Sorry for the delay folks, but I told ya, those damned orderlies
never leave me alone. And I swear to God, they sabotaged all the computers
so that they shut down before I could save any of the chapters that I
wrote! Oh well...
Anyhoo, I'm back now! Mwa-ha-ha! See, I changed the rating again, because of a morbid feeling that I had one day and a certain scene coming up here. *cough, rape, lots of bloodshed, cough* Just wanted to be safe.
All right, enough jabber: on with the show!!!
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Clulyan brought his tearful gaze up to meet Melime's. She still stood right beside him, but now he noticed that her eyes no longer seemed frightened. In fact, they were gleaming with a new and strange light. They flicked for a split second to her left, then returned to staring down at him.
The Dwarf's face continued to hold the look of confusion, so Melime repeated her action of looking to her left twice more. He finally took the hint and followed her eyes to the space over her shoulder. One brow cocked upwards in a gesture of understanding, and she watched as his hand went down to the ax that lay dormant beside his knee. It took all of her will to not move as she felt the hot damp breath of death on her neck until Clulyan gave her a quick nod.
In barely a fraction of a second, Melime was on her side on the ground, Clulyan above her, swinging his ax like a madman. And in many ways, he was just that: mad. Mad with anger and grief.
The orc that had been creeping up on her from behind fell with a screech, calling his companions to battle. Hundreds of black bodies swarmed into the hall in response. The clamoring and clattering of their armor and weapons was enough to make Melime's head explode. She sprang into action for the simple sake of relieving her sensitive ears from the unbearable roar.
The pair let out their own battle-cries and rushed to meet the filthy, blood-thirsty army. Clulayn had since recovered another ax from one of his fallen comrades and had become a tornado of flying chainmail and Dwarf weaponry. Anything that came within two feet of the four-foot-tall being was caught by him and thrown across the room only to crash into one of the walls, dead.
While Clulyan used only his axes, Melime lashed out with everything that she had. Arms, legs, teeth, and even her head became weapons of mass destruction. She kicked, bit, punched, elbowed, and head-butted any and everything.
She reached back and, with a quick flick of her wrists, unsheathed her twin daggers.
*I have a present for you, Melime.*
It was because of the close-combat that she had thrown herself into, Melime resolved that it would be the best thing to use them instead of her bow. The only reason that she disliked the Elven knives was that she believed that she was far less skillful with these, and hardly had any practice with them. On the contrary, she quickly found that she could manuever the twisting and twirling blades with far more agility than she could have ever dreamed.
*See? They're exactly the same...*
Her first victim barely saw her before she cut its windpipe and moved on to the next one. Melime found herself easily hacking her way through the sea of dark bodies. She carried her father's grace and accuracy, and it showed in her combat skills. If one watched her in action, one could compare the young Elven princess to a ballet dancer. It was in this time that she allowed her mind to take her away to a place where only Elves dwelt without breaking her concentration on her enemies.
"Now... Duck, kick, up, strike! Good!" The small child standing next to the straw dummy relaxed her muscles and peeped out from underneath the blindfold that hid her bright blue eyes. Her proud father knelt beside her, smiling.
"It was good?" she asked hopefully.
The blonde Elf scooped his young daughter into his arms and gently removed the cloth from her head. "It was perfect, lapse *baby*. If you keep practicing, you'll be able to handle anything even better than I!" She giggled and nuzzled her cheek into the smooth flesh at his neck.
Legolas set Melime down on the grass and said, "I have a present for you, Melime." Slowly, he produced a set of twin Elven knives from his quiver. "These are for you. One is yours, the other is mine. See? They're exactly the same..." He placed them into her small hands.
Melime couldn't breathe. Surely he couldn't be giving her his own dagger as a gift! She rubbed her thumb against the ivory handles and gave them both a good spin in her fingers. Incredibly light and beautiful. The sunlight glinted off the steel, turning the Elvish inscriptions on the blade a dazzling silver. She loved it.
