"Aragorn?"
A voice… distant, yet soft caught Aragorn's ringing ears.
"Strider!"
Strider? Frodo! Aragorn struggled to gain the consciousness he needed to reassure his comrades, but he couldn't muster any strength to even move his fingers. His mind was in a dazzling whirl over what had happened. Perhaps he was actually dead - no Man could ever live through a single arrow with deathshade milked into it, let alone two. The voices he heard were all a dream.
~***~
Rising from his obsidian throne, the lanky man stepped down delicately to his new standing servant. Circling the glowing form, he kept his head up high to show superior, studying his puppet's face. Legolas remained silent. He knew not why he was there, what he had actually done to his comrade - his lover, his life - but said nothing in fear of a threat of injury to the rest of the Fellowship. His pervious actions were questioned only in his mind.
Sarumon stood before the prince, his cold brown eyes latching with his own blue; the red had died down. Legolas glared back at the wizard, hating him with everything he had. He had a sinking feeling he was the puppeteer behind his strange actions, and his heart shattered into a million stinging pieces. The white robed man didn't falter.
"I suppose you wonder why I have brought you here, Prince of Mirkwood."
"May your corpse burn and rot in the fiery Hell that has been reserved for you," Legolas spat, cheeks flushing with anger.
Sarumon smiled gently yet wickedly, which made the Elf shudder inwardly. "No need to arrange my death in that sort," he replied silkily. "Besides, won't you please carry out the deeds I have for you?"
Legolas bared his teeth. "I would do nothing for you, you beaten up follower of Sauron," he hissed. "You have already done enough damage, killing Aragorn. What more do you want from me? Do you enjoy the pain that you see in my eyes?"
Taking up his staff in his hand, Sarumon inspected the milky ball at the top pensively. "Not entirely. Let me assure you, I will." He glared at the Elven man evenly. "Legolas, you are no longer part of the Fellowship."
"If you had done anything to hurt them…"
"Good heavens, not yet!" The Wizard of White stroked Legolas' jaw with a lean finger. "I will not be doing anything. It is you who'll do it for me."
"I shall do nothing of that sort."
"Do not be so sure of yourself," Sarumon warned, tracing a line with his sharp fingernail from the Elf's fair skin around his cheekbone to the edge of his lips, leaving a fine red line in its wake. Legolas gasped, closing his eyes tightly against the seething pain radiating from the small cut and the finger that left it. The wizard smiled. "I'm afraid you are mine now. You responded to my call perfectly, Legolas. I can sense you will be a great help to me."
Legolas felt an overwhelming gush of power strike his body inside and out, making him retreat a step back. His air path had been cut off, his heart pounded against his chest so severely he feared it might break out of his ribs. A dark red colour filled his eyes; he could see only through the red, the shapes of everything darkened and threatening. His knees gave way from under him, and as soon as he hit the floor, a cold lightening shot up through his thighs to his head, his mouth open to scream, yet nothing came out. Sarumon watched with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
"Do not fear me, Legolas. Soon you will be the greatest minion I have ever had. You will be the one to retrieve the Ring for me. Understand?"
The stunning blue eyes, now fogged with darkness, rolled back into his head. The lean hands were balled into mighty fists, the pressure he sent through his fingernails digging into his palms created half-moon pools of blood which seeped out to overflow the sides. His body was thrown forward, then forced back up to a sitting position on his ankles, his eyes coming back to their normal position in their sockets. This time, fiery red eyes glared out at the world, at Sarumon, at his throne. He could feel his hair being pulled back by an unseen power, the blonde slowly becoming a black beyond the darkest night. In a voice Legolas did not recognize, he murmured, "Yes, master."
A voice… distant, yet soft caught Aragorn's ringing ears.
"Strider!"
Strider? Frodo! Aragorn struggled to gain the consciousness he needed to reassure his comrades, but he couldn't muster any strength to even move his fingers. His mind was in a dazzling whirl over what had happened. Perhaps he was actually dead - no Man could ever live through a single arrow with deathshade milked into it, let alone two. The voices he heard were all a dream.
~***~
Rising from his obsidian throne, the lanky man stepped down delicately to his new standing servant. Circling the glowing form, he kept his head up high to show superior, studying his puppet's face. Legolas remained silent. He knew not why he was there, what he had actually done to his comrade - his lover, his life - but said nothing in fear of a threat of injury to the rest of the Fellowship. His pervious actions were questioned only in his mind.
Sarumon stood before the prince, his cold brown eyes latching with his own blue; the red had died down. Legolas glared back at the wizard, hating him with everything he had. He had a sinking feeling he was the puppeteer behind his strange actions, and his heart shattered into a million stinging pieces. The white robed man didn't falter.
"I suppose you wonder why I have brought you here, Prince of Mirkwood."
"May your corpse burn and rot in the fiery Hell that has been reserved for you," Legolas spat, cheeks flushing with anger.
Sarumon smiled gently yet wickedly, which made the Elf shudder inwardly. "No need to arrange my death in that sort," he replied silkily. "Besides, won't you please carry out the deeds I have for you?"
Legolas bared his teeth. "I would do nothing for you, you beaten up follower of Sauron," he hissed. "You have already done enough damage, killing Aragorn. What more do you want from me? Do you enjoy the pain that you see in my eyes?"
Taking up his staff in his hand, Sarumon inspected the milky ball at the top pensively. "Not entirely. Let me assure you, I will." He glared at the Elven man evenly. "Legolas, you are no longer part of the Fellowship."
"If you had done anything to hurt them…"
"Good heavens, not yet!" The Wizard of White stroked Legolas' jaw with a lean finger. "I will not be doing anything. It is you who'll do it for me."
"I shall do nothing of that sort."
"Do not be so sure of yourself," Sarumon warned, tracing a line with his sharp fingernail from the Elf's fair skin around his cheekbone to the edge of his lips, leaving a fine red line in its wake. Legolas gasped, closing his eyes tightly against the seething pain radiating from the small cut and the finger that left it. The wizard smiled. "I'm afraid you are mine now. You responded to my call perfectly, Legolas. I can sense you will be a great help to me."
Legolas felt an overwhelming gush of power strike his body inside and out, making him retreat a step back. His air path had been cut off, his heart pounded against his chest so severely he feared it might break out of his ribs. A dark red colour filled his eyes; he could see only through the red, the shapes of everything darkened and threatening. His knees gave way from under him, and as soon as he hit the floor, a cold lightening shot up through his thighs to his head, his mouth open to scream, yet nothing came out. Sarumon watched with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
"Do not fear me, Legolas. Soon you will be the greatest minion I have ever had. You will be the one to retrieve the Ring for me. Understand?"
The stunning blue eyes, now fogged with darkness, rolled back into his head. The lean hands were balled into mighty fists, the pressure he sent through his fingernails digging into his palms created half-moon pools of blood which seeped out to overflow the sides. His body was thrown forward, then forced back up to a sitting position on his ankles, his eyes coming back to their normal position in their sockets. This time, fiery red eyes glared out at the world, at Sarumon, at his throne. He could feel his hair being pulled back by an unseen power, the blonde slowly becoming a black beyond the darkest night. In a voice Legolas did not recognize, he murmured, "Yes, master."