Aranel threw her dress over her head and crept back into the alcove behind
the waterfall. Belegtathar would be angry to find that the prisoner
escaped, especially what with all the trouble that was soon to be upon
them. The Orc drums beat louder, yet Belegtathar did not move. He stood
there, looking up at the trees with disinterest, as if he were waiting for
someone.
There was movement in the distance. And Aranel nearly screamed. Out from behind one of the trees came an Orc. It walked up casually behind Belegtathar, without him even turning. The Orc drew his weapon, a long sword with a notched blade. He raised his arm and prepared to swing.
Aranel was about to shout out a warning to Belegtathar, when the Orc's blade came crashing down, and slammed itself into a nearby tree.
"Talk fast, I'd sooner kill you than stand here and brave your hideous stench," Belegtathar sneered. The Orc growled.
"Everything is as planned," He hissed. "I have many of my finest troops attacking the royal home as we speak." Aranel gasped. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "And what of the prisoner?"
"Long gone," Belegtathar answered. "Long, long gone."
The Orc nodded, grabbed his sword, then ran as fast as he could away from the site. Belegtathar still stood there, and still stared up at the trees just as he had before, as if nothing had taken place.
Aranel found an inopportune time to slip on a loose rock, and she fell, right out from behind the waterfall. Belegtathar's eyes bolted to her like lightning.
"Aranel!"
"Belegtathar, what was that?" Aranel pleaded, hoping that she had somehow misunderstood what had just taken place. Or at least imagined the whole thing. He was walking toward her, and Aranel got shakily up to her feet.
"You shouldn't be here," Belegtathar practically growled. Then he pounced. He jumped at Aranel, one hand went over her mouth, while the other pulled out a sharp dagger. He slammed her into the rocks beside the water, then fell to the ground. Aranel let out a muffled scream. She kicked at him, and struggled as best as she could, but Belegtathar far overpowered her. He brought the knife down at her, but she moved just in time. She grabbed his wrist and tried to turn the knife back at him, but he just responded with hitting her hard on the side of the head. Aranel wriggled as much as she could, kicking at him and punching him, and trying her hardest to roll him off of her.
He got up to his knees, still pinning her to the ground, and slapped her again with all his might. He rose and kicked her. Aranel was completely dazed; she could barely cling on to consciousness. Then, for a split moment, she found herself. She kicked up, hard, catching the back of his knee. Belegtathar went down on one foot, and Aranel took the opportunity to fling herself at him. Aranel finally had the upper hand. Belegtathar was slammed to the ground, and Aranel grabbed the knife from his startled grasp. She threw it down at him, but stopped just before it entered flesh. Blood flowed from the tip of the knife; it had scratched him just enough to draw blood.
"Do it," he said. But Aranel could not will her arms to lower any further. The face that stared up at her was evil; it had changed since she had last looked upon it. These were not the features of Belegtathar, but of something else. Something that had consumed who the great elf once was. So then why did Aranel find it so hard to kill it?
"Weak," the monster said, shaking his head. And with that, he grabbed her arm, and bent it backward, pointing the knife at Aranel's heart. They paused, and neither drew breath. Then she did something that Belegtathar did not expect. She brought the knife toward her, pulling free of Belegtathar's grasp, but missing her own skin by a mere hair. She turned the blade and struck Belegathar in the chest. A look of shock crossed his face as Aranel twisted the handle.
She looked away. She couldn't stand the gaze of his eyes looking at her as his life slipped away.
She looked up, and looked straight into the eyes of Legolas.
There was movement in the distance. And Aranel nearly screamed. Out from behind one of the trees came an Orc. It walked up casually behind Belegtathar, without him even turning. The Orc drew his weapon, a long sword with a notched blade. He raised his arm and prepared to swing.
Aranel was about to shout out a warning to Belegtathar, when the Orc's blade came crashing down, and slammed itself into a nearby tree.
"Talk fast, I'd sooner kill you than stand here and brave your hideous stench," Belegtathar sneered. The Orc growled.
"Everything is as planned," He hissed. "I have many of my finest troops attacking the royal home as we speak." Aranel gasped. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "And what of the prisoner?"
"Long gone," Belegtathar answered. "Long, long gone."
The Orc nodded, grabbed his sword, then ran as fast as he could away from the site. Belegtathar still stood there, and still stared up at the trees just as he had before, as if nothing had taken place.
Aranel found an inopportune time to slip on a loose rock, and she fell, right out from behind the waterfall. Belegtathar's eyes bolted to her like lightning.
"Aranel!"
"Belegtathar, what was that?" Aranel pleaded, hoping that she had somehow misunderstood what had just taken place. Or at least imagined the whole thing. He was walking toward her, and Aranel got shakily up to her feet.
"You shouldn't be here," Belegtathar practically growled. Then he pounced. He jumped at Aranel, one hand went over her mouth, while the other pulled out a sharp dagger. He slammed her into the rocks beside the water, then fell to the ground. Aranel let out a muffled scream. She kicked at him, and struggled as best as she could, but Belegtathar far overpowered her. He brought the knife down at her, but she moved just in time. She grabbed his wrist and tried to turn the knife back at him, but he just responded with hitting her hard on the side of the head. Aranel wriggled as much as she could, kicking at him and punching him, and trying her hardest to roll him off of her.
He got up to his knees, still pinning her to the ground, and slapped her again with all his might. He rose and kicked her. Aranel was completely dazed; she could barely cling on to consciousness. Then, for a split moment, she found herself. She kicked up, hard, catching the back of his knee. Belegtathar went down on one foot, and Aranel took the opportunity to fling herself at him. Aranel finally had the upper hand. Belegtathar was slammed to the ground, and Aranel grabbed the knife from his startled grasp. She threw it down at him, but stopped just before it entered flesh. Blood flowed from the tip of the knife; it had scratched him just enough to draw blood.
"Do it," he said. But Aranel could not will her arms to lower any further. The face that stared up at her was evil; it had changed since she had last looked upon it. These were not the features of Belegtathar, but of something else. Something that had consumed who the great elf once was. So then why did Aranel find it so hard to kill it?
"Weak," the monster said, shaking his head. And with that, he grabbed her arm, and bent it backward, pointing the knife at Aranel's heart. They paused, and neither drew breath. Then she did something that Belegtathar did not expect. She brought the knife toward her, pulling free of Belegtathar's grasp, but missing her own skin by a mere hair. She turned the blade and struck Belegathar in the chest. A look of shock crossed his face as Aranel twisted the handle.
She looked away. She couldn't stand the gaze of his eyes looking at her as his life slipped away.
She looked up, and looked straight into the eyes of Legolas.