Clulyan paused for a brief moment to catch his breath and see how Melime was doing. He found her in the seemingly endless herd of orcs, chopping away like a natural born assassin. Even from a distance, he could see that her eyes had a faraway, almost blank, look to them. She was emotionless, showing neither passion, nor anger, nor fear for what she was doing. Indeed, it looked to him as though her every move had been choreographed, and that she was merely another actress going through her daily routine.
Unfortunately, his fascination for her flawless performance in the fight had distracted him from his own struggle. Before Clulyan even knew what was happening, his ax clattered to the stone floor. He looked up at his attacker just as his other arm was twisted round behind his back.
"MELIME!" A voice shattered the calming silence of the forest of southern Greenwood. Melime spun around.
To her absolute horror, instead of seeing her home, there was only a dark cave, smelling of decaying flesh and death. Instead of a small girl with her father, there was only a full-grown Elf, surrounded by creatures that could have been raised from the deepest pits of hell itself. And in the midst of the vile beings, there was a single Dwarf, crying out helplessly. "Meli-" The shout for help was cut short by a blow to the poor thing's head.
Wanya! *Go!* a voice that sounded remarkably similar to her father's echoed in her mind.
"Clulyan!" Melime broke from her trance and dove mindlessly into the pile of orcs that had assaulted her friend. She sliced through them, drenching herself in their thick black blood. She fought through the mess with her hands until she felt something furry. Then, wrapping her hand in a good hunk of it, she pulled with all of her might. "Not the beard..." she heard a muffled voice mumble from under the foul-smelling bodies.
She was truly alone now. Clulyan, who she had just dragged out from under the orcs, was unconscious. She had no back-up, yet there were still at least a hundred orcs to be slain. She could only remember one other time in her life that she'd ever felt so hopelessly lost.
But out-numbered as she was, Melime refused to let herself or her newfound friend die. She vowed that Death would take her prisoner before they ever could. With a final glance down at Clulyan, she readied herself for the attack that would surely follow.
Although the young Elf put up a good fight, there were simply too many of the enemy. They had formed a cricle around their two victims and were only kept from advancing by the rotating Elven blades. Anything that dared to move an inch closer to her was caught by either her left or right arm. Then one certain orc grew brave and managed to slip in closer and catch the Elf on her blindside by her right arm. Before she had a chance to react, it bent her wrist and elbow up, snapping the bone. Melime gritted her teeth to keep from screaming, but dropped her other dagger in order to claw at her arm in agony.
It was all downhill from there. After having her arm shattered and rendering herself defenseless, the orcs found it rather easy to take her down. Her legs were kicked out from under her, then a rain of blows came down on the disabled Elf. A fist blackened her eye, while a foot lodged her jaw out of place. She tried in vain to reach any one of her weapons. Finally, a swift, hard blow to the back of her head with her own dagger hilt introduced her into a welcomed oblivion.
"ATAR!" the sixteen-year-old Elf shouted, trying desperately to free herself from the clutches of the Men. Tears leaked down her dirty face, creating intricate patterns across her cheeks. They couldn't do this. Not to them...
Another snap. Another scream. Another burst of white pain flashing across his back. The Prince of Mirkwood made no sound as his torture continued. It was worse having Melime there. Her cries were enough to make him beg for mercy on the spot. Every time the whip came down on his milky skin, leaving a bright red streak of blood, she would let loose the sound that their captors longed to hear.
Hadn't they tortured the two of them enough? Hadn't she seen enough- if not too much to bear? Hadn't her father felt enough? Why did they persist? Why would anyone ever want to destroy something- someone- so beautiful? All of these questions and more ran through the young princess' head while she could only watch helplessly as Legolas was flogged.
If she could have broken free, she would have taken a knife to every one of their throats. Like most Elves, Melime despised seeing that vital spark known as life being torn away from its former owner, but staring at her father brought a whole new idea to her mind. These Men deserved to die.
