"The human named Boromir. Ensure that he is killed. But do not reveal
yourself to the rest of the Fellowship," the vampire hissed.
"Any of the full Sanguine can easily accomplish what would strain me. Why am I sent?" the half-vampire questioned.
"We cannot approach the Ranger," came the hissed reply, "It will be explained when you are raised. Which shall be after you have done what I ask." With that, the pale figure left.
The half-vampire frowned for a second, thinking. He thought over what information the Sanguine had given him about Boromir. Suddenly, it hit him. Grinning to himself, he began to think of a name for himself; his old one long forgotten.
Moridin. "Death" in the tongue of the vampires. Yes, it was a suitable name. Especially for what he planned to do.
Moridin watched the Fellowship from afar, waiting for an opportunity. Sighing, he fidgeted impatiently. Patience was not his biggest virtue. Frustrated, Moridin closed his eyes, relaxing for a second. Unfortunately for him, he had underestimated the keenness of a certain's Elf's eyes.
"It is watching us," Legolas whispered to Aragorn, "Ready your bow. It is waiting for something, otherwise it would likely have struck afore I noticed it."
"Whatever the reason, I am glad, mellon. It may be what slew those elves in Lothlorien. I am ready to avenge my near-kin." Aragorn replied grimly. They had heard from the elven sentries in fair Lothlorien that two elves had disappeared, and later they had found a great mellorn tree, splattered with elven blood. As well as an elven dagger, covered in the same blood, discarded nearby.
The initial reaction was that orcs must have done this. But no orc bodies were found, nor any orc blood; it was highly unlikely that an elf warrior would not sense orcs in the sacred forest, and just as unlikely that the elves would have fallen without slaying any of the foul creatures. No, there must be something else, something more powerful than orcs, but no less foul.
And now, it was possibly watching them.
"Legolas! Frodo is by himself! I must go find him!" Aragorn urgently whispered.
"I dislike voicing my concerns, but I do not think I will be able to manage this beast alone, mellon. Remember that it may be the creature who was able to murder two elves seemingly without receiving any injury. But Frodo's safety is not a matter to be ignored. Ask Boromir to go warn the Hobbit, but warn him that he will not be able to take this beast alone. Have him return as fast as humanly possible."
"A worthy plan, mellon," Aragorn looked at his friend with well-earned respect.
Legolas watched Aragorn go and speak to the other human, all the while keeping the creature in the corner of his eye. Aragorn returned, and Boromir left at a leisured pace, certainly to avoid drawing attention to his leave.
"Ready your bow, mellon. He is far over there," Legolas informed his friend.
"I see him, mellon. I will strike on your word."
Legolas watched the creature carefully, keeping his bow lowered so as to not alert it. He saw it sigh, then close its eyes for a second.
"Now!" came the urgent whisper from the elf.
Two bowstrings were drawn, and the next second, two arrows whirled through the air.
Moridin opened his eyes, just in time to see two streaks approaching him. Before even his undead senses could react, the arrows found their target, one in his chest and the other through his throat. Startled, Moridin could not react fast enough to prevent the flow of dark blood spilling out. Cursing, he exerted his control over his blood, forcing it away from the wounds.
Next, the wounds were the target of his concentration as he pulled the two arrows out. The pale skin knitted back together, repairing the injured flesh.
'Fool!' he berated himself. He had not thought that they would be able to see him, and had grown careless. At least they had not killed him, as they must have thought. But the shots were not all in vain; the half-vampire had lost a fair deal of blood, and any amount of blood loss was potentially fatal to the undead creature. They would be coming to investigate soon.
Scanning his eye over the Fellowship again, he noticed that the human Boromir was gone.
'Probably heading for the Hobbit. It's now or never...'
The ground parted below him, bringing him in, then closing above him.
"There is no body," Legolas announced softly.
"There is blood on the ground, mellon. I cannot fathom what creature it is from; it is much too dark for any species I know. At least we know it can bleed," Aragorn said grimly.
Moridin tunneled through the ground, parting it near where the Hobbit sat. Rising, he kept himself hidden. He hoped that he had not lost too much blood; he had no time to feed, not when this may be his only chance, his only hope for fulfillment.
