Lord Of The Ring Audiobook Novels & Stories

Forcing myself to find courage, I tried to gather my composure, though my hands trembled slightly at my sides. "Sir Riddle…" I began, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to sound composed. “Ambrosius,” he corrected softly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Call me Ambrosius.” His voice. It was elegant and mesmerizing, like the deep, resonant sound of a cello playing a solemn melody in a darkened room. The richness of the tone made every word he spoke seem deliberate, as though they were meant to echo long after they were said. There was a musical quality to it, reminiscent of a piano's D minor chord—both melancholic and hauntingly beautiful.

Nova’s POV The library was silent, save for the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. A dozen open books surrounded me, their pages filled with old, faded scripts that blurred together in my tired mind. Liora’s journal lay at the center of it all, her precise handwriting guiding me through fragmented thoughts and cryptic hints. The Rogue King. The Forsaken Amulet. The medallion Rowena had presented at the council meeting. All of it pointed to a larger puzzle, but the pieces didn’t fit—not yet.

He looked at the reflection of the monster and bowed his head slightly. "My Lord," Lihont said, his voice sounding extremely respectful "Everything is going exactly as we planned. The stars are moving into the right spots, and the altar is ready. After tonight, the spell will be complete, you will finally be free from your prison, and you will rule the whole world.. .Everyone will bow down to you." The Dark Lord did not speak with a mouth, his voice sounded inside Lihont’s head, like a deep, scary growl that made the glass of the mirror vibrate.

As he set it upon her brow, the crowd erupted in a thunder of applause and primal howls. A roar of power pulsed through the courtyard. The Heartstone had accepted her. But just as Aurora turned to face her people, the joy split like glass. A gust of shadow surged from the rear of the assembly, cold and malevolent. Screams tore through the crowd as Elder Eric emerged from beneath a shifting illusion spell. His cloak was woven from night itself, and his eyes glowed with the fury of betrayal. “You crown a mutt! A hybrid queen! I will not kneel to a disgrace!” he bellowed, his voice laced with ancient magic.

Her master kept begging and bowing. Suddenly, another voice was heard, a voice that was deep and masculine, belonging to a man of supreme power. "Is that so?" The voice said. "The dragon lord," Ariana whispered, her eyes wide with fear. Her body started to tremble like a leaf in an autumn breeze. The dragon lord's voice was like thunder, shaking the very foundations of the heaven realm itself. "Am I that horrible to you, little girl?" the dragon lord asked, his voice like a gentle giant.

He seemed to be talking to himself, assuming different voice tones. "What is the use of being a god if my endless days are full of loneliness, depression, and boredom?" He howled, then took a long sip from his big goblet. "You should be content with yourself, many beings wished they had the power you possess," he mimicked another voice. "What are you on about? They should be glad they are not confined to a life of bitterness and resentment. People judge you before they even know you," he held his goblet to his chest as he bowed his head, his chest heaving, his shoulders jerking.

Lord Everton's piercing gaze bore into Lord Alden, his eyes demanding answers. Lord Everton took a deep breath, his voice resolute as he began to speak. His words echoed through the area, reaching my ears with a mix of conviction and accusation. I strained to catch every syllable, eager to understand the motivations behind his alleged treachery. "I, Lord Everton, shall now take charge of this inquiry.," he opened a paper and started reading " lord Alden, you stand accused of a grave charge. It is alleged that you conspired to aid other kingdoms in their attempt to seize the Iron Throne, despite your knowledge that it rightfully belongs to King Roberick. How do you plead?"

little secret. “It’d be a waste to just hand you over to him. You’re too precious for him.” What? What did he say just now? “Should I risk war instead?” My subconscious self was taken aback. Like Helen of Troy? Surely, I wasn’t that precious. “My Lord, the Phanteon King just crossed our realm,” I heard a new voice say. It was deep and rough, similar to Idris Elba but without the English accent.

The British Lord stated coldly, “Speak!” Mr. Chardon pondered for a moment, gritted his teeth, and began, “British Lord, I happened to acquire a magic instrument in Aurous Hill today!”

The consigliere—a thin, silver-haired man named Russo—watched me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve. Halfway through the main course, a young soldier came to Dante's side and murmured something. Dante's expression didn't change. But his hand tightened on my leg. "What is it?" I asked. "Nothing. Stay here." He rose and left the room. I counted to ten. Then I followed. Dante was in the corridor outside, speaking in rapid Italian to a man I didn't recognize. I caught fragments—"Abate," "warehouse," "ambush"—before he noticed me and fell silent.