Blood seemed to be flowing from every inch of Legolas' body. She couldn't even begin to count how many slashes were on his back. His lips were split, his eye swollen shut. Blood sprinkled the ground as another punch was laid on his jaw. His once golden hair was matted and tinged with red. She thought she could see part of one of his ribs sticking out of his side, and just thinking about how much pain he was in made her sick. But by far the worst thing was the crimson that had pooled between his slightly parted thighs.
"Stop it! You're killing him!" Her wild pleas went unanswered as another loud crack sent a shudder through Legolas' body. "Please! Stop..." Her voice became a loud sob. But instead of discouraging the Men from continuing to torture the blonde Elf, it seemed to enliven the dying interest.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity to the two immortals, the leader, known only to Melime as Guryn, called out for them to stop. Melime struggled in vain to escape and to run to her beaten father whose nude body was hanging by his slender wrists tethered to a tree limb above his head.
Guryn motioned for them to cut him down, and her heart skipped a beat. Maybe they really had tired of their sick games, she thought. Perhaps they would let them go. But how would she get her father back home? They were miles away from any Elven residence, and their horses had been frightened off hours ago. Even if Isilme and Ilma returned, surely he would not be able to ride.
Two men seized her father by his bound arms and dragged him into a kneeling position like Melime's. His eyes met hers. They carried a look of fear but also a strange sort of comfort.
That repose from her terror was only momentarily lived, however. Guryn suddenly appeared at her side. He took her chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger. She could see the same desire burning deep within his eyes as when he had looked upon her father for the first time. Panic welled up in her throat.
"Well now, isn't this one an exquisite little beauty? Wouldn't you agree, my fair prince?" He hissed the last three words out, turning toward Legolas. "I wonder..." He jerked her face closer to his, so that she could smell the pungent odor of liquor on his breath. "I wonder if she's as good as her father."
Frightened as she was, Melime would never tolerate that sort of comment from anyone. She yanked her head away from his grip and spat into his face. But while the princess had hoped for any expression of displeasure, the Man wiped the saliva from the corner of his eye and began to laugh.
"Feisty, aren't we, my pretty?" His hand crushed her raven locks when he snatched her by the back of her head. "But we shall soon remedy that," he added in a harsh whisper.
With that, Guryn flung her body to the ground, then pounced on her like a crazed animal in heat. Melime's body was crushed under his. Rough brown hands tore at her thin bright green tunic until it was over her head. Two more hands closed upon her wrists to hold her down as the leader went down to the darker leggings...
Legolas watched Cuthien having her clothing ripped away from her in horror. The splitting image of his partially unclad wife kicked, punched, and bit at her and his attackers. Weak as he was, the Elf would not just stand there and watch his only daughter receiving the same treatment as he had just hours ago.
Using what last bits of energy he had left, Legolas swung his legs up and proceeded to "climb" the tree. He straddled the branch that kept him from using his hands and hurriedly untied the knot from around the sturdy limb. He jumped to another limb closer to them and thanked Valar that Elves were so light, that his daughter had lungs the size of Gondor, and that Men were so stupid as to turn all of their attention to his screaming child instead of keeping an eye on him.
Taking careful aim, he vaulted forward, throwing his body on top of the filthy Man that had unsuccessfully been trying to remove Melime's leggings. He caught Guryn by surprise and somehow managed to knock him to the side.
Melime opened her eyes when the weight on her legs was suddenly lifted. Her father was loose and scrambling to his feet. "Nornoro, Melime! *Run, Melime!*" he ordered before being tackled around his waist by Guryn.
She gathered what was left of her tunic to her body and made a mad dash into the dense forest. She could hear sounds of the struggle behind her. Angry shouting, clanking of weapons. Suddenly, there was a high, blood- chilling shriek of agony that would make the strongest person cringe in discomfort. Melime froze and listened hard, straining her pointed ears for the slightest noise other than her own rapid breaths. She knew full well that only Elves had that sort of a scream.
