Hello everyone! According to the book, Aragorn had some untold adventures when he was searching for Gollum. This is my idea for one of them. This takes place before the fellowship, but Gandalf and Aragorn have met.  I figured the year to be 3016TA, about two or three years before the Council of Elrond.

One more quick note, this story is completed, but I am currently rewriting parts I'm unhappy with, adding text, ect.  Just editing mostly.  I’ll be posting the chapters as soon as I get done going back through them.  But, just so you all know, I’m much more likely to edit faster if you review!!

Thanks to my beta-reader, Becky!

Chapter 1

Aragorn staggered through the forest looking for shelter. The sky had opened above him and within seconds, he was soaked. The wind howled as he navigated through fallen trees and limbs, looking for anything that could protect him from the weather.

It was not like the Ranger to be taken by surprise, but the storm seemed to have come from nowhere. One moment the sky was clear and the birds were quietly singing, then the sun was gone, and it became as black as night.

Lightning streaked across the sky followed by a loud clap of thunder, shaking the earth beneath Aragon’s feet. In all of this travels through the wilds of Middle-Earth, he had never seen a storm like this, just coming from nowhere and without warning.

The earth was having a hard time soaking the sudden onslaught of water, and Aragorn struggled through the mud. It was becoming more and more difficult, but he knew the area well enough to know he was close to a large rock formation that would shelter him from the wind and rain.

The wind became stronger, and Aragorn stumbled backward from the force of it, falling into the mud. Suddenly, there was a loud crash overhead, and a large limb fell from the tree above him. Aragorn quickly rolled to the side, but the mud made it impossible to clear the branch completely. He was struck hard, the weight of it pressing the air from his lungs, and blacked out.

Minutes later, Aragon’s eyes opened, finding that the storm had passed as quickly as it had come. The sky was still dark, but the wind and rain, at least, were gone. There was debris everywhere which included a large branch pinning the Ranger to the ground. So large, in fact, that he could not lift it off of himself. His left leg and side burned, and he knew that they were injured. He only hoped it was not too serious.

His body position was too awkward, and he knew he would have to wait for someone to pass by and assist him. Laying his head back on the ground, he congratulated himself on having chosen a well-traveled road. Hopefully, he would be not have to wait too long.

Aragorn managed to work his hands free from under him, and began to break away some of the smaller branches that were cutting into his face and bare skin. Although his chest hurt, it was not the kind of pain that accompanied broken ribs. For that, he was thankful. However, he could not tell the extent of his leg injury from where he was. It was cut for sure, but he knew not if it was broken.

He would have to wait.

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Not ten minutes had passed before Aragorn heard footfalls coming from behind him. Many of them. Perhaps they are riders from Rohan,Aragorn thought as they drew closer, but in this thick mud, I can be sure of nothing. With the debris blocking his view, he would not be able to see who they were until they were on top of him. Aragorn tried to shift his body, so he could better see the on coming strangers, but the weight of the wood was too much to move.

The footfalls drew closer until, all of a sudden, they stopped. There was a long moment of silence, and Aragorn decided to be the first to speak. “Strangers, I am lucky that you have found me for I was caught in the storm and now, can not free myself.”

A man’s deep voice replied to him. “Are you Aragorn son of Arathorn? Also, the Ranger known as Strider?”

A very strange question to ask, Aragorn thought. Perhaps they are friends of Gandalf for I can think of no one else who would address me so. He hesitated but finally replied, “Yes, I am he.”

With that said, someone moved toward him. Aragorn drew in his breath when a sharp blade came to rest on his throat. Next, man’s face came into view. “Why do you threaten me so?” the Ranger asked him. “What have I done to offend you?”

The sides of the stranger’s lips curled up to form a small smile. “Nothing, my friend. It is for your protection alone.” But before Aragorn could respond, the stranger turned and nodded to his companions. “Did you not hear this man’s request? He wishes to be free from under the limb!”

A curse escaped from the Ranger’s lips as several dozen Orcs surrounded him. 

TBC...

Chapter 2

            With the stranger’s blade still resting against his throat, Aragorn watched as his weapons were taken from him, and six Orcs lifted the heavy branch from his body.  He cursed himself again.  His mission was too important to be, perhaps permanently, delayed.   Aragorn struggled to free himself from their grasp, but there were too many Orcs, and they held him firmly to the ground.  Aragorn watched as the man withdrew his dagger and stood over the Ranger’s wounded side.  He bent down to examine the wound but did not touch him.

            “Bring it over and prepare it,” he called to one of the idle Orcs.  Then, turning back toward Aragorn, he said, “I am Felnorvard, commander here.  It is only through me that you will receive care.  Your wounds are not threatening your life, and they will be cleaned but not here.” 

            Aragorn knew what it meant to have Orcs treat your wound.  If it was too damaged it would be cut off or cut out.  Everything else would be cleaned with dirty water and bandages and left to rot with infection.

            An Orc approached Felnorvard with a small bottle and cloth.  After pouring its contents onto the fabric, he held it over the Ranger’s mouth.

            Aragorn twisted his head in every direction possible but could not escape.  It was choking him!  Every breath he took sent fire through his lungs.  As his struggles increased, Felnorvard tried to comfort him by saying, “Be still or you will injure yourself further.  Just breath deeply.”  But Aragorn would not listen and only struggled more until he finally fell limp in their arms.

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            Aragorn regained consciousness when he felt himself dropped onto the still muddy ground.  “Remember your orders!  No harm or it shall be your head!” a voice said.  Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and at once wished he hadn’t.  There were Orcs everywhere, and he was their captive.  He had no idea how long it had been since he was taken, but the sun was much lower in the sky.  He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.  Everything hurt.  His left leg and side were throbbing. His whole body was sore from the many cuts and bruises from the fallen tree, but his throat was by far the worst.  Every breath burned his lungs.  Swallowing was painful, and he dare not try to speak.  Whatever poison they had used on him had lasting side effects.  However, his hands, even though they were bound behind him, did not hurt. 

            Odd, Aragorn thought.  Usually, Orcs bound the hands so tightly that they lost feeling within minutes.  One thing more that I can use to my advantage.

            “So, you have finally woken up,” Felnorvard said as he led a group of Orcs to where Aragorn lay.  “I had hoped that you would be asleep for a while longer, but no matter.”  Aragorn struggled against his bonds to sit up but was restrained.  “I am here to treat your wounds, Ranger.  It is best if you stay where you are until I am finished.”  

            Felnorvard sat beside Aragorn’s leg and slowly cut away the torn cloth, revealing a deep wound.  As the Ranger watched, he grew more and more confused.  He had never heard of someone being treated this way.  The water was clean and several common herbs could be seen along with some Orc medicine.  Still, Aragorn thought as he struggled again, making Felnorvard’s job all the more difficult.  There is some deeper meaning to this, and they are still the enemy.

            Three Orcs laid their hands on Aragorn to keep him still as the man worked.  Something was wrong with the entire situation, and it made the Ranger uneasy.  Orcs didn’t heal wounds; they made them.  One of the Orcs brought a foul smelling drink to Aragorn’s lips, but he pulled his head away, refusing it. 

            “Drink, Ranger,” Felnorvard said, cleaning away some more of the blood and dirt from Aragorn’s wound.  The Orc held the bottle closer to his mouth, but he still refused to allow such an evil potion into his body. Orcs had made it, and they used it to heal their own.   The Orc turned to Felnorvard, unsure how to proceed. 

            This is most unusual! Aragorn thought.  Why do they not strike out against me?  With such claws, it would not be hard for them.

            “Force him to drink it.  But do not draw blood,” Felnorvard answered without looking up from his work. 

            The Orc looked back at Aragorn, as if uncertain how to continue.  It slowly reached down and took the Ranger’s jaw in its hand.  Aragorn jerked his head back, refusing to comply with the creature.  But that only made the beast angry, and it’s arm shot around the Ranger’s head, drawing him close. 

            “Do not tempt me, Ranger,” the Orc growled, leaning close to Aragorn’s ear.  “Drink.”  It dug its fingers between Aragorn’s clenched teeth and, with great struggle on both their parts, pried his jaw apart.  The Orc, then, forced the dark liquid into the Ranger’s mouth.  Aragorn tried to spit out the fluid, but the Orc kept its hand firmly over his mouth.  He struggled against the creature but was finally forced to swallow.  At once, the pain in his lungs vanished but was replaced by an ache in his stomach. 

            “Aragorn, you only make things worse for yourself.  Lie still and allow me to treat your wounds.  We have a long distance to travel, and you will need your strength,” Felnorvard said as he once again began cleaning Aragorn’s leg wound. 

            Aragorn kept very still this time.  Felnorvard had taken out his dagger and was using it to carefully examine inside the wound.  “There are still pieces of wood in your leg.  Infection will come unless they are removed,” the man said.  He turned to one of the Orcs and took the potion and cloth.  Aragorn began to struggle again, the memory of the drug still fresh on his mind.  Why go to all of the trouble of knocking him out again?  The last thing the Ranger wanted was to be unconscious in their presence.  Orcs made him nervous, and hospitable Orcs made him question and worry.

