Veiled Stars » LotR [1] ✔️

Chapter Twenty: Saruman the White

Elle realized how close they were to Isengard on the fifth day of their capture.

The attitudes had lifted among Agnor's men. They trekked quicker, with a new purpose to their step. They didn't bother to stop for camp but continued on into the night, only resting for a few hours at a time.

Meanwhile, Elle felt her feet growing heavier. Dread had settled upon the remaining seven members and as Elle exchanged a worried look with Gimli, she felt her heart sink deeper into her boots.

This wasn't good.

She glanced over at Legolas, watching him from a distance as he walked steadily, hands bound in front of him and a wide berth given to him by his guards.

She chewed on her lower lip, then suddenly Legolas's eyes flicked over to her own and a small smile broke across his face. He tilted his head, slowing down ever so slightly.

"Get a move on, elf!" One of the guards growled, shoving Legolas forward from behind. 

Legolas stumbled and whirled upon his captor, making the man draw back. The guard's hand drifted toward his sword, looking quite alarmed.

But then the tension in Legolas's shoulders evaporated and he only glared at the man, his eyes ice cold. Turning away, he continued to walk, shooting Elle a quick sideways glance.

She forced a half-smile and dropped her gaze, smiling stupidly at the ground. When she glanced back up again, Legolas's eyes were fixed back ahead.

To pass time she found herself surveying Angor's men, silently adding up their numbers in her head. 

Twenty-five. 

Twenty-five to seven.

Her heart sank from her shoes into the dirt. 

She had promised Sam they would escape and catch up with him almost a week ago-- how close was he to Frodo now? Was it possible he had caught up?

And if he had, what could have happened? With all of them gone, could Sam convince Frodo by himself?

Hells, Elle. She mentally shook herself, trying to pull her thoughts from her never-ceasing blackhole of questions. 

Instead, she fixed her eyes on their path, unconsciously rolling her shoulders back and wincing as pain struck down her arms. 

She ached all over, from top to bottom.

But she knew she wasn't alone and that was the comfort she needed most.

Far up ahead, Angor walked with an obvious limp, his right leg bandaged tightly up to his knee. Whenever he turned his head back, Elle caught with immense pleasure the array of bruises on his face and the cut across his cheek.

Yeah, she mused triumphantly. That was her doing.

It almost made her own pain worth it. Or at the very least, tolerable.

Gimli had snorted in laughter when first seeing her the next morning, earning a blow from one of his guards for uttering a peep. 

Elle had been more in disbelief that he saw her pain as humorous, especially in their current situation. The dwarf never failed to surprise her; from insulting the guards behind their backs to informing her that despite her best efforts, she looked like a tomato.

But then again, Elle herself didn't have a mirror, and if she looked as half bad as she felt, perhaps she did look as utterly ridiculous as Agnor. Face puffed up and black and blue? 

Yeah, not exactly the stuff of legends.

If she looked down the bridge of her nose, Elle could just barely see a select few purple cuts in her line of vision and part of the large welt on her left cheekbone.