Tiredly curling into a slimy corner, Sam tugged at the chains enclosing his
feet with a weak pull, his back finally slumping against the cold stones of
the wall behind him in defeat. Frodo sat not too far off from him, head
bowed and hands lying limply in the soles of his feet. The Ringbearer has
his eyes focused on the ground, refusing to blink or shift his gaze
elsewhere. Pippin was in the worst shape. The Took lay in a crumpled heap
in the center of the cell, his breathing heavy and coming in harsh gasps
that made Sam flinch. He figured that the young Took had been under enough
stress in three days then needed, and Pippin was indeed the first candidate
to crack before the rest.
Sam sighed softly. "Well, at least we have not given in," he murmured, mostly directed to himself. He had thought that his comment was mental – he was surprised when Frodo replied in a bitter tone.
"Yes, we have not given in, but in a matter of time each and every one of us will fall victim to this… this treacherous matter," the Baggins snapped, glaring at his gardener from under his eyebrows. "We have lost Merry – we shan't worry!" he growled sarcastically. "No worries whatsoever, we are still alive and Pippin is just on the border of frantic and even suicide. Legolas has faithfully rebuked against us and is working for that slime ball of a Wizard, and we do not even know how the others are doing. Oh, and have I forgotten? Pippin was molested, nearly raped, and now Merry has been murdered right before his eyes. No worries indeed," he finished with a sour note, angrily yanking on his bindings. Sam gawked.
"Mr. Frodo, I did not intend for that to be an oral thought," he tried to explain. "Even so, I would never want it to appear offensive."
"Then mind your wording," Frodo mumbled. Sliding down to slouch against the floor and wall, he added, "And feel free to slap me whenever you feel like it."
Shaking his head, the Gamgee refused his offer. "I am afraid I must resist that," he said. "I would never forgive myself for taking part in that action."
"Then may I?"
Frodo snapped his head up in Pippin's direction when a barely audible voice muffled by clothes drifted by his ears. Sam sat up straight, his eyes locked on the stirring body. "Pippin, are you okay?"
"My head," Pippin groaned, dragging himself into a sitting position. Cradling his forehead in his hands, he asked, "What happened?"
Casting a careful glance in Sam's direction, Frodo answered, "Too much."
"Indeed." Groggily lifting his head to look at Frodo, he whispered, "Where's Merry?"
Silence encased them. Sam fidgeted, suddenly finding his toes to be very interesting. He didn't know if Frodo was going to give him the blunt truth, or if he was left with the privilege. But Frodo didn't appear to be in the mood for talking about Merry's unfortunate passing, so he decided it was he who was to remind the little Hobbit. Picking at the thick hair coating his the top of his feet, he muttered, "Dead."
Both expected the younger one to burst into tears again, but Pippin merely nodded. "So it wasn't just my imagination…" Blinking back the stinging he felt in his eyes, he rubbed the side of his head wearily. "And I had the weirdest dream…" He laughed hollowly. "Nevermind."
Frodo sighed again. "There must be a way out of this hellhole," he remarked, looking around. "There must be."
"Nay, a Wizard can be crafty in the makings of his dungeons," Sam reminded him. "I have heard that they take careful planning into their murky realms, and there is usually not a single entrance out than the way one has gotten in."
"Then we will sit here until we rot."
"Basically."
~***~
Legolas stormed furiously through Isengard's premises, shoving aside anything that came into his way. His mind was focused primarily on what just has happened in that fateful hour, and the rage was building up rapidly inside his body. He needed to kill, he needed to hate. He felt just that. What he needed now was something to hunt… something to hunt… something to…
The Fellowship.
Smirking devilishly to himself, he took off in a mad dash for the last place he had attacked his… friends… knowing that Sarumon would most likely like for him to do away with those pests. He could cover the distance in no time, now that he was traveling in solitude. His swift, agile legs brought him to the outskirts of the darkened land in a small amount of time, his hair kept back in a high, tight ponytail; he could feel the slapping of his blood-moistened hair against his neck, his fists flexing unconsciously as he ran faster when the scent of Aragorn, whose blood had not left his hands, grew stronger with a slowing pace.