            “No,” Aragorn said, speaking for the first time since his capture.  Do not use such a foul potion on me again, he added silently.

            Felnorvard leaned closer to Aragorn, looking directly in his eyes.  “The wood must be removed and the wound closed.”

            “Then proceed, but I will remain as I am,” Aragorn replied coldly.

            “Very well.” 

            Aragorn took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and braced himself as Felnorvard began using his dagger to dig out the debris from his leg.

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            Night soon came, and at last the procedure was over.  The pain had been horrible, but Aragorn had refused to cry out.  Felnorvard had spent almost one hour on his leg and another hour and a half on his side. Now, both were clean and wrapped in cloth.

            “We will begin our journey again in five hours,” Felnorvard said, cleaning the Ranger’s blood from his hands.  “Sleep first and you will be given food when morning comes.”

            Aragorn was pulled to his feet but could not stand alone.  Loss of blood had made him weak and his injuries did not allow him to put pressure on his leg.  Orcs were forced to half carry, half drag Aragorn to the edge of their camp near a large tree.  They released their hold, and he slumped to the ground.  His arms were then bound securely, but not painfully, in front of him.  Aside from his two guards, he was left alone, but Aragorn had no intention of sleeping that night.  

            It was very dark, for he was on the outer layer of the Orc-camp, and everything grew quiet as the night wore on.  The forest was always silent when evil was about, and that night was no exception.  Aragorn was left lying flat on his back near the tree, and with nothing to look at except the stars above, he closed his eyes.  

            But he was doing anything but sleeping.  Thoughts were racing through his mind as he tried to understand his captors’ treatment.  There was nothing normal about anything that had happened.  Aragorn had seen many things in his years in the wild, and he had seen his share of battles against Orcs.  The recent events compared to nothing in his memory.

             He had nearly forgotten about his quest for finding the creature, Gollum.  Of course, Gandalf had warned Aragorn about strange activity dealing with the Enemy, however he had not been told exactly what it was.  I can not bring my heart to believe that this is what Gandalf meant, Aragorn thought.  He hinted to a darker evil, and I can only think that this whole affair is a false face.  And so the rest of the night passed uneventful.

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            Aragorn's eyes shot open, and he cursed himself.  He had fallen asleep, and now Felnorvard had his hand on the Ranger’s shoulder, waking him.

            “Do not look so surprised, Ranger!” Felnorvard said with a slight laugh.  “The herb that I applied to your wounds contained a sleeping agent.  Not many could have resisted its effects for long.  You were asleep for almost three hours.”  Aragorn slowly raised himself to a sitting position as Felnorvard handed him a plate of food.  “This is food that I eat, not from the Orcs.  I know you don’t want it, but one plate is the same as three cups of the Orc draught.  That is what will be forced into you if you do not eat.”  As he turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, “You have one hour to finish it”

            Aragorn started to dump the food on the ground in protest of his capture, but he stopped himself.  Staring down at the plate, he sighed.  A decision had to be made.  Not eating meant that he would have to drink the Orc's potion, but eating would mean submission.  But, perhaps feigned obedience would give him an edge.  Besides, the food looked and smelled good enough, so Aragorn swallowed his pride and quickly finished it, finally aware of his hunger.

TBC...

Thanks to daw the minstrel, IceAngel, and Elvenesse for reviewing!!

Chapter 3

The band of Orcs traveled hard and fast for three days, stopping only when absolutely necessary.  Since his leg was still sore and would not carry his weight, Aragorn was forced to ride.  With his hands tied behind him, Aragorn sat in front of Felnorvard on his large, black Mordor horse.  He had slept very little for his experience as a Ranger told him to remain vigilant in times of uncertainty.  Very few people, however, can remain awake for such long periods of time. 

            When the land became more barren and rocky, Aragorn had a much harder time staying on top of the beast.  As the steed began to descend the bank of a dried riverbed, he began to slide off, and Felnorvard had to hold the Ranger in place.  Pulling away from the man’s touch, Aragorn shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.  It was almost impossible to sleep while riding.  He could not lean forward for fear of the horse’s strong neck slamming against his face, and he could not lean back with Felnorvard so close.

            “You must rest,” Felnorvard stated, as if he read Aragorn’s mind.  “There are still many days ahead of us, and I can not keep holding you in the saddle.”

            Aragorn had spoken very little since his capture.  Felnorvard had tried to make conversation over the past few days, but he was ignored.  “Why is it that you remain alert?  You have slept no more then myself,” Aragorn finally replied, trying to shake off his weariness.

            “You do speak!  I was beginning to think that you had become mute!” Felnorvard laughed and brought his arm around Aragorn again, holding him steady.  “It is a gift from my master.  He rewards those who are loyal and faithful.  I will sleep very little between here and our destination, which will make for faster travel with the Orcs.  Here,” he said and moved back in the saddle, giving Aragorn more room.  “Lean back on me to rest.  It will be easier that way.”

            Aragorn remained where he was.  He would not be tempted by this man’s deceptive kindness.  “Where am I being taken?” Aragorn asked, changing the subject.  Strange times called for strange approaches.  Perhaps my questions will not bring me to harm, Aragorn thought.  Under normal circumstances, he would not have dared to ask since it was far too easy to anger Orcs' friends.

            “To see my master,” Felnorvard replied simply. 

            It was worth a try, Aragorn thought as the horse climbed over some large boulders.  This time, he managed to keep himself in place without assistance.  However, he overcompensated on their descent, and Felnorvard was forced to support him.

            The terrain grew increasingly barren and rocky and after an hour, all of Aragorn’s strength had left him.  I will need all of my strength when I escape and sleep is the only way to obtain it, he thought.  And the longer I wait to leave, the farther I will have to backtrack.  Putting aside his fear of what was to come, Aragorn allowed his eyes to close and his head to fall back.

            Felnorvard had been watching the Ranger’s internal struggle for sleep for some time.  He knew that it was only the other man’s pride that had kept him awake, and he smiled to himself as Aragorn’s head fell backwards onto his shoulder and his body relaxed.  Now they would be able to make up some lost time.  He signaled to the group to increase speed.

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             Two more uneventful days passed, and Aragorn was feeling his strength return to him.  When the group stopped for meals, he was able to test his weight on his leg and found that he could walk further every time.  According to Felnorvard, they were still several days away from where ever they were going.  More then enough time to escape, Aragorn thought as he was, once again, placed back upon the Mordor-horse.  He had been working hard over the past few day to loosen the ropes binding his wrists.  He now felt confident that when the time came, he would be able to break them.  Everyday, after several hours on horseback, Aragorn noticed that Felnorvard lowered his guard over him.  It would be then that he would strike and escape.

            As the hours passed, Aragorn, once again, leaned back against Felnorvard and closed his eyes.  After forcing his body to relax and allowing his head to fall to the side, Aragorn could feel the man behind him become more relaxed as well.  All he had to do now was wait for the next stop.

            For what seemed like an eternity, Aragorn waited.  Finally, he felt the horse slow its pace and stop.  The air felt cool, and Aragorn knew that the sun was setting.  They were stopped for their late evening meal.  This made it more difficult to escape the Orcs since they were well equipped at hunting at night.  His only hope was to gain enough of a head start to lose them.  That will have to be a risk that I take.  I will get no other chance, he thought as Felnorvard gently leaned Aragorn forward against the neck of his horse.  It is strange how he takes so much care not to wake me now only to have me thrown to the ground later.  He lay very still and listened as Felnorvard moved away.  For a few brief moments, Aragorn would be left unattended before the Orcs came to take him from the horse.  Now was the time to act.

              Testing the strength of the ropes one last time, Aragorn pulled hard and broke free.  Quickly reaching for the horse’s reins, he commanded the creature forward.  Racing through the Orc-camp, the horse dodged and jumped its way around the startled Orcs.  They had suspected nothing, and Aragorn quickly used it to his advantage.  He even managed to grab a small sword and strike out, defending himself and the horse from the Orcs. 

            He was making remarkable progress while meeting with minimal resistance.  The edge of the camp was in sight.  The horse bounded over the last remaining sentinels and escaped into the darkness.  Aragorn knew he had no hope of escape being out in the open so he guided the animal toward a nearby clump of trees.  He desperately hoped that it was thick and dense enough to conceal him from the Enemy.

            Aragorn road hard, but in the darkness, he had no idea which direction to travel.  Going against all of his instincts, Aragorn had to flee blindly, only hoping that he was not heading in the wrong direction.  He swore softly as he began to make out the thunder of many feet behind him and to his right.  Having quickly regrouped, the Orcs were close behind him, and Aragorn could not travel as fast as he would like.  There were many small trees that blocked the path, and the horse slowed too much to round them. 