He directed the flow of his blood. His pale skin reddened, achieving a natural human colour. His long fangs retracted slowly, and normal teeth popped out. His dead heart beated, and he forced himself to draw breath through darkened lungs. He doubted any now could tell on sight what he truly was.
This guise was not without its cost though; he had required to sacrifice a part of his blood store to bring the changes upon himself, and the blood would not be recovered when they went. He needed to do this fast, then afterwards feed.
Stalking silently through the trees, he saw the human up ahead. Stumbling out from behind the tree, he called out.
"My lord Boromir! I must speak with you!"
In a flash, Boromir had had his sword unsheathed and held at Moridin's throat. Cautiously, Moridin directed the flow of his blood away from the threatened area.
"Lord Boromir! I bring a message from Minas Tirith, from your own Lord Father!" Moridin said, forcing a hint of panic into the words. Boromir must be convinced; this was his only chance.
"What is it my father wishes? Speak, man!"
"It's Lord Faramir! He has been struck by a Nazgul, foul servant of the Dark Lord! The healers have done all they can, but they claim that he cannot be helped, save by the dark power which spawned the illness! They say the Ring must be used to heal your brother, or he will surely die!" Moridin stumbled. His body was desperately in need of blood.
"I...I cannot take the Ring...I will not...what is wrong? Are you injured?"
"Do not worry about me, My Lord. Lord Faramir needs your help! I must return to Minas Tirith and inform the Lord Steward that his son has been found and now rides with the Ring to Minas Tirith, to cure his brother! I know you will not fail, My Lord." With that, Moridin turned and ran, forcing his speed to a believable human speed.
"Wait! You don't understand! The Ring is not mine!" Boromir shouted after the "messenger", but the man was already out of sight. "My brother. Oh Faramir! I will not let you die!"
Moridin smiled to himself. He knew Boromir loved his brother greatly, and that he would not let him die while it was within his power to stop it. He had needed to separate Frodo from the man, as the Hobbit might have heard his death screams.
Suddenly, Moridin sensed them. Orcs, but not like usual orcs...the lust flared up in him, desperate even for foul Orc blood.
'No! I must finish my task before...ahhhh it calls so!'
His vision exploded in red. He had no choice. The lust, the rage had taken him. Hastily, he ran as fast as he could towards the incoming orcs.
"Any of the full Sanguine can easily accomplish what would strain me. Why am I sent?" the half-vampire questioned.
"We cannot approach the Ranger," came the hissed reply, "It will be explained when you are raised. Which shall be after you have done what I ask." With that, the pale figure left.
The half-vampire frowned for a second, thinking. He thought over what information the Sanguine had given him about Boromir. Suddenly, it hit him. Grinning to himself, he began to think of a name for himself; his old one long forgotten.
Moridin. "Death" in the tongue of the vampires. Yes, it was a suitable name. Especially for what he planned to do.
Moridin watched the Fellowship from afar, waiting for an opportunity. Sighing, he fidgeted impatiently. Patience was not his biggest virtue. Frustrated, Moridin closed his eyes, relaxing for a second. Unfortunately for him, he had underestimated the keenness of a certain's Elf's eyes.
"It is watching us," Legolas whispered to Aragorn, "Ready your bow. It is waiting for something, otherwise it would likely have struck afore I noticed it."
"Whatever the reason, I am glad, mellon. It may be what slew those elves in Lothlorien. I am ready to avenge my near-kin." Aragorn replied grimly. They had heard from the elven sentries in fair Lothlorien that two elves had disappeared, and later they had found a great mellorn tree, splattered with elven blood. As well as an elven dagger, covered in the same blood, discarded nearby.
The initial reaction was that orcs must have done this. But no orc bodies were found, nor any orc blood; it was highly unlikely that an elf warrior would not sense orcs in the sacred forest, and just as unlikely that the elves would have fallen without slaying any of the foul creatures. No, there must be something else, something more powerful than orcs, but no less foul.
And now, it was possibly watching them.
"Legolas! Frodo is by himself! I must go find him!" Aragorn urgently whispered.
"I dislike voicing my concerns, but I do not think I will be able to manage this beast alone, mellon. Remember that it may be the creature who was able to murder two elves seemingly without receiving any injury. But Frodo's safety is not a matter to be ignored. Ask Boromir to go warn the Hobbit, but warn him that he will not be able to take this beast alone. Have him return as fast as humanly possible."