Yet she still possessed some faith in her heart that her father had only been wounded, and she found herself venturing back to the clearing, but in the safety of the trees. What she found there snuffed out what small glimmer of hope she had left. The Men were crowded in a circle around snow- white body lying in a pool of dark blood. She could see even from a distance that under the thin veil of fine blond hair, the bright blue eyes that she had cherised so greatly were shut, and she knew deep down that they would never open again.
She heard Guryn's gruff, slightly slurred voice say, "Throw the body in the river. Find the girl. Kill her." His sentence might have frightened her if her heart wasn't already full of hate and grief.
How could they do this? How could anyone ever want to hurt Legolas? Who had he ever wronged? Why did they kill him?
"Why?" she whispered.
Then something happened. Melime looked down at her own battered body, then down at her father's which was unceremoniously tossed into the river, and everything that Legolas had taught her about forgiveness was gone. The thread of kindness that she had left was snapped, leaving her only with an untolerable hatred.
These Men deserved to die...
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And now, a word to my lovely reviewers (all of whom I love vewwy vewwy much!):
~oremis~ Heh-heh, I always thought the idea of Gimli not being able to find the entrance to the mines kind of funny, so I thought his son should have the same, ahem, qualities. I put a little Legolas in here too, being the sweet lil' father figure that he is... Okay, so maybe it wasn't in the best of ways, but trust me, it'll work into the story! *Keep this hush-hush, but that's not the end of everyone's favorite elf* Whoops... I didn't just say that out loud did I? *grins mischievously* Thanks for all your reviews!!!!
~TrueGirl~ Aww! *hugs* Thanks for putting this baby in your favorites! It made this little psycho feel very special!
~abcdefgtwinkletwinkle~ Ah thank you for the compliment, and don't you worry. I have no plans of letting this story die, so looks like you all are stuck with me for a very long time...
Anyone else care to share? Please do! I'll love you too and post your name with my response down here!
Anyhoo, I'm back now! Mwa-ha-ha! See, I changed the rating again, because of a morbid feeling that I had one day and a certain scene coming up here. *cough, rape, lots of bloodshed, cough* Just wanted to be safe.
All right, enough jabber: on with the show!!!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Clulyan brought his tearful gaze up to meet Melime's. She still stood right beside him, but now he noticed that her eyes no longer seemed frightened. In fact, they were gleaming with a new and strange light. They flicked for a split second to her left, then returned to staring down at him.
The Dwarf's face continued to hold the look of confusion, so Melime repeated her action of looking to her left twice more. He finally took the hint and followed her eyes to the space over her shoulder. One brow cocked upwards in a gesture of understanding, and she watched as his hand went down to the ax that lay dormant beside his knee. It took all of her will to not move as she felt the hot damp breath of death on her neck until Clulyan gave her a quick nod.
In barely a fraction of a second, Melime was on her side on the ground, Clulyan above her, swinging his ax like a madman. And in many ways, he was just that: mad. Mad with anger and grief.
The orc that had been creeping up on her from behind fell with a screech, calling his companions to battle. Hundreds of black bodies swarmed into the hall in response. The clamoring and clattering of their armor and weapons was enough to make Melime's head explode. She sprang into action for the simple sake of relieving her sensitive ears from the unbearable roar.
The pair let out their own battle-cries and rushed to meet the filthy, blood-thirsty army. Clulayn had since recovered another ax from one of his fallen comrades and had become a tornado of flying chainmail and Dwarf weaponry. Anything that came within two feet of the four-foot-tall being was caught by him and thrown across the room only to crash into one of the walls, dead.
While Clulyan used only his axes, Melime lashed out with everything that she had. Arms, legs, teeth, and even her head became weapons of mass destruction. She kicked, bit, punched, elbowed, and head-butted any and everything.