            He could see them in the shadows now and could feel arrows flying past, some coming dangerously close.  Aragorn had a sinking feeling that this would not end well.  He urged his horse faster and faster, but it was still too slow.  Arrows were flying all around him now as they drew closer.  Aragorn quickly wondered if he should abandon the horse.  Even injured, he could make better speed alone, but he would not get the chance to act.  Aragorn cursed his luck as he heard the unmistakable sound of arrows connecting with flesh.  They had hit the horse.

            The beast crashed to the forest floor in mid-stride, and Aragorn was thrown, landing face first in the dirt and rocks.  He could feel the blood begin to flow from his nose and mouth.  Ignoring his pain, Aragorn struggled to his feet and ran, not having any time to waste.  Unfortunately, his sense of direction had been lost and within minutes he was, once again, surrounded by Orcs.  Even though he was becoming dizzy, Aragorn took a defensive stance.  As Orcs tend to do, they came one by one, and Aragorn was able to defeat several of them, though not as easily as he would have liked.

            Suddenly, a voice called from the darkness, “Hold!  Completely surround him but remain still!”  It was Felnorvard.  “That was very foolish, Aragorn!” he growled, moving to the inner edge of Orcs.  “Drop your sword, surrender yourself, and no harm will come to you!”

            I find that very unlikely, Aragorn thought as he weighed his options.  Thirty Orcs against one injured man was a lost cause, and there was no where for him to flee.  He would have to surrender. 

            Aragorn allowed the heavy sword to slip from his fingers and fall to the ground with a dull thud.  Immediately, the Orcs were upon him.  Aragorn expected to be beaten or whipped for his failed escape attempt, but they just held him, waiting for further instructions.  He kept still and allowed them to grip his arms, waiting to see what would happen next.

            Felnorvard came and stood in front of the Ranger.  “That was very foolish,“ he repeated.  “Luckily, we have more horses that…” Aragorn suddenly spit a mixture of saliva and blood in the man's face, causing him to stop mid sentence.  The Orcs’ grips tightened as Felnorvard stood glaring at the Ranger.  He slowly reached down and taking Aragorn’s cloak in his fist, wiped his face. Aragorn had little time to react when the man quickly drew his dagger and pressed it dangerously against his throat.  The Orcs began to snicker as the Ranger’s head was forced back, revealing more and more of his throat.  As the blade bit into his skin, Aragorn could feel a small amount of blood slide down his neck to his shirt. So far, he had not been able to provoke any violence.  Perhaps now I will see their true face, Aragorn thought. 

            But Felnorvard checked himself and lowered it.  Instead, he brought his hand up and touched the Ranger’s dirty and bloody face.  “The rocks have not been kind to you,” he said as he probed the other man’s blood covered nose and cheekbone. When Aragorn did not pull back or cry out, Felnorvard continued. “I do not think you have broken anything, for which you should be thankful.”  With a sly smile, he turned and nodded to the Orc-group.  “Perhaps now it will be a bit more difficult for you to escape.” 

            Aragorn did not struggle as his arms were pulled behind him and bound, nor when a cloth was placed over his eyes.  For the time, he had fought and lost.  Now, he wanted to keep whatever dignity he had left.  He was, after all, more then just a common Ranger.  He had lost this battle, but luckily the war was not over; it had only just begun.

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            Several more days passed and Aragorn continued to grow stronger.  He was now forced to ride with Felnorvard.  There was no getting around it.  The Orcs would not carry him, by the order of their commander, and the Ranger could not keep their pace with his vision restricted and arms bound behind him.

            So, Aragorn spent his days in silent thought.  He hated not being able to see and more then once, wished the Orcs had just beaten him instead.  He felt completely helpless, something the Ranger was not accustomed to.  He went where the horse led, and no amount of twisting or leaning made any difference.

            Aragorn was always tense when they rode for he strained to hear everything around him.  Felnorvard could sense the other man’s uneasiness and smiled inwardly.  In two days, they would reach their destination, and even he didn't know the Ranger’s fate.

            Felnorvard attempted to make conversation with his prisoner, but Aragorn never responded.  He was lost in his own thought and concentration.  Even though he was never permitted to remove the blindfold, his instincts told him that they were still traveling east, though he knew not whether northward or southward.  He could also tell that they occasionally passed under trees, but never for any length of time.  With two more days of travel, Aragorn knew they would not be able to reach the confines of Mordor. 

            Could we reach Rohan in two days?  he asked himself, but mentally shook his head.  But I know those people, and they are not open to evil, Aragorn argued.  He had been doing a lot of that lately, arguing with himself.

            He had tracked the Enemy in that part of Middle Earth for several years, and he knew of no strongholds this far from Mordor.  These are strange times indeed.  If the people of Rohan have given in to the shadow, then Gondor will also fall, followed quickly by the rest of Middle Earth.  That can not be allowed.

            Aragorn also had time to think on the strange behavior of his captors.  He remembered when his many wounds were tended, and the words ‘false kindness’ came into his thoughts.  They acted not like a changed Enemy but a restrained Enemy.  He could still feel their evil and hatred every time they came near him.  Aragorn felt certain that Felnorvard was the only thing keeping him safe from torment and abuse.  They were trying to deceive him, and the Ranger had no idea why.  Now, there was no chance of escape.  There were very few Rangers this far south and the Riddermark had enough troubles on their eastern borders.  Aragorn knew that his chance had come and gone.  There was nothing left to do but wait.  So, two more days passed uneventfully.

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            The company slowed their pace for the last hour of their journey, and Aragorn was forced to walk.  Since his arms were bound behind him and his eyes covered, the Ranger’s steps faltered often, as his feet managed to catch on every rock and branch on the path.  An Orc’s strong grip, however, was never far behind, forcing him back to his feet.  But, Aragorn also had to deal with the pain in his legs from ridding horseback for so many long days and nights.  He generally enjoyed hours on a horse, but those required muscles had been inactive too long to deal with the present abuse.  The pain would pass soon enough, and all Aragorn could do was hope Felnorvard didn’t notice his slight limp.

            “At last, you will know and feel the power of my master,” Felnorvard whispered to him.

            Felnorvard had stopped him in front of something large, for Aragorn could feel that the wind had shifted.  It was somehow colder now and seemed to swirl all around him, as if it was circling something; even the rays of sun were cold.

            Aragorn could hear that most of the Orcs were falling back and leaving the group.  They were filtering away; away from whatever building they had come to.  Felnorvard placed his hand on the back of Aragorn’s neck and guided him forward.  Everything grew quiet and still as they climbed up a long staircase.  Aragorn could hear nothing except the rapid beating of his heart and his own shallow breath.  If Felnorvard’s hand had not been on him, he would have believed himself to be alone. 

            For ten minutes, they quickly made their way up the corridors.  Aragorn longed for the blindfold to be removed.  He would never be able to find his way out and escape.  I can not afford another failed attempt, Aragorn thought as they turned another corner and stopped.  Perhaps now I will find out the truth.  I can only hope the cost is not too high.

            Two great doors were opened, and Felnorvard guided the Ranger inside.  After several paces, Aragorn’s legs were knocked out from under him, and he found himself on his knees, bowing to whoever was in the room with him.

            Aragorn began to struggle until a deep voice rose from the far end of the room.  “Wait!  Let him rise and remove his bonds.  That is no way to treat a guest.”  So, Aragorn’s arms were quickly freed and his vision returned.

TBC...

Thanks to Brenda G. and Elvenesse for reviewing!  Look for more author's notes at the end of this chapter!

Chapter 4

After being in darkness for so long, Aragorn struggled to adjust his eyes to the bright room. Resisting the urge to rub his sore wrists, he, instead, quickly surveyed the room. At first, he couldn't tell where the voice had come from. Then, moving from the shadows, appeared a tall, older man. He was dressed in long white robes and walked with a staff, however it did not appear to support him. If this had been another time and in different company, Aragorn would have thought him to be a kindly grandfather. Now, however, there was evil radiating from him, and every step the old man took caused the Ranger’s breath to quicken.

Aragorn's face remained expressionless as the old man stood in front of him, looking him over. His eyes lingered on the scrapes on his face and his blood stained clothes.

“I had given you explicit orders. Why were they not followed?” he asked Felnorvard, never taking his eyes from Aragorn.

“No, Master!” Felnorvard cried, his voice fearful. “Never was a hand raised against him! He received the wounds during the storm and in an escape attempt!”

“Is this true?” the old man asked Aragorn.

Like many things over the past several days, this new situation made the Ranger uneasy. He had been called a guest, however Aragorn was not ready to trust their words. Ignoring the question, Aragorn proposed his own. “Who are you, and why was I brought here?”

The old man stared into the Ranger’s eyes and replied, “Your questions will be answered in time but first, mine.”

Aragorn sighed as he realized he would not win this battle either. “It is as he said. I was not abused by their hands.”

“Very well,” he said cheerfully. “Please, Aragorn, join me for a meal.” The old man turned and exited through a large wooden door.

Aragorn was surprised by the offer but had no intention of doing anything until his questions were answered. However, Felnorvard was still behind him and pushed the Ranger forward, saying, “You heard the Master; move!”

