Vicious || Legolas

Seven

Nearly a month had passed since Gandalf had escaped the tower of Isengard. Weeks since Saruman attempted to send a gale to blow down the pass of the mountains and foil the grey wizard's plan. Since his screams interrupted the magic of the storm, Saruman had tightened the chain connecting his collar. The magic dug into his skin and Namir was forced to keep to the tower. Straying further from the steps caused the collar to burn and blister his skin until he was writhing on the floor. Where before he was able to roam the lands of Isengard but remain within the walls, this time he was only permitted outside air on the roof or the front steps.

Lack of sunlight had made him grow pale and weary. His hair hung in a tangled mess down his back and the grey shadows under his eyes darkened. He prowled the dark halls of the tower like the caged beast he was, lurking in the shadows and growling at the orcs. "Be quiet", Saruman commanded, staff whipping out to crack across Namir's ribs. The man dropped heavily to the stone floor, biting his lip to avoid crying out in pain. The rumbling snarl that had been building in his throat cutting off sharply. He pushed his hair out of his face and snarled at the white robed man. Ribs throbbing and elbows stinging. The skin cracked and blood dripping down his bare skin.  The once white cloth of his trousers was now grey and ripped from many falls over the last few weeks. Saruman's increasing frustration at the Fellowship's escapes from danger being taken out on him.

"Why don't you just kill me? Why keep me here for twenty years?"

Saruman paused in the open doorway, the sun outside weak through the clouds and the orcs waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He turned with a foul smirk on his face as the skin changer pushed himself up onto his elbows. "When Sauron had arisen you will be his beast. The magic will corrupt your soul and you shall become his servant to do his will". The threat was spoken softly and with ominous certainty that made his skin crawl.

"I would rather die", Namir stated. It came out quieter than he had hoped worn and exhausted. Bruises littered his body and everything ached. The beast in his chest was quiet and whimpering. He missed the sunlight and the breath of fresh air. The magic here clogged up the wind and darkened the sky. Twenty years was heavy on him and the pain was never ending. "People will come for me".

"Not if I send my Uruk-hai after them", Saruman replied before sweeping from the room. The doors clanging shut with a bang that felt horribly like finality. Namir shifted, black cat stretching as muscles uncoiled. Big brown eyes peered through the darkness as he padded towards the stairs. Hope a still flickering candle in his chest. People were coming, he just had to hope.

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Legolas raced after Aragorn as the man leapt through the woods, Gimli on their tail. The orcs that had swarmed over them were armed and had taken more time than they could afford to defeat. Panic and concern had lanced through them all when the horn of blared through the trees. A call for help that was fruitless against the waves of orcs that seemed to come from everywhere. It was only once their black blood soaked into the ground and they littered the grass that the three of them were able to answer. As they ran through the trees, Legolas knew that they would be too late.

He was right. Boromir was slumped at the base of a trunk, arrows gutting from this ribs and chest. The four hobbits were nowhere to be seen. Aragorn had collapsed to his knees at Boromir's side. The dying man reached out to grasp at his arms and Aragorn clasped his hand. "They took the little ones", the words were rasped through bloodied lips. Legolas turned his head away and gazed out over the river. A boat was missing and it's shadow was just visible on the opposite shore. Frodo and Sam must have escaped.

Dead orcs were strewn round the clearing where they had planned to make their camp. The half dug fire pit trampled and their remaining packs kicked aside. The blonde elf bent down to pick one up. The food was intact but the fabric of the bag ripped. Behind him he heard Boromir mutter something else and stepped away. It seemed like a private moment, death. He was not fit to deal with the lives of mortal men. He glanced around the shoreline and reached instinctively for the sword on his back. With sudden panic the elf paused. It was not there. He rose and strode to the boats. He recalled that he had stashed it in the boat as they left Lorien, the long sword too big to allow him to row comfortably. For a fearful second he thought it lost. His gift to Namir stolen or at the bottom of the river. It was with utter relief that he found it in the last boat, blade sheathed and wrapped in cloth and still hidden under the seats. He drew it out, fingers clutching the hilt as he gripped it to his chest.

When he turned around Aragorn was closing Boromir's eyes. The man no longer breathing. Legolas drew closer in horrified fascination. He had dealt death to orcs and seen death on the battlefield, yet each time it was someone he knew, it was a shock. Death was rare to the elves and he was terrified that all he would find at the end of this would be Namir lying as bloodied and still as Boromir was. When he closed his eyes he could recall how the skin-changer lay limp in his hold at the battle of Erebor. That moment lingered with him and haunted his nightmares.

Aragorn rose. "Take what you can carry", he instructed. "We're going to hunt some orcs".

Legolas pressed his forehead to the hilt of the longsword in his hands then swung it over his shoulder. As he stepped forwards to assist Aragorn with lifting Boromir's body up and into the boats, he mentally sent his prayers to the sky. His hope and prayers that Namir was safe and alive. That he would remain that way until he could find him again. They laid the man in the boat, hands on his sword as they pressed it to his chest.  The current took him with little effort and the three of them watched as it was tugged from their hands and pulled down stream.

Unedited