"A worthy plan, mellon," Aragorn looked at his friend with well-earned respect.
Legolas watched Aragorn go and speak to the other human, all the while keeping the creature in the corner of his eye. Aragorn returned, and Boromir left at a leisured pace, certainly to avoid drawing attention to his leave.
"Ready your bow, mellon. He is far over there," Legolas informed his friend.
"I see him, mellon. I will strike on your word."
Legolas watched the creature carefully, keeping his bow lowered so as to not alert it. He saw it sigh, then close its eyes for a second.
"Now!" came the urgent whisper from the elf.
Two bowstrings were drawn, and the next second, two arrows whirled through the air.
Moridin opened his eyes, just in time to see two streaks approaching him. Before even his undead senses could react, the arrows found their target, one in his chest and the other through his throat. Startled, Moridin could not react fast enough to prevent the flow of dark blood spilling out. Cursing, he exerted his control over his blood, forcing it away from the wounds.
Next, the wounds were the target of his concentration as he pulled the two arrows out. The pale skin knitted back together, repairing the injured flesh.
'Fool!' he berated himself. He had not thought that they would be able to see him, and had grown careless. At least they had not killed him, as they must have thought. But the shots were not all in vain; the half-vampire had lost a fair deal of blood, and any amount of blood loss was potentially fatal to the undead creature. They would be coming to investigate soon.
Scanning his eye over the Fellowship again, he noticed that the human Boromir was gone.
'Probably heading for the Hobbit. It's now or never...'
The ground parted below him, bringing him in, then closing above him.
"There is no body," Legolas announced softly.
"There is blood on the ground, mellon. I cannot fathom what creature it is from; it is much too dark for any species I know. At least we know it can bleed," Aragorn said grimly.
Moridin tunneled through the ground, parting it near where the Hobbit sat. Rising, he kept himself hidden. He hoped that he had not lost too much blood; he had no time to feed, not when this may be his only chance, his only hope for fulfillment.
He directed the flow of his blood. His pale skin reddened, achieving a natural human colour. His long fangs retracted slowly, and normal teeth popped out. His dead heart beated, and he forced himself to draw breath through darkened lungs. He doubted any now could tell on sight what he truly was.
This guise was not without its cost though; he had required to sacrifice a part of his blood store to bring the changes upon himself, and the blood would not be recovered when they went. He needed to do this fast, then afterwards feed.
Stalking silently through the trees, he saw the human up ahead. Stumbling out from behind the tree, he called out.
"My lord Boromir! I must speak with you!"
In a flash, Boromir had had his sword unsheathed and held at Moridin's throat. Cautiously, Moridin directed the flow of his blood away from the threatened area.
"Lord Boromir! I bring a message from Minas Tirith, from your own Lord Father!" Moridin said, forcing a hint of panic into the words. Boromir must be convinced; this was his only chance.
"What is it my father wishes? Speak, man!"
"It's Lord Faramir! He has been struck by a Nazgul, foul servant of the Dark Lord! The healers have done all they can, but they claim that he cannot be helped, save by the dark power which spawned the illness! They say the Ring must be used to heal your brother, or he will surely die!" Moridin stumbled. His body was desperately in need of blood.
"I...I cannot take the Ring...I will not...what is wrong? Are you injured?"
"Do not worry about me, My Lord. Lord Faramir needs your help! I must return to Minas Tirith and inform the Lord Steward that his son has been found and now rides with the Ring to Minas Tirith, to cure his brother! I know you will not fail, My Lord." With that, Moridin turned and ran, forcing his speed to a believable human speed.
"Wait! You don't understand! The Ring is not mine!" Boromir shouted after the "messenger", but the man was already out of sight. "My brother. Oh Faramir! I will not let you die!"
Moridin smiled to himself. He knew Boromir loved his brother greatly, and that he would not let him die while it was within his power to stop it. He had needed to separate Frodo from the man, as the Hobbit might have heard his death screams.
Suddenly, Moridin sensed them. Orcs, but not like usual orcs...the lust flared up in him, desperate even for foul Orc blood.
'No! I must finish my task before...ahhhh it calls so!'
His vision exploded in red. He had no choice. The lust, the rage had taken him. Hastily, he ran as fast as he could towards the incoming orcs.