Crownless » LotR [2]

Chapter Nine: Dueling the Bear

Mournedhel paced the dark hallway, one hand gripped tightly on his orcish carved bow. His mind was spinning too fast for him to keep up, a tiny voice echoing behind his skull that he couldn't quite push away.

Pressing a hand against his temples, he leaned cold wall, sliding down to the floor. He could feel him behind his eyelids, fighting to get out. Fighting to take control again.

Mournedhel cursed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Stop, stop this. I killed you. You're dead."

But the presence didn't listen. 

His eyes snapping open again, Mournedhel let out a growl, shoving himself back to his feet. Gripping his bow tight, he started down the hallway, toward the nearest orc sect. He needed to kill something.

He stalked past the throne room, only to halt suddenly. An icy cold voice sounded from behind the doors, answered with a nasal reply.

Sauron and the Mouth.

Blinking, Mournedhel backed up, standing inches in front of the door. He leaned closer, listen intently through the iron door. Of course, e knew better than to trespass on his lord but stood his ground anyway. He owed the Dark Lord his loyalty-- not his blind following.

"Is there any news on her?" It was Sauron's voice.

"No, my lord, Nimwig has not reported in. The surviving orcs returned this sunset, having lost the trail of the rebels. They claimed to have seen her leading a few of the rebe--"

"That's enough."

The Mouth abruptly cut off and Mournedhel could practically feel Sauron's displeasure. Such was a dangerous emotion on the Dark Lord, and Mournedhel couldn't help but feel relieved that it was not him alone in the room with the lord.

"My lord," the Mouth began again slowly. Mournedhel winced for the servant, the fool. "May I question if she is truly trustworthy? The past is a delicate thing--"

"One more word and I will remove your tongue," Sauron's voice was a sharp as a knife. Despite himself, Mournedhel winced. He heard Sauron stand, meaningful footsteps echoing off the stone floor.

"Nimwig has been by my side for over a thousand years," Sauron's voice drifted a little further from inside the room. "Much like the half end of her name is gone, the half side of her mind that matters is gone as well. She will not fail me."

"Of course, my lord..."

Mournedhel had heard enough, tearing himself from the doors. Clenching his jaw, he started down the hallway, blinking slowly. He didn't realize he was gripping his bow to the point of almost snapping it in half until the splinters dug into his palm.

Nimwig... he had only seen her twice. Once, when waking up, startled by icy eyes that watched him from Sauron's side. And another time when informing the elleth about the Dark Lord's plans for her infiltration of Imladris.

He didn't know Nimwig well enough to like or dislike her. But on the list of Saruon's servants that he hated, he would definitely place her above the Mouth. 

Mournedhel hated that creature.

Coming out of the palace, Mournedhel shook his head, pulling an arrow from the sling across his back. Nocking it into his bow, he moved toward the closest orc group, drawing back and letting fire.

His mind spun-- he needed to kill something. That would help.