In the Ruins//Legolas

Chapter 16; Fight, Fight For Your Life

Durion let out a strangled curse as he grabbed the letter, the ring and the circlet that were on the shelf and stuffed them into the folds of his tunic. He then looked around for a weapon, his sword being left in Isengard. He noticed an empty weapon rack hung on one of the walls and looked under it. There were some fabrics haphazardly thrown on the floor and Durion used his boot to push it away. There, under them, laid a rapier. An unusual type of sword for any elves Durion knew. The handle was covered with fine black hide, the knuckle guard masterfully forged into the shapes of Holly branches with leaves. A beautifully crafted black scabbard covered the blade from view. The footsteps sounded closer and Durion quickly grabbed the sword and strapped it to his belt. Then he quietly opened the hidden door and looked into the long hallway that divided him from the rest of the palace. There was no one there, but the noise of clashing armor was close. He made a run for it. He kept his footsteps light and slowed down once he reached the corner. Durion peered around it and saw backs of orcs disappearing on the other end of the hall. He ran to the other side and found himself in what must have once been the throne room. It was covered in shadows that seemed to slither along the walls, almost alive. Durion could deal with shadows. He could blend in with them and disappear. Keeping his steps light, Durion snuck through the throne room towards a brighter hall that could lead him out. He did not want to use Raidho to get out of here, considering the fact that it was almost certain that the orcs and Saruman could somehow track him down when he used the runes. He should have listened to Gandalf.

In his musing, Durion failed to notice that he wasn't the only one in the shadows. Pain burst in his right hand as an arrow pinned it into a wooden beam. A scream tore his throat as a hot pulsing ran all the way up his arm. Through the tears of pain he frowned into the darkness and spotted it. A figure, dressed in all black with a hood over the head, was steadily walking towards him, bow still in their hand. Panicked, Durion lifted his hand to draw Raidho. Screw Gandalf's warnings, this was life or death. A new arrow flew and his left hand was pinned to his right shoulder. He wailed and fearfully watched the figure cross the last few feet that separated them. He could now see their face. Once, it might have been a handsome man. Now, the sickly pale skin and the dead, bloodshot eyes sent nothing but fear and shivers down his spine. Ghostly white hand gripped his neck slow enough that Durion had time to take a good look at the ring adoring the man's finger. Durion felt sick. That was one of the Rings of Power for mortal men. Nazgûl.

"P-please-" He choked as the grip around his neck tightened.

Release me.

Kill me.

A black dagger appeared in the man's hand.

Please.

Where are you, Greenleaf?

The blade slid across his face and Durion let out a guttural scream. The drag was long, slow and deep, from one cheek, across the bridge of his nose and ended on the other cheek. The wound burned. So badly Durion was sure this was what the fire of Kenaz felt like. The carving continued. Now two new lines formed, both starting at one point in the middle of his forehead, dragging down through his eyebrows, not cutting his eyes and ending just below the horizontal one.

Just end it.

The pain had one up side. It was so strong it overpowered the pain in his hands. In one strong push Durion dislodged both of his hands and rammed his left shoulder into the Nazgûl's chest, pushing him away. Durion used his teeth and removed the arrows from his trembling hands and drew the rapier just in time to deflect a swing of the Nazgûl's dagger. Suddenly, he was attacked from the side. A jagged orcish sword buried itself into his right thigh. The rapier flew and the fine steel Holly leaves quickly proved themselves sharp and deadly. Blood dripping into his eyes turned Durion's vision red and the elf uselessly tried to blink it away. Another sword slashed across his back. And another across his calf. There were too many of them. He needed to leave.