Veiled Stars » LotR [1] ✔️

Chapter Eighteen: To Isengard

If Elle was shoved again, she was going to break her captor's nose.

Ratman, as she had dubbed the man, had taken over keeping an eye on her, making sure she kept her trap shut and stayed on the path. 

He had also taken an enjoyment in pushing her along every time she slowed down, seeming to find some twisted amusement in each deathly look she shot him.

And she was on the verge of breaking off her good behavior just to wipe the smirk off his face.

With her fists.

No, Elle. She gritted her teeth, forcing the urge away. She wouldn't risk the lives of her friends. Not again. 

Guilt still weighed heavily on her conscience everytime she noticed the new array of bruises decorating Gimli's and Boromir's jawlines. They didn't seem very beat up about it, but Elle's heart twisted every time she remembered their wounds were her fault.

Of the whole group, the two hobbits were the only ones who didn't have a horde of men watching them, as Agnor seemed to believe they didn't stand much of a threat.

Aragorn and Legolas, on the other hand, had each been assigned a mass of guards, although Elle noticed the men kept their distance from Legolas. 

The elf had mustered up an icy stare that even Elle was surprised he was capable of. His blue eyes seemed to have turned the color of steel, unfazed and defiant.

She wasn't surprised at their intimidation of Legolas, though. When she had first met the elf, even she had been perturbed by his silent nature and steady air.

It wasn't long after she got to know him that she realized how lucky they were that he was on their side.

He caught her eye as she stared and despite herself, Elle dropped her gaze. She didn't know what she would read in his eyes, and she was scared to look.

She was torn inside. A small part of her felt like it had been left back in the mountain, still knelt near the cliffside, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Amidst all the chaos and conflict, the realization that they had lost a member had taken it's time to sink in. Now it felt like a cold knife slicing through her heart, as she realized Gandalf was gone.

The old wizard with his pipe, smoke shaped birds, and wise leadership was gone. Elle wanted to scream against the unfairness of it all. 

None of them had even gotten a chance to grieve, and that only seemed to make the pain worse.

They had lost Frodo, they had lost Gandalf, and they had lost Sam. 

A small part of Elle wondered if their capture was the end of it. With an unsteady leader such as Agnor, who would be next? 

The man didn't bother to hold back his hatred toward Aragorn, nor hide his clear intentions to be the death of him. 

That alone scared her.

Not to mention the fact that the others didn't seem to show a single sign of fear toward their captors. 

Since the outbreak, not one of them had said a word. If Elle didn't fear for their lives, she might have felt an inkling of respect for their bravery.

But right now, she worried their defiance would be their downfall.

No, no. She tried to get a grip on her negative thoughts, shoving them deep down where the hurt couldn't reach her heart. 

They wouldn't be able to escape by only looking at the dark side.

Finally, hours later, Agnor called for camp.