Temple above.
He was one who resisted… and more.
He tried to warn the Valar about attack plans Sauron and Ar-Pharazôn hatched together, plans to attack the Undying Lands in order to conquer and destroy.
This was what brought him down here – was his punishment for treason - as if this pathetic puppet of Evil still was worthy to be called King.
Yet they did not kill him, not yet though. No, they, his former King and his new adivsor Sauron and their followers took a sadistic joy in torturing him, over and over again. Spilling his blood across the temple floor, feasting on his pain and suffering, delighting in his humiliation.
First thing that was done to him by the hand of Sauron himself was to blind him – the proper punishment for spies as everyone agreed.
Then he was locked up, shackled to cold walls vibrating with dark power down below the temple - and over and over again they dragged him back into the temple, cracking the thorn-covered whip across his back until he passed out.
How often already, how long he was already at their mercy he was unable to recall at that point. Yet long enough that he felt his body failing, slowly running out of strength and life – merciful, soothing thoughts. Not long any more now and he´d escape this prison, this shaking hull of torn flesh, this searing darkness, forever and there was nothing they could do to stop him - they could have his body, this anyway useless wreck.. they could not have his mind, could not break him though. An idea which made his lips twitch with a weak gleeful smile.
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