Aragorn was shoved across the room, through the door, and into a large dining hall. The center table had three places set with the old man already seated at one of them. He gestured for the Ranger to join him, but it was Felnorvard’s hand that forced him forward into a seat.

It had been many years since Aragorn had seen such wealth. The dinner plates looked to be gold, and the goblets were silver, lined with small jewels. Everything sparkled in the candlelight, for the sun outside had set. Even the food that covered the table looked rich and colorful. There were several kinds of fruits and greens that Aragorn did not recognize. Jugs with red wine and white juices lined the center of the table surrounded by a variety of meats. There were exotic sweets and spices everywhere, and Aragorn sat transfixed. It was the old man’s voice that drew the Ranger’s thoughts back to the present.

“Which do you prefer: fowl, boar, beef, or venison?” Without waiting for an answer, a servant, who Aragorn did not see enter, put some meat on his plate. The Ranger eyed the food uncertainly. He was far from starving, but had eaten nothing since early that morning. Everything smelled wonderful, but he didn’t want to show that he was open to corruption. Aragorn needed to show them that he would do what he wanted, when he wanted.

Felnorvard began to eat after his ‘master’ had started. Both men seemed to be enjoying the food and paying little attention to the Ranger, who sat quietly. Aragorn watched the two as they ate, trying to figure out this situation. He had seen no guards, and he was not bound. There seemed to be nothing keeping him from getting up and walking away. He was not foolish enough to try, but the thought had occurred to him. He would wait until he got answers.

Nothing was as it seemed, for instinct told him that this was no harmless old man. Even though he was looking at his food, Aragorn could feel the man’s eyes somehow watching him.

Trying to ignore his feelings, the Ranger looked around the room. The walls and floor were made of dark stone that Aragorn had only seen once before. It was produced north of Mirkwood in the Grey Mountains. To have an entire room or building constructed of it, the owner would have to be of great power and importance. Aragorn looked up and saw a ceiling far above him with large metal and stone artwork jetting out from the walls. This is but one room, Aragorn thought as he noticed several open doors leading away in different directions. And with the hike to reach it before… Something so large is not easily concealed. Aragorn called upon his memory of the area.

“It is impolite not to join your host for a meal, Aragorn,” the old man said, breaking the Ranger’s concentration. Servants were coming back to clear away the now empty plates and bowls. “But no matter, it is time to retire for the evening. Come, Felnorvard will show you the way.”

Aragorn waited to rise from his seat until Felnorvard was directly behind him. He did not wish to spend the night in a dark dungeon, but neither did he want to begin the up and coming interrogation. It puzzled him that the old man would wait until morning to question him, since he obviously went to a lot of trouble to capture the Ranger. The strange thing was that Aragorn could think of nothing that he knew that would be useful to the Enemy. He needed answers, but it did not appear as if he would get them that night.

The old man exited to the right while Aragorn and Felnorvard went left. As the two men walked through the narrow, winding passages, the Ranger toyed with the idea of escape. Even though Felnorvard was the same height as he, Aragorn was by far quicker. A well-placed blow would drop the man in a second. But where would he go from there? He had no idea which direction was the exit. Aragorn knew that he would, once again, only have one chance, and he would not waste it. There were far too many risks, and the chance of success was small. He would wait for a better opportunity.

“You will sleep in here tonight,” Felnorvard said as he opened a large door.

Aragorn stared inside. This was no dungeon.

“A room fit for a future king,” the other man said as he pushed Aragorn into the room. Just before he closed the door, he called over his shoulder, “Someone will be by shortly to see to your needs.”

Aragorn stood just inside the door. What is this game they play with me? he thought. The room was beautiful. There was silk of every color hanging from the walls, and artwork hung in between covering every inch of the stonework. The large fireplace was already lit, and it cast dancing shadows through out the room. The large bed in the far corner was covered in deep violet blankets, the color of a king. Even the chairs were downed in violet cloth.

As Aragorn moved around the room he noticed a set of clean clothes lying on a chair. He looked down at what he was wearing. His clothes were filthy and still stained with blood.

It was then that the Ranger noticed a small window. Leaving the clothes, he hurried over and leaned out. Even though it was dark, Aragorn could see the features of the land, thanks to a bright moon. Looking down, he saw that his room was high above the ground, for he could see the tops of the trees. Looking up, there was twice as much building above. This was no castle, as he originally thought. It was a tower, for there was no extension to the right or left; there were only trees. With a deep sigh, Aragorn turned away from the window and made his way to the bed. The room was far too high to risk escaping through the window.

The Ranger sat on the bed and rested his head in his hands. He was growing more certain of where he was. An elderly man who was not so elderly, a large tower somewhere, hopefully west of Rohan; this was Isengard.

From everything Gandalf has told me, this is no evil place. But why does he command Orcs? Perhaps I am mistaken, Aragorn thought, shaking his head. Gandalf had spoken very highly of his Order’s leader. Actually, while he had been in Orthanc, the Ranger had been treated with kindness, however there were Orcs here as well. Orcs were always in league with the Enemy; Orcs were the Enemy.

Suddenly the door to his room opened and Felnorvard entered. “Is there anything you require before tomorrow morning?”

Aragorn did not answer at first. How was he to respond? Was he a prisoner of the Enemy, or the guest of a great wizard? Should he be grateful for the offer or suspicious?

Finally, he said, “I would like to clean my wounds again. Could I have some water and bandages? Some healing herbs would be helpful as well.” His tone of voice was cold and unfriendly, but he had decided it was best to take advantage of the strange situation.

Felnorvard nodded and said, “They will be brought to you.” He then turned and closed the door. Aragorn could clearly hear the click of the lock turning. Not so friendly after all.

----------

Within the hour, someone, a servant, Aragorn guessed, brought him the supplies he had requested.

He sat on the floor and carefully laid everything out in front of him. They had given him a generous supply of herbs; everything he could ever need or want. Some of them were extremely difficult to find this time of year and had wonderful healing properties.

Aragorn reached into his shirt and pulled out a small cloth pouch. He always kept a small supply of herbs on him in case of emergencies, but now it was nearly empty. This would be an excellent this opportunity to refill it. His many years in the wild had taught him the value of being prepared for anything.

After taking a sample of everything before him, Aragorn stripped off his filthy shirt and slowly pealed away the bandage covering his side wound. It was healing nicely. He placed one of the herbs in the palm of his hand and with a little water, worked it into a paste. It stung as he applied it to the wound, but that was a good sign. It showed that there was no infection and if it was kept clean for the next few days, should heal completely.

His leg was a different story. After tearing a large hole in his leggings, Aragorn could see that the wound had not healed at all. The days of riding horseback had kept the wound open and allowed dirt to enter. Even the old bandage Felnorvard had applied had not been enough to protect it from infection. Luckily, it was not a deep wound and would not impair his ability to walk if treated immediately.

Setting his jaw, Aragorn began to clean out the inflamed wound. He slowly scrubbed away the caked-on blood and dirt. It was important to work all the way down to the bottom of the cut, because that was where the infection would fester and spread.

After applying another thick paste and wrapping his leg, Aragorn used the remaining water to clean the rest of the mud and dirt from his body. He was filthy but determined not to use the new clothes provided.

Over the past hour, Aragorn had heard someone moving around in the corridor outside his door, and it made him nervous. His instincts as a ranger, told him to remain alert as long as possible. Aragorn moved toward the door and placed his ear upon it. Whoever had been there had moved off, but the Ranger was sure they would be back.

The man placed his hand on the handle of the door and tested it. As he had suspected, it was locked. He was still a prisoner and whether this truly was Isengard or not, he could not ignore the facts.

Running his fingers through his hair in frustration, Aragorn made his way over to one of the chairs and sat down. He refused to spend the night in the bed. He felt that, to do so, would show weakness and submission. No, he would wait the night out in one of the chairs.

As soon as he had settled down, Aragorn knew he would not be able to stay awake. His weariness from the past days had finally caught up with him. Aragorn then decided to let down his guard and fall asleep. He had no doubt that what was to come would be worse then what had passed, and he would need all of his strength.

----------

Aragorn awoke with a start and jumped from his chair; someone was at the door. The click of the lock had been what pulled him from peaceful slumber. The Ranger struggled to quickly free himself from the hands of sleep. His vision finally focused and his head cleared just as the door opened.

Felnorvard stood in the doorway and called in to the Ranger, “It is time to break the night’s fast, and the Master is waiting. Come.”

Something about the man’s demeanor had changed since they had arrived. He was now quieter, more reserved, and difficult to read. Perhaps it was because of the presence of his master, but Aragorn no longer felt overly threatened by the man. It would be easy to overtake him and capture his weapon. The Ranger knew that his chance for escape was fast approaching.

Aragorn said nothing as he maneuvered his way through the room’s furniture and to the door. However, he stopped a few feet away and stared into Felnorvard’s eyes. Aragorn could still see the fire and hatred that burned there. Nothing had changed, then, since their journey; the eyes always betrayed a person’s true feelings.

