Ashes ⇝Legolas

†17†

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HOPE RETURNED

Awful.

In one word the smell that became far easier to detect the closer four hunters got, would be described as nothing else but truly awful. Awful beyond imagination that at the wafting smoke arising from a seemingly small pile and spreading the smell of burned, rotten and melting iron, Nesryn tried in vain to stay focused on the road ahead— the smell haunted her, no matter that she held her breath for as long as she could she remembered a similar one after the war for Erebor and her it would seem, useless fight for Mirkwood's king whereas it stayed, the reminder of not only Orc carcasses but many Elves and Dwarves as well.

Nesryn kept her gaze to the ground, the miles ahead she would have spent walking now easily transformed into just bare hours in passing that sipped faster on the back of a horse as her eyes spied the sights of orange plants and grass reaching to her very knees which she was deemed to follow.

As much as the whole air smelled of foul burning carcasses in the distance so it felt heavy beyond the thought it would lift nothing but a few tones of heaviness off the woman's shoulders; she was merely aware of what was worse, having to spent day and days in search for missing Hobbits or the particular circumstances the search had led four hunters to.

Nesryn could not be bothered by the pile of carcasses as it got closer anymore, for she had gotten rather used to that foul sight and smell which firstly as if burned on her nose and now, faded to just a tiny bit of a stench similar to fading one of rot.

At last she steered Quelestia to a stop by that building pile, truly from the distance it did not look as awful, yet up close Nesryn was acutely aware word foul would not describe the brown stains of blood and ash settling upon the dead bodies, mainly of Orcs whose heads did not stand on their shoulders anymore, rather cut off burned right next to bigger pile as the woman was to unceremoniously admit, she felt by a little sick to the stomach.

All the horror she had seen there, yet no sight of the Hobbits anywhere.

Nesryn strode between discarded helmets and burned flags, hitting with each step a tiny bit of burned metal or worse, a rock painted in sickly color the blood, ash and dust made together. "Wonderful, it was all in vain then." She said to herself quietly and full of disappointment as her steps led her to inspect up close the carcasses; nothing she was belonged to the Hobbits, no carcass and certainly no indication both could be dead— only what the riders had told them.

"It's one of their wee belts." She heard Gimli say painfully, as if not wishing to remind himself of the pain and losses they had faced now. Nesryn strode to where the Dwarf stood, holding a burned belt which was reduced to just a few straps and metal parts as it had most avidly burned along with bodies of Orcs.

Nesryn burned with desire and wish to march right up to Saruman's gate and deal with the betraying wizard on her own, how an unfair fight would that be as she would be reduced to the usage of her own war skill whereas the wizard's magic would certainly gain advantage on an ordinary warrior like her— she knew it would not happen, for the very reason of it was indeed the continuation of their hunt for answers.

Behind, the woman heard Legolas utter words of prayer for two Hobbits, silent and still that Nesryn was not able to detect as she had fallen into a state of thoughtlessness, a swirling chasm of absolutely nothing but just emptiness which soon consumed her fully— anger, madness beyond any she felt, ready to by herself demand of that traitorous wizard to bring the Hobbits back.

She did only snap back as by her side Aragorn forcefully kicked on Uruk helmet and sent it flying further with a cry of anguish and pain, perhaps even frustration before dropping to his knees and continuing to despair. Nesryn blinked away her own desire to start throwing her daggers, start playing with them as she would usually do.