She reached back and, with a quick flick of her wrists, unsheathed her twin daggers.
*I have a present for you, Melime.*
It was because of the close-combat that she had thrown herself into, Melime resolved that it would be the best thing to use them instead of her bow. The only reason that she disliked the Elven knives was that she believed that she was far less skillful with these, and hardly had any practice with them. On the contrary, she quickly found that she could manuever the twisting and twirling blades with far more agility than she could have ever dreamed.
*See? They're exactly the same...*
Her first victim barely saw her before she cut its windpipe and moved on to the next one. Melime found herself easily hacking her way through the sea of dark bodies. She carried her father's grace and accuracy, and it showed in her combat skills. If one watched her in action, one could compare the young Elven princess to a ballet dancer. It was in this time that she allowed her mind to take her away to a place where only Elves dwelt without breaking her concentration on her enemies.
"Now... Duck, kick, up, strike! Good!" The small child standing next to the straw dummy relaxed her muscles and peeped out from underneath the blindfold that hid her bright blue eyes. Her proud father knelt beside her, smiling.
"It was good?" she asked hopefully.
The blonde Elf scooped his young daughter into his arms and gently removed the cloth from her head. "It was perfect, lapse *baby*. If you keep practicing, you'll be able to handle anything even better than I!" She giggled and nuzzled her cheek into the smooth flesh at his neck.
Legolas set Melime down on the grass and said, "I have a present for you, Melime." Slowly, he produced a set of twin Elven knives from his quiver. "These are for you. One is yours, the other is mine. See? They're exactly the same..." He placed them into her small hands.
Melime couldn't breathe. Surely he couldn't be giving her his own dagger as a gift! She rubbed her thumb against the ivory handles and gave them both a good spin in her fingers. Incredibly light and beautiful. The sunlight glinted off the steel, turning the Elvish inscriptions on the blade a dazzling silver. She loved it.
Clulyan paused for a brief moment to catch his breath and see how Melime was doing. He found her in the seemingly endless herd of orcs, chopping away like a natural born assassin. Even from a distance, he could see that her eyes had a faraway, almost blank, look to them. She was emotionless, showing neither passion, nor anger, nor fear for what she was doing. Indeed, it looked to him as though her every move had been choreographed, and that she was merely another actress going through her daily routine.
Unfortunately, his fascination for her flawless performance in the fight had distracted him from his own struggle. Before Clulyan even knew what was happening, his ax clattered to the stone floor. He looked up at his attacker just as his other arm was twisted round behind his back.
"MELIME!" A voice shattered the calming silence of the forest of southern Greenwood. Melime spun around.
To her absolute horror, instead of seeing her home, there was only a dark cave, smelling of decaying flesh and death. Instead of a small girl with her father, there was only a full-grown Elf, surrounded by creatures that could have been raised from the deepest pits of hell itself. And in the midst of the vile beings, there was a single Dwarf, crying out helplessly. "Meli-" The shout for help was cut short by a blow to the poor thing's head.
Wanya! *Go!* a voice that sounded remarkably similar to her father's echoed in her mind.
"Clulyan!" Melime broke from her trance and dove mindlessly into the pile of orcs that had assaulted her friend. She sliced through them, drenching herself in their thick black blood. She fought through the mess with her hands until she felt something furry. Then, wrapping her hand in a good hunk of it, she pulled with all of her might. "Not the beard..." she heard a muffled voice mumble from under the foul-smelling bodies.
She was truly alone now. Clulyan, who she had just dragged out from under the orcs, was unconscious. She had no back-up, yet there were still at least a hundred orcs to be slain. She could only remember one other time in her life that she'd ever felt so hopelessly lost.
But out-numbered as she was, Melime refused to let herself or her newfound friend die. She vowed that Death would take her prisoner before they ever could. With a final glance down at Clulyan, she readied herself for the attack that would surely follow.