“Go,” the other man said as he grabbed a handful of Aragorn’s shirt, and with a violent shove, pushed him down the corridor.

Aragorn tried to take a mental note of everything they passed. It was difficult since most of the doors were shut or dark and all of the halls appeared the same. Everywhere Aragorn looked was cold dark stone with very few decorations, the complete opposite of his own room. They turned corner after corner, and the Ranger began to feel as if they were trying to confuse him. He no longer knew which direction they traveled, and he would not be able to make it back to his room unaided.

After turning down several more hallways and descending a flight of stairs, Felnorvard finally halted him and opened the door they now stood before. Once again, Aragorn was forced forward into the center of a large stone room. The old man was there, waiting. Felnorvard moved to Aragorn’s right side and bowed low to his master. The Ranger remained as he was.

Anger began to etch itself on the man’s face as he rose, saying, “You will show him the respect he deserves, Ranger!”

Aragorn had not been expecting the blow to his midsection that followed, and he doubled over in surprise and pain. The man was obviously not as quiet and reserved as Aragorn had believed. He would not make the mistake of underestimating him again. Felnorvard grabbed a handful of the Ranger’s hair and forced his head down toward the floor. Aragorn’s knees gave way from the pressure, and he sank to the ground.

“Hold,” the old man said and walked over to help Aragorn back to his feet. “You may leave us now, Felnorvard. You have done enough.” He leaned down and offered the Ranger his hand.

Aragorn knew it may be dangerous to refuse his help, but he also wanted to show the old man how much he disapproved of his capture. The Ranger picked himself up off the floor and stood tall before the old man. If this was indeed the wizard Saruman, the man knew he must tread lightly. An angry wizard was not pleasant to be around.

“Very well,” he said slowly, noting Aragorn‘s refusal. “Please join me for a meal. You have fasted longer than I, have you not?”

It was true. Aragorn had eaten nothing since the morning before and was now hungry. Deciding to see where this would lead, Aragorn followed the man into the adjoining room where a meal had been prepared and set on a table.

“Please sit. We have much to talk about.”

Aragorn did as he was told and waited for the old man to speak again. There was still a chance this was just a misunderstanding. It was difficult to believe that Saruman the Wise could be corrupted by evil. Besides, the Istari were sent to Middle-Earth to help resist the Dark Lord Sauron. It just wasn’t possible for him to be an ally of the Enemy.

The old man suddenly spoke. “You know who I am. I can see it in your eyes.”

Aragorn took a deep breath. If he was wrong, then the mistake could prove deadly. “I have my suspicions, but I know not for certain.” It was a poor answer but a safe one.

They sat quietly as the food was served to them. Aragorn’s plate was filled with fruits and bread, and he became aware of just how hungry he was.

He weighed his options silently. He could refuse to eat again, but these were uncertain times. If his suspicions were true, then this could be his last meal for a while. On the other hand, wizards do strange things, and it was still possible that he was a guest. If that was the case, it was rude to refuse his hosts kindness.

“You are very quiet, Aragorn. I trust you had a restful night?” he said as he began to eat his meal.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” the Ranger said, looking up from his plate. “I do not know your name, yet you know mine.”

Still eating his breakfast, the old man said, “I’m sure that Gandalf has told you about me. I am Saruman, and you are visiting Isengard. But you already knew that.”

Aragorn lowered his head with a sigh; it was as he feared then. All is not lost, he thought to himself. There is still a chance that this is not what it seems.

“You have been fighting against the Enemy for many years now, have you not?” he said, changing the subject.

Yes, he had. Aragorn had spent much of the last fifty years in the wild. It was hard to believe that it had been that long. During that time, he had spent many years following and hunting Orcs, but these past eight years, he had been helping Gandalf. He had spent so long hunting for Gollum that he had begun to fear that the creature would never be found.

Seeing that the Ranger would not answer, Saruman continued. “You know that they are growing in strength. Over the past decade the forces of Mordor have increased their power, and soon they will strike out against all who stand opposed. You know this too.”

It was not a question but Aragorn replied, “I have feared as much. There are more Orcs abroad now then there ever have been.” Why is he telling me this? Aragorn thought to himself. Why is he telling me what I already know?

“The Dark Lord is calling all of his allies to him. Very soon, we must decide which side to take.” Saruman drew out the last sentence so its full meaning was understood.

Aragorn’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What do you propose be done then?” he asked although he feared he knew the answer.

“The Dark Lord has grown powerful and continues to grow. No one will be able to stand in his way.” Saruman sat up straighter in his chair and stared deeply into the human’s eyes. “He knows that the One Ring will be found, and it will only be a matter of time before he knows its location.” He paused. “We must join with him, Aragorn.”

Aragorn tried not to look as surprised as he felt. So this is it then. Evil has corrupted the Wise, and all of Middle-Earth will suffer because of it. Aragorn did not let his emotions show to the wizard. What was he to do? If the Dark Lord indeed knew of the One Ring then it was imperative that Gollum be found quickly.

“Why should I be part of this alliance?” he asked, spitting out the last word as if it were a curse.

“You are heir to the throne of Gondor. With you leading them, in alliance with the Dark Lord, the forces of Mordor could sweep through the land and Gondor will be safe. They would follow you if you asked them.”

Aragorn knitted his brow in confusion and frustration. “I will not betray my people for the suffering of others. Gondor will never fight with Mordor.” This conversation should not be happening.

“You would be saving hundreds of your people if you join with us,” the wizard countered.

“To the ruin of others. I will not have their blood on my hands.”

“But you would have your own countrymen’s blood?” he asked calmly.

Aragorn kept silent at this. He would never turn Gondor into the tool of the Enemy.

“You know what will happen when war comes. Gondor, along with the rest of Middle-Earth, will fall. You could save them by claiming what is yours and leading them for the winning side.” Saruman saw the stubborn resolve in the Ranger’s eyes and decided to switch tactics. “You want the power that only the Dark Lord Sauron can give. It is in your blood.”

That was the very idea that Aragorn continued to struggle with. He would not keep silent anymore, but he could only argue what his friends claimed was true, and he hoped was true. “My ancestors fought against Sauron! It was because of them that Middle-Earth lived in peace for this long.”

“But you forget why the Ring was not destroyed. Isildur knew the power of the Ring. He was drawn to its side like you are now. You should not fight what is your destiny.”

“The Ring betrayed Isildur and killed him. I am not bound to his fate and should correct his error, not continue it.” Aragorn had been telling himself this over and over since he was told of his true ancestry some sixty years before. He would not bring any more shame to Gondor or his family’s name by joining with the Enemy.

“It would be wise for you to agree, my friend,” Saruman said, sensing that he would not win the Ranger over so easily. “All you would need do is claim the throne and declare Mordor your ally.”

“What does Gandalf say of this?” Aragorn could feel the situation growing more tense by the minute. He had a growing fear that this day would not end well.

“Gandalf is a fool and can not see what is in front of his face. He knows of my opinions on the matter,” he lied.

That can not be or else I would have been warned of this, he thought, shaking his head. “I will never allow Gondor to stand side by side with Mordor. It is evil that you speak of, and I will have no part of it.” Aragorn decided to test his luck and added, “And since I am your guest, I thank you for your hospitality but must take my leave at once. I have a long distance to travel.”

Aragorn rose from the table and quickly made his way to the door he had entered. Taking the handle, he pulled the door open. Felnorvard was waiting on the other side and lunged for the Ranger’s arms. Aragorn had been surprised by the man’s sudden appearance and just barely ducked out of the way in time. Retreating back into the room, he steadied himself for the upcoming struggle. A curse escaped his lips as six or seven large Orcs filed into the room as well. He was not going to make it out of the tower, this time. Aragorn had no weapons, and it would be impossible to fight them off with just his fists. He would not go down quietly, however.

The Orcs rushed him, and Aragorn was quickly overwhelmed. He managed to knock out one or two, but they quickly tackled him to the floor. His breath was knocked out as four heavy Orcs landed on top of him. Pain shot up through his leg, and he feared that the impact had reopened the wound. He tried to kick himself free from the group but it was no use. There were too many of them.

He could feel a few of them slowly climbing off the pile and reaching for him. Struggling harder, he tried to keep his arms just out of their reach. He wiggled his way further out from under the Orcs, but he knew not what it accomplished. He was trapped and cornered, again.

“Off lads!” one of the Orcs said.

Aragorn could feel the weight lifted from him, but as he tried to raise himself, a metal-toed Orc boot connected with the side of his head. The force of the kick threw him onto his back. The Ranger’s vision blurred and began to spin. He willed himself to stay conscious as Orcs hauled him to his feet.

He could see a figure moving toward him. Aragorn struggled to focus his eyes, but they would not obey. He could feel his own warm blood running down the side of his temple and into his right eye. The Ranger knew that he would not be able to see out of it until the blood was washed away.