He felt an unwanted, unexpected reminder beating in his chest. Aragorn was his lover, was he not? Legolas thought this over to himself, his quickness leisurely slowing down. No, Aragorn was nothing more but a nuisance – he was just a liability. He tried to protect the Halflings from his army, and even slain many of them. Aragorn was absolutely nothing of value. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Kapoot.
Which is why he had to die.
Nodding in confidence to himself, Legolas gained the speed he had lost once again. Aragorn had to die. And so did the two others in his little party. All of them would perish under his hand. All of them.
"Going somewhere, Legolas?"
The Elf ceased his steps immediately, the voice of his master unnaturally loud at his right. Turning to see the Istari standing amongst the thicket of trees, he glared at the unwanted intrusion. "Yes."
"And where might that be?"
"The Fellowship. I have intentions for them."
"Ah, yes, but I do as well."
Legolas growled. "I want to see them die. They *will* die under *my* control and will."
Sarumon ran his hand slowly down from the crown of his staff to a comfortable position in the middle. "In a matter of time, they will. Why must you go off and kill them on the spot while we may peck at their minds in the meantime?"
"Because *I* would rather chase them and see them grow tired, too tired to fight so it would be more than just an easy kill. I have a crude purpose for one of them," he replied sharply. "I have a debate to settle with the leader, Aragorn, that has nothing to do with you or your plans."
"What a coincidence, Aragorn is in my plans as well," Sarumon responded in a delighted tone. Then he grew dark. "But you may not mettle too roughly with him. Play with him a bit, but nothing more. Understood? He is to be *alive* by the time he and the rest reach Isengard, or else I have intentions of my *own* for you."
Wincing involuntarily, Legolas had to agree. "Fine. I will follow through with *your* scheme." *For now* he added mentally, sneering at his master. Sarumon, to his relief, seemed not to bother to break into his head to hear that.
"Then enjoy yourself, Legolas. And remember – he is to be ALIVE."
"Of course, my lord," Legolas replied acidly. Bowing and sprinting off, Legolas grinned secretively to himself. "I would not even *dare* to disobey you."
Sam sighed softly. "Well, at least we have not given in," he murmured, mostly directed to himself. He had thought that his comment was mental – he was surprised when Frodo replied in a bitter tone.
"Yes, we have not given in, but in a matter of time each and every one of us will fall victim to this… this treacherous matter," the Baggins snapped, glaring at his gardener from under his eyebrows. "We have lost Merry – we shan't worry!" he growled sarcastically. "No worries whatsoever, we are still alive and Pippin is just on the border of frantic and even suicide. Legolas has faithfully rebuked against us and is working for that slime ball of a Wizard, and we do not even know how the others are doing. Oh, and have I forgotten? Pippin was molested, nearly raped, and now Merry has been murdered right before his eyes. No worries indeed," he finished with a sour note, angrily yanking on his bindings. Sam gawked.
"Mr. Frodo, I did not intend for that to be an oral thought," he tried to explain. "Even so, I would never want it to appear offensive."
"Then mind your wording," Frodo mumbled. Sliding down to slouch against the floor and wall, he added, "And feel free to slap me whenever you feel like it."
Shaking his head, the Gamgee refused his offer. "I am afraid I must resist that," he said. "I would never forgive myself for taking part in that action."
"Then may I?"
Frodo snapped his head up in Pippin's direction when a barely audible voice muffled by clothes drifted by his ears. Sam sat up straight, his eyes locked on the stirring body. "Pippin, are you okay?"
"My head," Pippin groaned, dragging himself into a sitting position. Cradling his forehead in his hands, he asked, "What happened?"
Casting a careful glance in Sam's direction, Frodo answered, "Too much."
