Round Robin
Chapter 23
By Ryoko

Elladan and Aragorn watched the unfolding scene in horror. There were two elves battling on the barren shores of Angband. The two mighty forces clashed with the strength of battling gods, shaking the earth in their duel; and yet, they did not move. The battle pitted will against corruption, protection against antagonism.

Elladan locked eyes with Moririme, feeling the evil surrounding her soul. This woman was neither elf nor mortal nor even of this world. She was being created by darkness and chained to evil, a shell moving with the force of deception.

Aragorn stared in horror as the demon Moririme advanced on his father. Down on his knees, ankle and burned leg sending pain lacing up his psyche, Elrond forced his body to rise. He would not give Moririme the satisfaction of seeing him kneel.

Elrond raised his sword before his body, blackened sunlight arcing off the blade, sending red light fragmenting off the blood taken from Moririme. The elf lord's eyes blazed in fury and righteous vengeance. He had wished to save her soul; but now, all that kept her tied to this world was her hatred. She was but an empty shell, bound to the will of the dark lord, moving as he moved and dying as he wished it. There was no shame in killing to free.

And now, with his sons on a boat in the distance, coming to the near cove, he would not falter. "Do you honestly think you can win," Moririme crowed, "against the mighty lord of all things!?"

"I know I'll win." Elrond said with deadly conviction, "My sons are counting on my victory. If I lose, they lose."

Moririme jerked back at the sheer force of his rage. Though he never shouted, the force of his anger and conviction swept over her like a wave, stifling her will and sending the pain returning to her body in a hot blaze.

Elrond rushed forward, sword over one shoulder and leading to the right. His blade caught the light, illuminating the deadly dance between the children of war and peace. Moririme shook aside the force of Elrond's mind. She would not give in to him again!

She reached for her sword to deflect the blow, but it was too late. Elrond's blade swept through her heart, cutting out the essence Morgoth had placed in her in order to bind her to his will. As the corruption left, so, too, did her hatred.

As the pain flooded her slender form, Moririme gazed up at the sky, her eyes clearing and lightening to their original sky-blue color as the curse of the darkness lifted off her mind and soul, leaving her will free to accept death with outstretched arms.

Elrond stood over her, gazing down at the elf who, in payment for a moment of weakness, had toiled in the Dark Lord's service for an eternity. His sorrowful eyes gazed down at her as her life left her body, this time never to return.

And Elrond stared up at the sky, watching as her spirit flew to the Halls of Mandos; and yet, he felt no sorrow. She was free, and the Dark Lord had one less servant to enslave and torture.

Turning to the boat, Elrond sprang into a run, ignoring the pain the shot up his leg in spikes; that was nothing compared to the joy of seeing his sons, and the lithe prince of the wood elves, alive.

Looking out onto the turbulent waters, Elrond's eyes widened in horror. The man, obviously the captain of the small fishing vessel, stood over the unconscious and bound bodies of Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn. Elrond felt their presences as weakened but in no immediate danger. However, what turned his blood to ice was the sight of the obviously grievously wounded elven prince dueling with the captain for the safety of his sons.

Legolas struggled to remain standing, glancing down at the brothers. While watching the fight, Aragorn and Elladan had brought Elrohir and himself out to see the epic clash as well. However, they had been correct in thinking their captain was less than trustworthy. He had attacked from behind, bringing Elladan and Aragorn down with a swift pair of blows to the backs of their skulls. Already weak with exhaustion, the two fell easily to the blackness.

Elrohir had fought against him; but he too succumbed to the man's skill. Though seeming quite harmless, the man was quite skilled with the chain and sickle, swinging them in a deadly dance to the lustful refrain of war. Legolas fought against him with the elven knife Elladan had had on his back. However, as Elrond watched in horror, trying valiantly to reach the boat, Legolas faltered, injuries allowing him no more leeway.

Legolas watched with a detached air as the sickle arced toward his face, sunlight glinting off the sharpened surface.

'I'm sorry, my friends....'

TBC...