b2mem | 5,000 by Fadesintothewest (Reply)

B2MeM Prompt, Cards and Numbers: Card: 67. Emotions 2, G51 Solemnity, O75 fear
Format: ficlet
Genre: Dark
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Descriptions of torture
Characters: The King's Men, The Faithful,
Summary: A snippet into the decay of the Númenóreans under the influence of Sauron as seen through the eyes of the King's Men and the Faithful. Second Age. Tribute to Victor Jara.

5,000

The King’s Men watched over grounds where in earlier times—some would say better times—the Númenóreans had enjoyed watching their best warriors compete in sport. In different times, the great horses of the Númenóreans would compete with riders in a wild variety of games involving weaponry of all sorts, but the Númenóreans most of all loved the archery contests, in better times. On this day, many of the Faithful that remained in Númenór had been dragged into the stadium. There were 5,000 bodies packed in that place. It smelled of death, but a death so terrifying it emptied stomachs and souls.

With arrogance the King’s Men walked amongst the Faithful, punching, kicking and spitting upon them. “This one,” a nameless face yelled, dragging a man behind him. “He will do.”

The prisoners watched as their friend, their favorite bard and lore master, was dragged up the stone stairs. The King’s Men meant to break not just their bones, but their spirits. They meant to kill their faith, their love of beauty, and brotherhood.

One of the leaders of the King’s Men observed the tumult with satisfaction, a sadistic smile twisting his face. Indeed, the bard would make an excellent sacrifice and from his place high up, he would let them all witness this great deed.

“See how he shits himself,” the lowly soldier snarled as he pulled his victim without care up the stone steps. His voice was vicious and yet strangely just as human as those that were savaged.

“Make him stand!” the ranking King’s Man ordered. The man, a well-known bard amongst the Faithless, could not stand on his known, so badly beaten was he. His hands had been broken and mouth sliced, all the while his tormentors mocked him, taking away the very essence of his craft.

“On the ground then,” the man without hope ordered.

The King’s Men surrounded the man. Some stripped him of his clothes, while others carved runes upon his skin, marks of the Black Speech, meant to silence him in death. It was a sadistic ritual and the King’s Men performed their rites with much solemnity, for even darkness must have its ceremony.

The broken man uttered the most heart-wrenching cry, his last Song for this world, so the King’s Men believed. The bard could not see, his eyes were swollen shut from being beat by many, many hands. That he still lived was a crueler fate. He wished for a quick death, but the King’s Men would draw it out, believing that every breath near death they could exact from their victim would render their sacrifice more valuable to Melkor.

But the King’s Men did not silence the bard in death for he was able to steal away his final words, a song given for his people to endure, a song that would reach the ears of Amandil in the East.

“How hard it is to sing
when I must sing of horror.
Horror which I am living,
horror which I am dying.

To see myself among so much
and so many moments of infinity
in which silence and screams
are the end of my song.

What I now see, I have never seen
What I feel and what I have felt
Will make the moment spring again.

Víctor Jara, "Estadio Chile"
(translated from Spanish)^[1]