"Indeed." Groggily lifting his head to look at Frodo, he whispered, "Where's Merry?"
Silence encased them. Sam fidgeted, suddenly finding his toes to be very interesting. He didn't know if Frodo was going to give him the blunt truth, or if he was left with the privilege. But Frodo didn't appear to be in the mood for talking about Merry's unfortunate passing, so he decided it was he who was to remind the little Hobbit. Picking at the thick hair coating his the top of his feet, he muttered, "Dead."
Both expected the younger one to burst into tears again, but Pippin merely nodded. "So it wasn't just my imagination…" Blinking back the stinging he felt in his eyes, he rubbed the side of his head wearily. "And I had the weirdest dream…" He laughed hollowly. "Nevermind."
Frodo sighed again. "There must be a way out of this hellhole," he remarked, looking around. "There must be."
"Nay, a Wizard can be crafty in the makings of his dungeons," Sam reminded him. "I have heard that they take careful planning into their murky realms, and there is usually not a single entrance out than the way one has gotten in."
"Then we will sit here until we rot."
"Basically."
~***~
Legolas stormed furiously through Isengard's premises, shoving aside anything that came into his way. His mind was focused primarily on what just has happened in that fateful hour, and the rage was building up rapidly inside his body. He needed to kill, he needed to hate. He felt just that. What he needed now was something to hunt… something to hunt… something to…
The Fellowship.
Smirking devilishly to himself, he took off in a mad dash for the last place he had attacked his… friends… knowing that Sarumon would most likely like for him to do away with those pests. He could cover the distance in no time, now that he was traveling in solitude. His swift, agile legs brought him to the outskirts of the darkened land in a small amount of time, his hair kept back in a high, tight ponytail; he could feel the slapping of his blood-moistened hair against his neck, his fists flexing unconsciously as he ran faster when the scent of Aragorn, whose blood had not left his hands, grew stronger with a slowing pace.
He felt an unwanted, unexpected reminder beating in his chest. Aragorn was his lover, was he not? Legolas thought this over to himself, his quickness leisurely slowing down. No, Aragorn was nothing more but a nuisance – he was just a liability. He tried to protect the Halflings from his army, and even slain many of them. Aragorn was absolutely nothing of value. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Kapoot.
Which is why he had to die.
Nodding in confidence to himself, Legolas gained the speed he had lost once again. Aragorn had to die. And so did the two others in his little party. All of them would perish under his hand. All of them.
"Going somewhere, Legolas?"
The Elf ceased his steps immediately, the voice of his master unnaturally loud at his right. Turning to see the Istari standing amongst the thicket of trees, he glared at the unwanted intrusion. "Yes."
"And where might that be?"
"The Fellowship. I have intentions for them."
"Ah, yes, but I do as well."
Legolas growled. "I want to see them die. They *will* die under *my* control and will."
Sarumon ran his hand slowly down from the crown of his staff to a comfortable position in the middle. "In a matter of time, they will. Why must you go off and kill them on the spot while we may peck at their minds in the meantime?"
"Because *I* would rather chase them and see them grow tired, too tired to fight so it would be more than just an easy kill. I have a crude purpose for one of them," he replied sharply. "I have a debate to settle with the leader, Aragorn, that has nothing to do with you or your plans."
"What a coincidence, Aragorn is in my plans as well," Sarumon responded in a delighted tone. Then he grew dark. "But you may not mettle too roughly with him. Play with him a bit, but nothing more. Understood? He is to be *alive* by the time he and the rest reach Isengard, or else I have intentions of my *own* for you."
Wincing involuntarily, Legolas had to agree. "Fine. I will follow through with *your* scheme." *For now* he added mentally, sneering at his master. Sarumon, to his relief, seemed not to bother to break into his head to hear that.
"Then enjoy yourself, Legolas. And remember – he is to be ALIVE."
"Of course, my lord," Legolas replied acidly. Bowing and sprinting off, Legolas grinned secretively to himself. "I would not even *dare* to disobey you."