“Take him back to his room to think my offer over,” Saruman said to Felnorvard.

As Aragorn was taken back through the corridors of Isengard, he knew that he would never see the beautifully decorated room he had spent the night in again. They were descending too many stairs to be going back to that room. After what seemed like hours, the group halted in front of a small wooden door. They opened it and threw the Ranger inside.

Aragorn’s head was still swimming from its recent abuse, but he knew exactly where he was. He was in a holding cell, a dungeon of Isengard.

TBC...

Notes:  Well, now we know who the "master" is.  This is a good point to give everyone a little bit more of an explanation since I didn't want to ruin the first few chapters. 

Technically, this story is slightly AU.  From what I understand, Saruman did not know of Aragorn's ancestry, but I guess I always found it a little hard to believe Gandalf didn't ever talk about him.  But anyway, I've talked to a few people who say that Saruman would have revealed him to those in Mordor.  That may be so, but for my story, and for any sequels I decide to do, Saruman either doesn't think Aragorn's important enough or wants to keep the knowledge to himself.  It just seems like something that wizard would do.  So, I just wanted to give everyone a little heads up on what I was thinking.

And on another note, like I said in chapter 1, this story is completed, but I'm currently re-editing everything before I post.  Right now, out of 17 chapters, I'm just finishing chapter 10.  So, you can expect regular updates (usually every Saturday or Sunday) until I catch up with myself.  But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. 

Thanks to Elvenesse and Lady Wind for reviewing!!  Your opinions mean a lot to me!

Chapter 5

            Aragorn didn’t know how long he had been in the cell.  It seemed like days.  No one had come for him, and the Ranger didn’t know whether to be grateful or not.  He did not want to draw attention to himself, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be forgotten either.

            Aragorn sat on the cold floor with his head resting on his knees.  There was nothing else he could do.  He had wandered around awhile but quickly found the room to be bare.  There was no window, and the only source of light was through a small bared hole in the door. 

            Aragorn shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position.  He had fallen asleep several times over the last few hours, but now he was merely restless.  The Ranger brought his hand down to his injured leg and sighed.  He had managed to stop the bleeding again, but he worried about infection.  He had plenty of herbs in his emergency pouch, but without water, most of them were useless.

            The thought of water drew Aragorn’s attention to his own thirst.  His captors had given him no food or water since breakfast, and the Ranger was beginning to feel a pain in his stomach because of it. 

            Aragorn could hear that he was not the only prisoner of Isengard.  Somewhere beyond his cell door, he had heard someone cry out.  It was not a cry of pain, exactly but of frustration, and for that, Aragorn was thankful.  The last thing he wanted right now was to listen to the torture of another.  Every once in a while, he could hear the quiet but unmistakable sound of another person, and it was unnerving, like hearing a ghost.

            The Ranger sat quietly, listening to everything that was going on around him.  It was good for him to get this chance to clear his thoughts and prepare himself for whatever was to come.  Being raised in the House of Elrond had taught the man the value of serenity in one’s mind.  He began to quietly sing to himself the elvish chants and lyrics of old.  They quieted him and calmed his troubled thoughts.          

            His thoughts drifted back to his childhood when Elrond had first told him about his true ancestry.  He had only been twenty years old, barely more than a child.  The thought that he was the only heir of Isildur and to the throne of Gondor had scared him terribly.

            Over the years, he had grown to accept his destiny, wherever it would lead him.  The one warning that was always present in his mind was that no one must know of his true heritage.  He knew the Enemy would hunt him if they ever discovered the truth.  Now, it was possible that the slip of his tongue would cost him his life.  He cursed himself for his weakness and thoughtless action. 

            Such thoughts were quickly put aside as Aragorn heard voices outside his door. The Ranger did not rise from the floor as the door swung open, revealing Saruman.

            “Since you have had time to reconsider my request,” the wizard said, drawing closer to the man.  “What say you now?”

            Aragorn calmly looked up at him.  Although he knew of the wizard’s great power, he did not frighten him.  “My answer stands, wizard.  I will never betray myself or my people to the Dark Forces of Mordor the way my ancestors did.”

            “Very well,” Saruman said, turning back toward the door.  “You will do as I request, given time.”

            With a wave of the wizard’s hand, Felnorvard and the Orcs that had been guarding the door entered and crossed over to Aragorn’s position on the floor.  He sighed as the Orcs pulled him to his feet and held his arms.  So it begins, he thought as Felnorvard drew his sword and placed the tip under the Ranger’s chin, biting into the soft flesh.  Then, using his dagger, Felnorvard sliced through both cloth and flesh on Aragorn’s chest. 

            Aragorn gave no outward reaction, but his mind cried out in surprise and pain.  This should not surprise me at all, he thought as the Orcs stripped away the Ranger’s shirt to reveal the long bloody streak of the other man’s blade.  I will receive no kind treatment here. 

            They discarded the man’s cut tunic and bound Aragorn’s hands in front of him.  Violent hands pushed him forward, down a long hall, and into a new room.  His arms were pulled above his head and secured to a beam near the ceiling. 

            Saruman entered and approached Aragorn, stopping when their faces were only inches apart.  “I am not as foolish as you believe,” Saruman said.  “The Dark Lord will sweep across the land and destroy everything that opposes him.  You know this.  Nothing will be able to stop him.”

            Aragorn decided that it would not be possible to make his situation any worse, so he responded. “I think you’re wrong.  You want me to give you Gondor because you know of their strength.   It will be the alliance of Rohan, Gondor, and all free people that will defeat the armies of Mordor.”

            Saruman’s eyes narrowed and his hand shot across the man’s face, splitting his lip.  It was true.  Gondor had grown very strong, and along with the armies of Rohan, they could withstand and triumph over Mordor.

            The Ranger finally understood why he was taken.  The Enemy was worried about the growing strength of Gondor.  They needed him to cooperate, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t settle for him dead.  He was still in terrible danger at the hands of Saruman.

            The wizard turned back to Felnorvard and said, “You can have him for one hour.  Teach him what it means to be the enemy of the Dark Lord, but do not kill him or cause permanent damage.”

            “It will be my pleasure, Master.”

            With Saruman leaving, Felnorvard motioned forward an Orc holding a long whip.  Aragorn kept his face expressionless as the Orc glared at him, waiting for his human commander to speak.  “You had the chance to experience my master’s kindness and generosity, but you refused.  Now, I get the opportunity to show you what happens to all who oppose him.” 

            He took the whip and brought it up to Aragorn’s eyes, giving him a better view of it.  The strips of leather that hung from its end were covered with bits of metal hooks.  It would tare whatever skin it touched.

            Felnorvard watched the Ranger’s face, looking for signs of fear.  While the man’s expression did not change and his breathing remained slow, Felnorvard saw something in the other man’s eyes.  It wasn’t quite fear, but it showed that Aragorn’s mind wasn’t as calm as his face.

            “Your eyes betray you, Ranger,” Felnorvard said, handing the whip back to the Orc. 

            Aragorn opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sting of the whip against his shoulder.  He choked on his words and squeezed his eyes shut.

            “What, Ranger?  No witty response?  I said your eyes show your weakness.”

            Another blow landed to the small of his back, and Aragorn clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth began to hurt.  The whip bit into his shoulder again, and the Ranger fought against the urge to cry out.  It was tearing the skin from his body and he could feel his blood slowly creeping down his back toward the floor.

            After a half dozen more lashes, Aragorn’s head hung limply on his bare chest.  Blood flowed from the welts on his back and shoulders.  Darkness threatened to overcome him, but he fought it.  He would not give in.

            Felnorvard’s fist connected with the side of the Ranger’s head, causing his vision to swim.  “Wake up, Ranger.  I’m not finished with you.  My hour is not yet up.”

            Aragorn tried to shift his weight, looking for a more comfortable position.  His arms burned from being forced to support his weight.  He had tried to keep his legs under him but could not.  Now, his entire body was being supported by the ropes binding his wrists, though he lost the feeling in them long before.

            Felnorvard traced his finger down the Ranger’s chest and stopped on the bandage covering his side wound.  The man’s fist closed on the fabric and ripped it away. 

            Aragorn sharply drew in his breath as Felnorvard reopened the wound and probed the tender flesh.  His breath was coming quicker now, and the darkness once again threatened to overtake him. 

            “Yes, that’s right,” Felnorvard said, watching the pain sweep over the his captive’s face.  “I am in control now.  My master has other plans to persuade you to join him, but right now, you’re mine.”

            Felnorvard dug his finger deeper into the Ranger’s side, and a quiet moan involuntarily escaped Aragorn’s lips.  Even with his eyes tightly closed, Aragorn knew that the man was pleased.

            “What was that?” he asked, leaning so close that Aragorn could feel the man’s breath by his ear. “Did you say something?  You really must speak up.”  Felnorvard laughed as the Ranger tried to pull away.  “No, no.  You can’t get away from me that easily.”

