Turning on his heel at the gust of wind blowing through the spacious room,
Sarumon quickly covered one of the last Seeing Stones with the darkened
cloth, distaste in his eyes for being interrupted. Seeing it was in loyal
minion, his lips broke out into a thin grin, his posture straightening and
eyes boring mischief. "So you have returned. I expect to find the
Halflings together as well…?"
Legolas' eye twitched involuntarily, biting back a snarl. "Of course, but there was a little…" He paused, searching for words to describe the scene that had taken place in the woods. Sarumon stepped closer, the single tap of his shoe against the smooth obsidian floor almost deafening to his ears. He was forced to look into the emotionless dark orbs of Sarumon's eyes, his forehead crinkling in reaction to the glare. "Many of the army handled one of the Halflings in an offensive manner. The Halfling is not coping well with that experience, and…"
"I specifically said to leave them untouched, unharmed, and perfectly fine until they arrived here!" The Wizard bellowed, his staff connecting brutally with the side of Legolas' head. The Elf crashed against he floor, his body disturbing a few broken shards of stone, allowing them to sink into his flesh like a white-hot iron piercing through delicate fabric. Wincing, Legolas averted his stare up to his master; he was rewarded with his air passage cut off. Choking and wheezing, the Elf grabbed at his throat, finding his chest was becoming very tight around his ribs, his heart burning with an ardent fire. It then disappeared.
Sarumon watched the Elf stand shakily, slowly compose himself and turn to face the powerful Istari. Legolas bared his teeth unwillingly in hate before his mind was taken over once again by the Wizard's probing tone. "Where are the Halflings?"
"They await your call at the bottom of the stairs," Legolas replied flatly. Sarumon raised a pale finger to a lingering Orc at the large doorframes.
"Fetch the little ones," he called to the creature, a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth, "and be careful with them, if you can. I want them all bound together with rope by the hands, and not too tight. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," the beast spat as he disappeared from sight. The white- robed man ticked his head at Legolas. The Elf flexed his fists in a seemingly casual manner, but his body wanted to kill. Wanted to kill the man standing before him, wanted to kill Boromir, kill Gimli, kill Aragorn, kill the Hobbits… his mind raced in painful circles, and with every breath he sucked into his lungs, he felt the stabbing thorns jabbing at his sides in reminder of the hate pouring from his eyes, the hate in his heart. Snarling unconsciously, Legolas was grateful when his attention was adverted to the loud slapping of bare feet against cold stone echoing through the massive tower, growing louder as the Halflings neared.
Sam led the line with a grim expression masking his face. He didn't bother to glance up when he saw the cascading white robes of the Istari in a reflection of the sparkling floors; it was obvious who it was and who was there with him. He felt a hand push into his back abruptly; Merry was brawling with the Orc again. The Brandybuck had a mean temper, and a flair for announcing it quite clearly to those around him that might be the cause of his furious manner. Pippin followed silently behind his cousin, visibly shaken and glancing constantly back at Frodo, hoping to see a vivacious gleam in his eyes for comfort, yet he found none. The Ringbearer was quiet, his large blue eyes narrowed at sight of Legolas' form standing amongst the shadows.
Sarumon eyed the little ones carefully, twisting his hand around the shaft of his magickal staff, lips curling into a pleasant smile. "The irrational little Halfling with such great stamina – what is your name?"
"I would never tell you my name for anything, you soiled, shriveled newt," Merry snapped. "You don't scare me one bit, you don't – and don't you even think of getting your slimy hands on the Ring, because if you do, I vow you will be eating dirt and much more."
The Wizard's eyes twinkled with fascination. "Such boldness, my little one. Yet, I have asked you a question that I want an answer to. I am most certain you will not enjoy watching one of your friends ending up like Legolas, would you? Or, even more, yourself. I am sure your pretty little mind would be displeased with the sight of Legolas murdering the one in front of you in the most undignified manner."
Gulping down a lump of spit, the Hobbit choked out, "Meriadoc Brandybuck."
"Good." His gaze locking onto Frodo, he cooed, "And your name?"
"F… Frodo Baggins," he replied under his breath, glancing the other way when Pippin looked over his shoulder at him in horror. Sarumon nodded briefly.
"I understand you hold the One Ring."
"And you ain't getting to it no matter what!" Merry stepped forward as threateningly as he could. Sam grimaced; he felt a foreboding feeling sweeping through is heart at his friend's actions. The spunky little Hobbit was undaunted. "You're gonna hafta get by me first, because there's no way I, Merry Brandybuck, am gonna let you lay a finger on Frodo. He's…"
Merry never finished.
