Note: None of these are my characters! This chapter deals with violence and
death! Normal POV in this chapter. Sorry it took so long, but perfection
takes time…
Dealing In Death
Part 13
Éomer looked at Sarag neutrally. "You mean half-brother," he corrected, in a voice that was so cold and cruel that it put Sarag to shame. "I would that we did not share the same sire, for our father would be greatly disturbed by what you have become if he still lived."
Sarag snarled. "Where is the elf? I want him brought to me!" His impatience and arrogance were appalling to his half-brother.
Éomer brandished his sword as he unsheathed it. He extended the point towards Sarag. "You shall not have him, Sarag. Not while I live and breathe."
Sarag drew his own sword. "Then we'd better get this over with," he hissed in anger, before he lunged forward suddenly. His anger and rage made him forget about his injuries.
Éomer stepped aside, and deflected another blow that was aimed directly towards his face. He countered with a fierce slash at Sarag's sword-arm. Sarag blocked it and struck at Éomer's own arm.
Their swords clashed numerous times, as anger burned in the matching eyes as the two glared at each other as they 'danced' together. Cold neutrality and hatred were the emotions within the brothers, as the sound of metal striking metal echoed around them.
Sweat dripped down Éomer's face, as he took Sarag off guard. He feinted at Sarag's left arm, and then stabbed his sword directly through his brother's right shoulder. He withdrew the blade, and looked at Sarag. "First blood to me," he taunted. "Shall we continue?"
Sarag cursed loudly, as he countered with a slice across Éomer's face. He was tiring, for he had fought with the elf less than five hours ago. Still he continued parrying with Éomer, desperate to prove himself in his dead father's eyes. He would win this fight and claim Legolas for his own.
Éomer used the knowledge that Sarag was growing weaker to his advantage. He became more bold and open, as he ignored the dripping blood on his face. The cut stung, but he forced himself to concentrate on the fight.
Sarag fought for something that he coveted, much as a spoiled child would. He longed to possess the elf, body and soul. He'd had a taste of him once, and desired it once more. No brother of his was going to keep him from getting what he wanted, especially not Éomer. This brother had not been as trusting as a brother should be. Fury was the driving force behind Sarag's blows. He would kill Éomer and find Legolas himself.
Éomer fought to protect a dear friend, as he deflected most of the blows that were aimed at him. He received a few nicks and cuts, but nothing serious. Éomer had had enough of Sarag tormenting his Elven friend. He would not stand for it any longer, Éomer vowed. Legolas and Aragorn deserved to live in peace together, without the threat of Sarag hanging over them. Éomer swore that he would end it now.
The swords clang together again, as each glared at the other.
One fought for the noblest of reasons; to defend his friends and bring honor back to his dead father's name. He would do whatever it took to ensure that Sarag would not interfere with Legolas and Aragorn's relationship anymore, save for outright murder.
The other fought to possess another against his will, which was the worst reason to fight. He did not realize that the one whom he sought to dominate over could never be his, for the elf belonged to another, heart, body, and soul.
Éomer switched to the defensive, leaping away from the slashes that Sarag thrust at him, and blocking others. He did not strike at his brother for a few moments, as he took a deep breath.
Sarag took advantage of Éomer's hesitation to strike lower, at Éomer's feet. Éomer jumped high into the air, before he slashed across Sarag's face, leaving a bloody slice behind his blade.
Sarag hissed in pain, glaring at Éomer. "Why do you fight so hard?" he taunted. "Wasn't it enough for you that father liked you best?"
"Do not speak of my father, for you are unworthy to do so," Éomer stated. "He would have killed you himself if he had know what you were truly like."
Sarag growled and slashed at Éomer again. "You had to disgrace me in his eyes, so that you would have his favor."
Éomer deflected the blow, as he spoke. "You disgraced yourself! You force others to do what you will, regardless of their feelings about it. You care for nothing or no-one. And when you die, no-one will mourn you, for you have no friends. Not even I shall mourn you, for I was the only one who could see the truth behind you. I knew what you were truly like. And you haven't changed a bit."
"Why should I? I like being this way!"
The two began parrying blows again furiously, ignoring the cuts and slices they received from the other, as heated anger controlled their actions.
Both fought to win, and pressed on relentlessly, as they each grew weary, but more determined to have a victory.
As one sliced at the other's neck, the other blocked it with his hand.
With a simple twist, duck, and thrust, the fight was over. Blood splattered on the ground as the brothers glared at each other, before one fell, gurgling on his own blood.
His eyes went blank and still.
The winner gazed at him, with no pity or remorse. He'd known that it had to be done. Without saying a word, he wiped his sword clean before sheathing it.
He did no mourning for his lost brother, and merely remained emotionless. It was better that way, he knew. There was nothing worth mourning for with his brother. And he had to find Legolas.
He then made his way back into the castle, and towards the room where the Fellowship lay in a drugged sleep.