Although the young Elf put up a good fight, there were simply too many of the enemy. They had formed a cricle around their two victims and were only kept from advancing by the rotating Elven blades. Anything that dared to move an inch closer to her was caught by either her left or right arm. Then one certain orc grew brave and managed to slip in closer and catch the Elf on her blindside by her right arm. Before she had a chance to react, it bent her wrist and elbow up, snapping the bone. Melime gritted her teeth to keep from screaming, but dropped her other dagger in order to claw at her arm in agony.
It was all downhill from there. After having her arm shattered and rendering herself defenseless, the orcs found it rather easy to take her down. Her legs were kicked out from under her, then a rain of blows came down on the disabled Elf. A fist blackened her eye, while a foot lodged her jaw out of place. She tried in vain to reach any one of her weapons. Finally, a swift, hard blow to the back of her head with her own dagger hilt introduced her into a welcomed oblivion.
"ATAR!" the sixteen-year-old Elf shouted, trying desperately to free herself from the clutches of the Men. Tears leaked down her dirty face, creating intricate patterns across her cheeks. They couldn't do this. Not to them...
Another snap. Another scream. Another burst of white pain flashing across his back. The Prince of Mirkwood made no sound as his torture continued. It was worse having Melime there. Her cries were enough to make him beg for mercy on the spot. Every time the whip came down on his milky skin, leaving a bright red streak of blood, she would let loose the sound that their captors longed to hear.
Hadn't they tortured the two of them enough? Hadn't she seen enough- if not too much to bear? Hadn't her father felt enough? Why did they persist? Why would anyone ever want to destroy something- someone- so beautiful? All of these questions and more ran through the young princess' head while she could only watch helplessly as Legolas was flogged.
If she could have broken free, she would have taken a knife to every one of their throats. Like most Elves, Melime despised seeing that vital spark known as life being torn away from its former owner, but staring at her father brought a whole new idea to her mind. These Men deserved to die.
Blood seemed to be flowing from every inch of Legolas' body. She couldn't even begin to count how many slashes were on his back. His lips were split, his eye swollen shut. Blood sprinkled the ground as another punch was laid on his jaw. His once golden hair was matted and tinged with red. She thought she could see part of one of his ribs sticking out of his side, and just thinking about how much pain he was in made her sick. But by far the worst thing was the crimson that had pooled between his slightly parted thighs.
"Stop it! You're killing him!" Her wild pleas went unanswered as another loud crack sent a shudder through Legolas' body. "Please! Stop..." Her voice became a loud sob. But instead of discouraging the Men from continuing to torture the blonde Elf, it seemed to enliven the dying interest.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity to the two immortals, the leader, known only to Melime as Guryn, called out for them to stop. Melime struggled in vain to escape and to run to her beaten father whose nude body was hanging by his slender wrists tethered to a tree limb above his head.
Guryn motioned for them to cut him down, and her heart skipped a beat. Maybe they really had tired of their sick games, she thought. Perhaps they would let them go. But how would she get her father back home? They were miles away from any Elven residence, and their horses had been frightened off hours ago. Even if Isilme and Ilma returned, surely he would not be able to ride.
Two men seized her father by his bound arms and dragged him into a kneeling position like Melime's. His eyes met hers. They carried a look of fear but also a strange sort of comfort.
That repose from her terror was only momentarily lived, however. Guryn suddenly appeared at her side. He took her chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger. She could see the same desire burning deep within his eyes as when he had looked upon her father for the first time. Panic welled up in her throat.
"Well now, isn't this one an exquisite little beauty? Wouldn't you agree, my fair prince?" He hissed the last three words out, turning toward Legolas. "I wonder..." He jerked her face closer to his, so that she could smell the pungent odor of liquor on his breath. "I wonder if she's as good as her father."
Frightened as she was, Melime would never tolerate that sort of comment from anyone. She yanked her head away from his grip and spat into his face. But while the princess had hoped for any expression of displeasure, the Man wiped the saliva from the corner of his eye and began to laugh.
