Author's Note: Okay, the first chapter was kind of bloody. Like I said, I do not hate Legolas, or harbor any other violent feelings towards him. He's just an extra who's kinda cool, in my opinion. I just like it when main characters kill each other off- like in that show, Celebrity Death Match. Please review!
Chapter Two: Sam
Frodo stayed like that for quite a while, until long after the pattering of the blood had stopped, and his friend was dead. He sobbed onto Legolas' still (and steadily colder) chest, apologizing profusely. He ignored the smell of blood filling his nostrils, covering his face, and invading his mouth.
"Why couldn't you tell me where they are? I don't know! Please, forgive me, my friend, can you do that?" was what he was murmuring when footsteps began to echo through the hallway.
Frodo froze, every muscle in his body tensing. He glanced at his sword (which was still buried in Legolas' throat) to see whether or not it was blue. It wasn't, and he relaxed a fraction of an inch. No Orcs, he thought, relieved.
He breathed for a moment, then his eyes widened.
What was wrong with him?! People were coming, and he was covered in blood leaning over the corpse of his late friend, the Elf Legolas.
The punishment would be terrible, for Legolas had been widely loved by all he helped. What would Frodo's friends think? What excuse did he have? "The ring," he murmured, tears coursing through the drying blood on his face.
"Yes, the ring burned," they would say, "…but did that mean you had to heed it? You are a murderer, Frodo Baggins!" and it would be true. True! It was, after all, his fault that Legolas lay in a puddle of his own blood, his long blond hair matted and glistening with blood, his eyes wide and unseeing, an expression of pain and disbelief on his face, and a sword buried deep into his throat.
Time seemed to have sped up, but the footsteps had simultaneously slowed down. If they continued that slowly, Frodo could have a chance to…to…
To what? He asked himself. He glanced at the sword in the Elf's throat. He shuddered (did I do that?) and reached towards it. He grasped it, and quickly pulled it out, surpressing a moan as he did so. The blade slid out easily, making a small sucking sound as it did so, and Frodo felt his stomach try to betray him.
No, He told himself, I will NOT throw up on him…that would be…that would be…
The footsteps were closer, almost outside of the door to this vast room. They came closer until they were right outside of the large doors.
They paused, then the door slowly cracked open. Frodo tried to move, but found himself paralyzed. For a brief instant, he could see himself as he would look to whoever came in, but then the vision was gone.
The door opened a bit further, and an arm carrying a lantern poked in, lighting up the room. A head followed the arm.
Frodo didn't recognize the face at first, but after a moment he did. It was a face he well recognized from the Shire.
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, then his eyes widened. They darted from Legolas' corpse to Frodo. "Mr. Frodo! Mr. FRODO?!"
Author's Note: Okay, this will make sense in the next chapter. I do have an idea of what I'm doing here, believe it or not (lol)…please review! PLEASE!