One Shots » LotR

The Wronged

Terror and agony.

In a single slice of stabbing pain, Túrin was on his feet, rain and bleeding shadows cutting off the world from his sight. It took his mind a painstaking moment to realize that his arms and legs were free-- his entire body screamed in both pain and terror.

Free, free... but he wasn't free. The shadows formed into a figure, a flash of lightning catching the silver of a gleaming blade.

There was a quiet voice, but it was cut off by the blood pounding in Túrin's ears and the malicious thunder overhead. He stumbled back, feet slipping on wet mud and his back ramming into a tree trunk.

The world tinted red.

Something lit fire to Túrin's blood.

He couldn't take it anymore. He wouldn't give in today. His life would never be taken at the hands of an orc. Never.

The figure advanced.

Letting loose a desperate cry that sliced through the air, Túrin shoved himself forward, grappling for the blade of his attacker. His thoughts were little more than reduced to animalistic fear and adrenaline-- he wouldn't die today.

They both went to the ground and faintly, a shocked cry broke the air. Something screamed Túrin's name but rage boiled through his veins and his hands caught the sharp side of the blade, grasping at it with all of his remaining strength.

Ignoring the sudden agony that sliced through his hands, Túrin ripped the blade away, grasping desperately for the handle. Blood made his hold slippery.

Lightning struck across the sky.

There was a flash of gold.

And Túrin drove the blade down with all his might.

His attacker jolted in agony and Túrin drove his blade down deeper, feeling it cut clean though. Abruptly, the figure under him went still, head lolling to the side.

The screeching wind carried away a soft whisper.

Túrin blinked water out of his eyes, chest heaving for breath. He sat still for a moment, then leaned heavily on his blade, closing his eyes.

Then at his back, something snapped sharply.

There was a startled intake of breath.

It took Túrin a moment to formulate the realization that he was not alone and he blinked, standing straight up and whirling around. Gazing through the rain, he caught the wide stricken eyes of a raven-haired elf, who had come from the trees.

"Túrin?"

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Túrin looked back at the elf in the trees, then slowly down at the lifeless body lying crumbled at his feet.

Gold caught his eye.

For what seemed like an age, moment, Túrin could only stare, his mind not quite comprehending what he was seeing. Then he knelt forward, picking up a single strand of soaked, but golden hair.

All fear and muddled thoughts left his mind.

Then Túrin let loose a cry, dropping the strand and stumbling back. His heart pounded against his chest and the entire world seemed to collapse on his shoulders-- he stared at the body in the rain, terror screaming in his thoughts.

Beleg.

Nay.

But to his horror-stricken shout, there was a sudden movement at his back and Túrin whirled around to see a lump move near the encampment of orcs move-- then blood red eyes cut through the night.

There was a roar.

"Túrin!" The elf broke from the trees, grabbing Túrin by his wrist and yanking him sideways. But a sick sort of hatred and wailing sorrow had built up in his stomach and Túrin was slow to move, stumbling as he was pulled away.

Chaos erupted at his back; angry roars.

Above, thunder exploded across the pouring night sky, deafening to Túrin's ears. Branches snapped under his feet and the strange elf plunged deep into the forest, yanking him close behind.

Everything moved slowly.

They ran and they ran, and night slowly turned into dawn. But even so, the rain barely ceased to lax and Túrin's thoughts turned wild, filled with a loathing and pure and utter rage

The blood on his hands burned like fire.

Then at some point, the elf came to a stop and Túrin stumbled, falling to his knees, his chest heaving. He could feel the sharp eyes of the elf watching him, but it mattered not.

He couldn't breathe.

Slowly, he lifted his hands, gazing at his own two palms. Blood coated his skin-- both his own blood and Beleg's.

He had killed him. He had killed him.

"No..." Túrin squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a shout. No, no. No!

He had killed him.

He had driven a sword through his friend's chest.

"No!" Images flashed before Túrin's eyes-- images he had been to overtaken by fear to see. Wide, terror-filled eyes. Life, leaving Beleg's body. Shock, frozen on his face in a permanent state of death.

Blood, pouring from the stab wound in his chest.

The very sword that Túrin had used, he held in a limp hand; he had clutched it since both he and the elf had retreated into the forest.

It was stained with Beleg's blood.

Túrin slowly opened his eyes, gazing at the sword. It was a dark black, seeming to glint with malice in the faint morning light. Despite the raindrops trickling down the iron, the blood would not wash off.

There was a quiet step at Túrin's back and a single hand was laid on his shoulder. But Túrin felt not the strange elf's touch, nor cared.

His skin crawled and the anger slowly drained away.

Instead, grief claimed his heart.

Beleg was dead.

Túrin had killed him.

"Upon all whom you love my thought shall weigh as a cloud of Doom, and it shall bring them down into darkness and despair. Wherever they go, evil shall arise. Whenever they speak, their words shall bring ill counsel. Whatsoever they do shall turn against them. They shall die without hope, cursing both life and death."

Thrusting his sword suddenly into the wet dirt, Túrin yanked away from the elf's hand and shoved himself to his feet, throwing his face upward to the dark storming sky.

Agony and sorrow built up in his throat and sudden tears poured down his cheeks-- he let loose a torturous scream. He screamed, he cried, and deep inside, a bit of his mind snapped in half.

For he had slain Beleg Strongbow.

With his own hands, he had murdered his best friend.

A/N: Ahem. Ehe. Hullo!

So this one was not a Hobbit nor a LotR one shot... twas... ding, ding, ding! It was a Silmarillion one shot! My very first attempt.

For those of you who may be utterly lost... erm... read the Silmarillion. Trust me, you won't regret it (well, you might. It hurts. Very, very much). But for those who did understand this one, I'm curious (and nervous), what did you all think?

I am running out of sad moments in TH/LotR so I may turn to the Silm a bit more often. So to all those out there, read the Silmarillion! It's amazeballs! Trust me! And read Silmarilz1701's Silmarillion one-shots! They are so painful but beautiful, I would highly reccomend.