            Another stab of pain shot through Aragorn’s chest, and he nearly cried.  A low moan was all he would allow himself.  He could not catch his breath, and his side was on fire.  Felnorvard would not remove his fingers from the wound, and he felt he would die from the pain.  It was incredibly unnerving to feel someone moving around inside his chest.

            Finally, Felnorvard did remove his now blood covered hand and placed it on the Ranger’s cheek.  Aragorn closed his eyes in disgust as his own blood was wiped on his face and hair. 

            “You’re not as talkative anymore, are you?” 

            Felnorvard landed a blow to the Ranger’s unprotected ribs and then took a fistful of hair, tilting the man’s head back.  Before Aragorn knew what was happening, a fist came out of nowhere and connected with the base of his neck.  The last thing he remembered was seeing the evil smile of Felnorvard.  Then he succumbed to the darkness that had been slowly creeping up on him.

TBC...

Thanks to Elvenesse for reviewing!! 

Just a quick note.  For the past few weeks, I've been updating on Saturdays or Sundays.  However, I'm afraid that I won't be able to post chapter 7 until the weekend after next.  That would be the 18th and 19th.  Sorry guys, but at least I won't make you wait with a cliffhanger!

Chapter 6

Aragorn slowly became aware of his surroundings. He could taste blood in his mouth and feel something warm running down his face. Odd, he thought. I do not remember receiving a wound to my head.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on breathing slowly and evenly, hoping that his captors would believe him to be still asleep. He focused on the sounds around him. There were at least two large creatures somewhere in the room, Orcs from all the noise they were making, and Felnorvard was also there, talking with Saruman.

The two continued their conversation for a few more moments until there was a sudden, unnatural silence. Aragorn cursed his luck as he heard someone moving toward him.

Someone’s hand slid under the Ranger’s neck and lifted it from his chest. “I know you are awake,” Saruman said. The wizards voice was dangerously close to Aragorn’s face and he resisted the urge to pull away. “Open your eyes, Aragorn.”

The Ranger’s eyes shot open. Other then on this journey, he had very rarely heard his true name spoken. For a long time, while he still lived in Rivendell, the name had been taboo. He had always associated it with danger although he knew the time would soon come when it would be spoken freely.

Saruman did not smile as he held the man’s face. “Join with us,” the wizard said as his eyes bore into the Ranger.

“My answer remains the same as before: never,” Aragorn replied. Part of an old elvish poem found its way to his lips, and he spoke, “You are the master who delights in evil; every wicked person finds refuge with you; the arrogant stand before you. You love all who do evil; you destroy all who speak truly. Murderers and deceivers are drawn to you.”

Aragorn kept his face unmoved as the wizard laughed. “I see that Elrond taught you the old texts. I know them as well. ‘Cloud and darkness surround him. Fire goes before him; everywhere it consumes his foes. Lightening illuminates the world, and Middle-Earth sees and trembles. The mountains melt and the days pass like a shadow. He will flash forth lightening and scatter his foes, giving victory to his kings.’” He paused, allowing what he said to hang in the air. “You have the chance to be that king, Aragorn.”

“Saruman, I would rather die by your hands then serve those that I have fought against for so long. I will never comply.”

Releasing his grip on the Ranger’s chin, a cruel smile spread across the wizard’s face. “You will not die by my hand, Aragorn, but you may wish for death before the end.”

Aragorn’s eyes narrowed in anger at the wizard’s comment. “No amount of torture will bend me to your will. I will only become more resolved.”

“Foolish human, I am a wizard! I have more at my disposal then you can ever imagine.” Saruman smiled again as a new idea came to him. “Perhaps I should give you a demonstration of my power, a sample of what you could ally yourself with.”

Aragorn gasped as the wizard placed a hand on his bare chest. It felt as though the air was being pulled from his lungs. He could not draw breath; it was choking him. He threw his head back and tried to speak or cry out, but without air, it was impossible.

His head and lungs were screaming for oxygen yet none would come. His vision began to shift out of focus and darkness crept in from all sides. Just as Aragorn was about to release himself into oblivion, Saruman pulled back his hand.

The Ranger gagged and coughed as he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. In his opinion, suffocating was the most frightening feeling imaginable. When he was younger, Elrohir and Elladan had held him under water as a joke. For years afterward, the child Aragorn had been plagued with nightmares. Even now, over eighty years old, he was still afraid of that feeling.

Saruman could see the fear in the Ranger’s eyes, and he laughed. “Yes, remember that I can bring you to the edge of death and pull you away just as quickly. It can be as often or seldom as you make it.”

Between gasps Aragorn responded, “You control your own actions, and I control mine. That will not change, no matter what you do.”

“We will see.”

Aragorn finally got his breathing and fear under control. Now he could focus his attention back on his situation. Saying nothing from now on should keep him out of trouble. It would not be prudent to make the wizard angry with witty comments. I would rather anger him with silence, Aragorn thought, keeping his eyes on Saruman’s every movement. The wizard had moved to a table a few paces away, but Aragorn could still observe his actions.

Saruman was pulling apart various plant leaves and dropping them into a bowl of water. He was intently focused on his task and spoke quietly under his breath. He occasionally waved his hand over the bowl, dropping in the now crushed herbs.

Aragorn hoped that his worries were not apparent on his face. The Ranger could deal with conventional torture, but what the wizard had in mind was far more damaging and effective. His limited experience with drugs had always been in healing, never torment. He was uncertain how to prepare himself. Perhaps there is nothing I can do, Aragorn thought as Saruman turned his attention back to him. But I will not make his task any easier.The wizard poured the solution into a cup and offered it to the man. Aragorn did not even look at the liquid but kept a cold stare straight ahead.

“Come now, Aragorn,” Saruman said. “This is folly. You can not resist me, and I speak the truth when I say that I do not wish you harm. I am merely showing you your mistake.”

Aragorn laughed aloud, but he did not trust himself to respond. The words he wished to speak would bring more trouble than it was worth. Perhaps a different approach was needed.

Closing his eyes, the Ranger very slowly parted his lips and allowed the wizard to pour the drink into his mouth. It tasted strangely familiar though he could not place it.

Saruman withdrew the now half-empty cup from the man’s mouth and smiled. “There. That was not as difficult as you thought and less painful then…” Aragorn cut the wizard’s sentence short by spitting the drug in his face.

Aragorn fought to keep himself from smirking at the wizard’s expression. The memory of the look on his face would make up for whatever the punishment.

The Ranger waited as Saruman wiped his face on his robes. Then the punishment came. The wizard raised both of his hands and spoke in a tongue that Aragorn did not understand.

Suddenly, the Ranger felt a sharp pressure forming behind his eyes. It was deep within his head and throbbed violently. He started to blink rapidly, trying to expel whatever was causing the pain. The pressure was steadily building and began to spread across his entire face. Aragorn wished he could rub his eyes or at the very least, hold his head, but he could not. His arms were bound very securely.

His breath was beginning to come faster as the pain grew, and he was trying everything to eliminate it. He squeezed his eyes shut and started to violently shake his head back and forth. It felt like his entire head was going to explode. His heart pounded in his ears and blocked out everything else.

Aragorn felt something being poured into his now open mouth, but he didn’t care. The only thing he could think about was the pain coming from inside his head and how to make it stop.

As quickly as it had started, the pain vanished. Aragorn opened his eyes, and although his vision was plagued with yellow and black spots, he could see Saruman still standing in front of him.

“I told you that it would be as painful as you make it. I care not as long as my goal is reached.” Saruman summoned his Orcs to unbind the Ranger.

Aragorn frowned in confusion. What did the wizard mean by ‘reaching his goal’? He searched his thoughts for any idea about what had happened. He had been so caught up in the pain that he had not been aware that anything else had happened. Of course! Aragorn thought as his memories came back to him. He remembered tasting something in his mouth and swallowing in reflex. If I had only been more vigilant, but hopefully I will be able to correct my error when I’m alone. It will be easy enough to expel whatever was forced into me.

Aragorn was still very weak from his beating, and when his arms were released, his legs refused to support him, and he collapsed to the floor. The Orcs laughed and pulled him back to his feet, dragging him toward the door.

They traveled quickly through the corridors of Isengard and down to its dungeons. With so many twists and turns, Aragorn had long given up trying to map where they were.

Finally arriving at their destination, the Orcs roughly threw the Ranger to the stone floor. They did not leave. Aragorn could only imagine what they were waiting for, but he did not have long to guess. Felnorvard had followed the group and now, he entered, holding a strange metal and leather object. From his position on the floor, Aragorn could see that it was a mask of some kind.

Felnorvard knelt in front of the fallen Ranger, a small smile spreading across his face. He slowly reached his hand behind Aragorn’s head and pulled him forward. The man brought the mask up to place it on his face, but Aragorn struggled and tried to pull away.

Felnorvard’s fingers closed around a clump of his hair, and although Aragorn still resisted, he was able to hold him still. His eyes narrowed as he challenged the Ranger’s resolve, saying, “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, Aragorn! What do you possibly hope to accomplish resisting me in your position?”