"Feisty, aren't we, my pretty?" His hand crushed her raven locks when he snatched her by the back of her head. "But we shall soon remedy that," he added in a harsh whisper.
With that, Guryn flung her body to the ground, then pounced on her like a crazed animal in heat. Melime's body was crushed under his. Rough brown hands tore at her thin bright green tunic until it was over her head. Two more hands closed upon her wrists to hold her down as the leader went down to the darker leggings...
Legolas watched Cuthien having her clothing ripped away from her in horror. The splitting image of his partially unclad wife kicked, punched, and bit at her and his attackers. Weak as he was, the Elf would not just stand there and watch his only daughter receiving the same treatment as he had just hours ago.
Using what last bits of energy he had left, Legolas swung his legs up and proceeded to "climb" the tree. He straddled the branch that kept him from using his hands and hurriedly untied the knot from around the sturdy limb. He jumped to another limb closer to them and thanked Valar that Elves were so light, that his daughter had lungs the size of Gondor, and that Men were so stupid as to turn all of their attention to his screaming child instead of keeping an eye on him.
Taking careful aim, he vaulted forward, throwing his body on top of the filthy Man that had unsuccessfully been trying to remove Melime's leggings. He caught Guryn by surprise and somehow managed to knock him to the side.
Melime opened her eyes when the weight on her legs was suddenly lifted. Her father was loose and scrambling to his feet. "Nornoro, Melime! *Run, Melime!*" he ordered before being tackled around his waist by Guryn.
She gathered what was left of her tunic to her body and made a mad dash into the dense forest. She could hear sounds of the struggle behind her. Angry shouting, clanking of weapons. Suddenly, there was a high, blood- chilling shriek of agony that would make the strongest person cringe in discomfort. Melime froze and listened hard, straining her pointed ears for the slightest noise other than her own rapid breaths. She knew full well that only Elves had that sort of a scream.
Yet she still possessed some faith in her heart that her father had only been wounded, and she found herself venturing back to the clearing, but in the safety of the trees. What she found there snuffed out what small glimmer of hope she had left. The Men were crowded in a circle around snow- white body lying in a pool of dark blood. She could see even from a distance that under the thin veil of fine blond hair, the bright blue eyes that she had cherised so greatly were shut, and she knew deep down that they would never open again.
She heard Guryn's gruff, slightly slurred voice say, "Throw the body in the river. Find the girl. Kill her." His sentence might have frightened her if her heart wasn't already full of hate and grief.
How could they do this? How could anyone ever want to hurt Legolas? Who had he ever wronged? Why did they kill him?
"Why?" she whispered.
Then something happened. Melime looked down at her own battered body, then down at her father's which was unceremoniously tossed into the river, and everything that Legolas had taught her about forgiveness was gone. The thread of kindness that she had left was snapped, leaving her only with an untolerable hatred.
These Men deserved to die...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And now, a word to my lovely reviewers (all of whom I love vewwy vewwy much!):
~oremis~ Heh-heh, I always thought the idea of Gimli not being able to find the entrance to the mines kind of funny, so I thought his son should have the same, ahem, qualities. I put a little Legolas in here too, being the sweet lil' father figure that he is... Okay, so maybe it wasn't in the best of ways, but trust me, it'll work into the story! *Keep this hush-hush, but that's not the end of everyone's favorite elf* Whoops... I didn't just say that out loud did I? *grins mischievously* Thanks for all your reviews!!!!
~TrueGirl~ Aww! *hugs* Thanks for putting this baby in your favorites! It made this little psycho feel very special!
~abcdefgtwinkletwinkle~ Ah thank you for the compliment, and don't you worry. I have no plans of letting this story die, so looks like you all are stuck with me for a very long time...
Anyone else care to share? Please do! I'll love you too and post your name with my response down here!