A smile crossed his face, as he paused outside of the door.
To be continued
Dealing In Death
Part 13
Éomer looked at Sarag neutrally. "You mean half-brother," he corrected, in a voice that was so cold and cruel that it put Sarag to shame. "I would that we did not share the same sire, for our father would be greatly disturbed by what you have become if he still lived."
Sarag snarled. "Where is the elf? I want him brought to me!" His impatience and arrogance were appalling to his half-brother.
Éomer brandished his sword as he unsheathed it. He extended the point towards Sarag. "You shall not have him, Sarag. Not while I live and breathe."
Sarag drew his own sword. "Then we'd better get this over with," he hissed in anger, before he lunged forward suddenly. His anger and rage made him forget about his injuries.
Éomer stepped aside, and deflected another blow that was aimed directly towards his face. He countered with a fierce slash at Sarag's sword-arm. Sarag blocked it and struck at Éomer's own arm.
Their swords clashed numerous times, as anger burned in the matching eyes as the two glared at each other as they 'danced' together. Cold neutrality and hatred were the emotions within the brothers, as the sound of metal striking metal echoed around them.
Sweat dripped down Éomer's face, as he took Sarag off guard. He feinted at Sarag's left arm, and then stabbed his sword directly through his brother's right shoulder. He withdrew the blade, and looked at Sarag. "First blood to me," he taunted. "Shall we continue?"
Sarag cursed loudly, as he countered with a slice across Éomer's face. He was tiring, for he had fought with the elf less than five hours ago. Still he continued parrying with Éomer, desperate to prove himself in his dead father's eyes. He would win this fight and claim Legolas for his own.
Éomer used the knowledge that Sarag was growing weaker to his advantage. He became more bold and open, as he ignored the dripping blood on his face. The cut stung, but he forced himself to concentrate on the fight.
Sarag fought for something that he coveted, much as a spoiled child would. He longed to possess the elf, body and soul. He'd had a taste of him once, and desired it once more. No brother of his was going to keep him from getting what he wanted, especially not Éomer. This brother had not been as trusting as a brother should be. Fury was the driving force behind Sarag's blows. He would kill Éomer and find Legolas himself.
Éomer fought to protect a dear friend, as he deflected most of the blows that were aimed at him. He received a few nicks and cuts, but nothing serious. Éomer had had enough of Sarag tormenting his Elven friend. He would not stand for it any longer, Éomer vowed. Legolas and Aragorn deserved to live in peace together, without the threat of Sarag hanging over them. Éomer swore that he would end it now.
The swords clang together again, as each glared at the other.
One fought for the noblest of reasons; to defend his friends and bring honor back to his dead father's name. He would do whatever it took to ensure that Sarag would not interfere with Legolas and Aragorn's relationship anymore, save for outright murder.
The other fought to possess another against his will, which was the worst reason to fight. He did not realize that the one whom he sought to dominate over could never be his, for the elf belonged to another, heart, body, and soul.
Éomer switched to the defensive, leaping away from the slashes that Sarag thrust at him, and blocking others. He did not strike at his brother for a few moments, as he took a deep breath.
Sarag took advantage of Éomer's hesitation to strike lower, at Éomer's feet. Éomer jumped high into the air, before he slashed across Sarag's face, leaving a bloody slice behind his blade.
Sarag hissed in pain, glaring at Éomer. "Why do you fight so hard?" he taunted. "Wasn't it enough for you that father liked you best?"
"Do not speak of my father, for you are unworthy to do so," Éomer stated. "He would have killed you himself if he had know what you were truly like."
Sarag growled and slashed at Éomer again. "You had to disgrace me in his eyes, so that you would have his favor."
Éomer deflected the blow, as he spoke. "You disgraced yourself! You force others to do what you will, regardless of their feelings about it. You care for nothing or no-one. And when you die, no-one will mourn you, for you have no friends. Not even I shall mourn you, for I was the only one who could see the truth behind you. I knew what you were truly like. And you haven't changed a bit."
"Why should I? I like being this way!"
The two began parrying blows again furiously, ignoring the cuts and slices they received from the other, as heated anger controlled their actions.
Both fought to win, and pressed on relentlessly, as they each grew weary, but more determined to have a victory.
As one sliced at the other's neck, the other blocked it with his hand.
With a simple twist, duck, and thrust, the fight was over. Blood splattered on the ground as the brothers glared at each other, before one fell, gurgling on his own blood.
His eyes went blank and still.
The winner gazed at him, with no pity or remorse. He'd known that it had to be done. Without saying a word, he wiped his sword clean before sheathing it.
He did no mourning for his lost brother, and merely remained emotionless. It was better that way, he knew. There was nothing worth mourning for with his brother. And he had to find Legolas.
He then made his way back into the castle, and towards the room where the Fellowship lay in a drugged sleep.
A smile crossed his face, as he paused outside of the door.
To be continued