Pippin shrieked at the lurid sight his eyes were forced to behold. His young cousin was gripped with an unseen power, thrown from his ropes with a vicious tug and hurled into the thick obsidian walls of the room with a hollow crack. His body sank down to the floor limply, blood trickling down from the side of his mouth, his eyes open, their glass-like gaze directed on Pippin and Pippin alone. His body slumped, his head at an odd angle – his neck was obviously broken, and so they thought Meriadoc Brandybuck was no more.
Howling in agony, Pippin collapsed onto the slick floor, reaching out to his dead cousin with his outstretched hand, crying heavily and calling the name he knew so well in hopes the Hobbit will return to his embrace. When he didn't receive a response, he venomously shouted obscenities at Sarumon, at Legolas, unknowingly encroaching towards his own death. Legolas stepped swiftly out from his place in the shadows and took the Hobbit into his arms, keeping a tight hold on the struggling and hysterical Halfling, clapping his hand over his mouth in way that Pippin could not bite him, but still be able to breathe comfortably through is nose. Frodo and Sam watched with sorrow.
Sarumon glowered at the resistant Halfling, fixing his attention on the two remaining Hobbits. Sam refused to meet his eyes, but Frodo gathered up enough courage to at least look up at his staff. The Istari sighed heavily. "You have seen what will happen if you refuse my intentions, but what you have not witnessed is the worst. I am almost positive you will comply with my plans properly…"
His voice droned on but Sam was focused on Legolas and Pippin. The Elf pushed the little one back into the wall to render him unconscious, but not before Pippin uttered his lost cousin's name; he then tied his hands together, his ankles cast in iron, and his body deposited in a separate room arranged in the likes of a dungeon.
Sam found himself being hauled over to the room Pippin was just placed in, his eyes locking with the limp body of his comrade as he shuffled towards the door. Merry lay in a dark pool of his own blood, his clothes soaked with the red liquid and his features paled from the loss of blood. His stomach twisting, his head turned the other way to meet Legolas' eyes; he snarled at him. "Before I had thought you were fighting back against Sarumon's will, but I can see that you are nothing but a toy, a traitor, and a failure to the Fellowship. I hope you die tragically, slowly, and full of agony – and by Sarumon's hand," he added. Then, after an afterthought as he was pushed into the clammy cell, "You deserve it."
Legolas' eye twitched involuntarily, biting back a snarl. "Of course, but there was a little…" He paused, searching for words to describe the scene that had taken place in the woods. Sarumon stepped closer, the single tap of his shoe against the smooth obsidian floor almost deafening to his ears. He was forced to look into the emotionless dark orbs of Sarumon's eyes, his forehead crinkling in reaction to the glare. "Many of the army handled one of the Halflings in an offensive manner. The Halfling is not coping well with that experience, and…"
"I specifically said to leave them untouched, unharmed, and perfectly fine until they arrived here!" The Wizard bellowed, his staff connecting brutally with the side of Legolas' head. The Elf crashed against he floor, his body disturbing a few broken shards of stone, allowing them to sink into his flesh like a white-hot iron piercing through delicate fabric. Wincing, Legolas averted his stare up to his master; he was rewarded with his air passage cut off. Choking and wheezing, the Elf grabbed at his throat, finding his chest was becoming very tight around his ribs, his heart burning with an ardent fire. It then disappeared.
Sarumon watched the Elf stand shakily, slowly compose himself and turn to face the powerful Istari. Legolas bared his teeth unwillingly in hate before his mind was taken over once again by the Wizard's probing tone. "Where are the Halflings?"
"They await your call at the bottom of the stairs," Legolas replied flatly. Sarumon raised a pale finger to a lingering Orc at the large doorframes.
"Fetch the little ones," he called to the creature, a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth, "and be careful with them, if you can. I want them all bound together with rope by the hands, and not too tight. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," the beast spat as he disappeared from sight. The white- robed man ticked his head at Legolas. The Elf flexed his fists in a seemingly casual manner, but his body wanted to kill. Wanted to kill the man standing before him, wanted to kill Boromir, kill Gimli, kill Aragorn, kill the Hobbits… his mind raced in painful circles, and with every breath he sucked into his lungs, he felt the stabbing thorns jabbing at his sides in reminder of the hate pouring from his eyes, the hate in his heart. Snarling unconsciously, Legolas was grateful when his attention was adverted to the loud slapping of bare feet against cold stone echoing through the massive tower, growing louder as the Halflings neared.
Sam led the line with a grim expression masking his face. He didn't bother to glance up when he saw the cascading white robes of the Istari in a reflection of the sparkling floors; it was obvious who it was and who was there with him. He felt a hand push into his back abruptly; Merry was brawling with the Orc again. The Brandybuck had a mean temper, and a flair for announcing it quite clearly to those around him that might be the cause of his furious manner. Pippin followed silently behind his cousin, visibly shaken and glancing constantly back at Frodo, hoping to see a vivacious gleam in his eyes for comfort, yet he found none. The Ringbearer was quiet, his large blue eyes narrowed at sight of Legolas' form standing amongst the shadows.
Sarumon eyed the little ones carefully, twisting his hand around the shaft of his magickal staff, lips curling into a pleasant smile. "The irrational little Halfling with such great stamina – what is your name?"
"I would never tell you my name for anything, you soiled, shriveled newt," Merry snapped. "You don't scare me one bit, you don't – and don't you even think of getting your slimy hands on the Ring, because if you do, I vow you will be eating dirt and much more."
The Wizard's eyes twinkled with fascination. "Such boldness, my little one. Yet, I have asked you a question that I want an answer to. I am most certain you will not enjoy watching one of your friends ending up like Legolas, would you? Or, even more, yourself. I am sure your pretty little mind would be displeased with the sight of Legolas murdering the one in front of you in the most undignified manner."
Gulping down a lump of spit, the Hobbit choked out, "Meriadoc Brandybuck."
"Good." His gaze locking onto Frodo, he cooed, "And your name?"
"F… Frodo Baggins," he replied under his breath, glancing the other way when Pippin looked over his shoulder at him in horror. Sarumon nodded briefly.
"I understand you hold the One Ring."
"And you ain't getting to it no matter what!" Merry stepped forward as threateningly as he could. Sam grimaced; he felt a foreboding feeling sweeping through is heart at his friend's actions. The spunky little Hobbit was undaunted. "You're gonna hafta get by me first, because there's no way I, Merry Brandybuck, am gonna let you lay a finger on Frodo. He's…"
Merry never finished.
Pippin shrieked at the lurid sight his eyes were forced to behold. His young cousin was gripped with an unseen power, thrown from his ropes with a vicious tug and hurled into the thick obsidian walls of the room with a hollow crack. His body sank down to the floor limply, blood trickling down from the side of his mouth, his eyes open, their glass-like gaze directed on Pippin and Pippin alone. His body slumped, his head at an odd angle – his neck was obviously broken, and so they thought Meriadoc Brandybuck was no more.
Howling in agony, Pippin collapsed onto the slick floor, reaching out to his dead cousin with his outstretched hand, crying heavily and calling the name he knew so well in hopes the Hobbit will return to his embrace. When he didn't receive a response, he venomously shouted obscenities at Sarumon, at Legolas, unknowingly encroaching towards his own death. Legolas stepped swiftly out from his place in the shadows and took the Hobbit into his arms, keeping a tight hold on the struggling and hysterical Halfling, clapping his hand over his mouth in way that Pippin could not bite him, but still be able to breathe comfortably through is nose. Frodo and Sam watched with sorrow.
Sarumon glowered at the resistant Halfling, fixing his attention on the two remaining Hobbits. Sam refused to meet his eyes, but Frodo gathered up enough courage to at least look up at his staff. The Istari sighed heavily. "You have seen what will happen if you refuse my intentions, but what you have not witnessed is the worst. I am almost positive you will comply with my plans properly…"
His voice droned on but Sam was focused on Legolas and Pippin. The Elf pushed the little one back into the wall to render him unconscious, but not before Pippin uttered his lost cousin's name; he then tied his hands together, his ankles cast in iron, and his body deposited in a separate room arranged in the likes of a dungeon.
Sam found himself being hauled over to the room Pippin was just placed in, his eyes locking with the limp body of his comrade as he shuffled towards the door. Merry lay in a dark pool of his own blood, his clothes soaked with the red liquid and his features paled from the loss of blood. His stomach twisting, his head turned the other way to meet Legolas' eyes; he snarled at him. "Before I had thought you were fighting back against Sarumon's will, but I can see that you are nothing but a toy, a traitor, and a failure to the Fellowship. I hope you die tragically, slowly, and full of agony – and by Sarumon's hand," he added. Then, after an afterthought as he was pushed into the clammy cell, "You deserve it."