Aragorn frowned. He was too weak to argue and didn’t really want to deal with the consequences of disobedience; everything hurt too much.

Felnorvard felt the Ranger relax slightly, and he began to slip the mask on again. There was a large metal section that fit snugly under the length of the chin and over the mouth. It was designed to keep objects from entering or exiting the captive’s mouth, but it also kept them silent.

Aragorn closed his eyes in silent defeat as the straps were tightened around his head. He would not waste his failing strength on something so trivial. The only possible result of resistance would be more injury. From now on, he would be forced to pick his battles carefully. Honor and foolish pride were no longer enough of a reason to pick a fight with his captors. He needed strength to escape.

Felnorvard finished and rose to his feet, saying, “That will make sure the medicine stays in your body and has a chance to do its work.”

Medicine indeed, Aragorn thought as two Orcs stepped forward and tightly bound his hands behind him. Then they left him alone with his thoughts.

Aragorn slowly eased himself against the cell wall, being careful of the welts on his back. He tried to move his mouth from under the mask, but it was a futile effort. There was a large leather strap that came out of the metal, over his forehead, and connected in back, effectively keeping him from opening or moving his mouth in any direction. Aragorn knew that he was lucky it wasn’t tight against him. He didn’t know how long he’d be in the cell, but a painfully tight mask around his face would have made the wait insufferable.

It was intensely dark for there was no light entering his cell. Even the small window leading to the corridor was black and lifeless. Strangely, there was no sound either. He could hear no one moving about in the hallway, only his own shallow breathing. It was as quiet as death.

Aragorn shuddered at the thought. No, he was not dead yet and if he had it his way, not for a long time. He knew that he had to focus on the present rather then the future. All of his mental and physical strength was needed to fight whatever poison had been given to him.

He waited in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity, and during that time he studied his body’s reaction to the potion. Nothing seemed to be happening. He still had the use of his legs, and even though his arms were bound, he could move them.

Then it is not a physical reaction that I should be weary of, Aragorn thought as he tried to free his jaw from the mask again with no luck. He had hoped it would have been different. Such drugs could leave lasting side effects on their victims.

Aragorn let out a sigh of pain and frustration. There was nothing he could do but wait for Saruman to return. Patience he had, but he hated waiting, especially for the inevitable. He would need his strength, and sitting there thinking about what was going to happen, would drive him insane. Therefore, he closed his eyes and prayed for sleep.

----------

When sleep did come, he was tormented by strange dreams.

He dreamt that he was running through the forests surrounding Rivendell with his elven brothers, Elladan and Elrohir. He was carefree, like he was as a child. The trees flew by as he ran, but something was wrong. They were no longer following him so he stopped, turning back.

Elladan and Elrohir had vanished. Then he found himself on top of a large cliff, overlooking a great valley. He could see the White City in Gondor, Rivendell, and the cities of Rohan. Everything looked peaceful and prosperous, and he stood for a time, just watching.

But as the sun began to set, a strange darkness swept over the land. It consumed everything. But, far in the east, Aragorn could see a red glow, creeping slowly westward. It came upon the White City first, setting whatever it touched aflame. The plains of Rohan and Edoras were sacrificed next, followed by Lórien, Mirkwood, and Rivendell.

Aragorn looked down and could see a large mass of people moving toward the base of the cliff he stood upon. They were trying to climb up to him, to escape the fire and burning around them.

Aragorn stood in horror; he recognized many of them. Lord Elrond, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir, Gandalf, Glorfindel, Lady Galadriel, King Thranduil and Prince Legolas, and King Theoden were all in the front of the group, pleading with him, begging for his help.

But he could do nothing to save them. His feet were firmly planted to the rocks. The fires started from behind and devoured the dwarfs, men and elves who had come to him. Aragorn watched as the ones he loved and cared for were slaughtered before his eyes.

TBC...

Thanks to luinthien and AM for reviewing!  Because of you, I'm posting a day earlier then I expected!

A few notes:

I'm having a hard time finding enough time to edit this story.  I'm still quite a few chapters ahead of this posting, but I've decided to post a new chapter every other weekend.  That way you won't have to wait as long for the last few chapters.  Okay!? :)   Next...

In this chapter, I make a reference to rape. It's only implied, and if you're not paying attention you'll miss it. For that reason, and because it doesn't play a major role in the development of the story, I've decided to keep the rating at PG13.

Chapter 7

           Aragorn awoke with a start, as if something had disturbed his sleep, though he could find nothing out of place.  Except that I am sitting in a dark cell in Isengard with my hands bound and a metal mask about my face, Aragorn thought as he searched through his memory.  He had been dreaming, but the visions were quickly vanishing.  He struggled to keep hold of them.

            It is not to be, he concluded.  The dream had completely vanished from his mind.  There was something new, however, growing in his subconscious.  It was affecting him, though he knew not how.  There was a feeling of fear and helplessness in the back of his mind that had not been there before, and it disturbed him greatly.  Aragorn decided to let the matter rest.  He could do nothing about dreams.

            His cell was very cold and letting his bare back rest on the stone wall had done nothing to hold in warmth.  It would be colder to lie on the floor, Aragorn thought as he shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position.  The only good thing was that the cold stone numbed his sore back and decreased the swelling, a small comfort with the future still uncertain. 

            He had no way of knowing how long he’d slept, but from the stiffness of his limbs, it had been several hours.  It could be several more before his captors returned, and Aragorn wasn’t sure if it comforted him or not.  Their return would certainly mean more torment, but the ache in his stomach reminded him just how hungry he was.  It was entirely possible that they would bring him food.  Possible, but unlikely.  He could do nothing but wait.

            The darkness of the dungeon caused the Ranger’s mind to wander and play tricks.  He thought of Rivendell and of his childhood there.  He even imagined that he could hear Elrond’s voice, telling him about his ancestry.  Aragorn did not bother to try and control it.  There was no harm in day dreaming especially if it helped to pass the time.

----------

            After what seemed like days, Aragorn heard the unmistakable sound of life beyond his prison door.  Someone was coming for him. 

            He could feel his breath quicken, and he struggled to regain control of his emotions.  Although he was concerned about what was going to happen, Aragorn would not let it develop into fear. 

            As the door swung open, brilliant white light flooded the room, forcing Aragorn to turn his head.  As his eyes struggled to adjust, he could barely make out two figures enter and move toward him.  The features of Saruman and Felnorvard slowly came into focus.

            Saruman stood back and quietly watched as Felnorvard placed two jugs on the ground and leaned close to the Ranger, reaching to remove the mask.  Aragorn did not struggle since he wanted to be released as well.

            He felt the mask loosen and fall from his face, but the other man’s warm breath was still next to his ear. 

            “It would be wise to remain silent, Ranger,” Felnorvard quietly growled before he pulled away.

            Now it was Saruman who lowered himself to the floor and stared intently into Aragorn’s eyes.  The Ranger kept still and returned his gaze, determined to show the wizard his strength. 

            Saruman brought up both of his hands, placing them on either side of the Ranger’s face.  If Aragorn had not already been backed against the wall, he would have drawn away.  He still had vivid memories of what the wizard was capable of doing with his touch.  But now, there was no pain, no pressure, no suffocation. There was nothing.

            Saruman muttered several words under his breath which Aragorn could not understand. Then a smile spread across the wizard’s face, and the Ranger shuddered at the sight.  Whatever had caused the smile could not have been good.  With a nod to the other man, Saruman rose and surrendered his position to Felnorvard.

            “Once again, this will be as difficult as you make it,” he said as he picked up one of the jugs. 

            Aragorn took a deep breath and prepared himself, both physically and mentally, for the battle to come.  Something told the Ranger it would be long and difficult.

----------

            Aragorn was lying flat on his stomach, with every muscle in his body sore and stiff.  Although his captors had not been overly physical with him, the encounter had been draining.  As he expected and feared, he’d lost the battle, and Felnorvard had forced another dose of drug into him.

            This time, however, the metal mask had been forgotten, though his arms were still bound.  There was also more light entering his cell now, and Aragorn could dimly see the four walls around him, and in the far corner, a piece of cloth.

            It was his long forgotten shirt, and Aragorn thanked whatever luck he still had.  He sorely needed the herb pouch that was hopefully still hidden in an inner pocket.

            He slowly moved over to the shirt, trying to be as quiet as possible.  He did not want to draw the attention of the Orc guards outside his door.  With his hands still tied behind him, Aragorn was forced to rely on memory to find the pouch.  The shirt had many small pockets which were perfect for holding anything a Ranger would want kept hidden.  But sixty years of habits are hard to forget, and Aragorn knew exactly which one to look in.  He dumped out its contents then turned his body around to examine them.  Even though he didn’t know the name of the drug used on him, it was possible he could counter it.

            He had a few herbs on hand that would have an effect on just about anything.  It was commonly used when there was no absolute cure, or when one was not available.  But that wasn’t his only option.  He had much stronger medicine in his possession.

            Aragorn looked at his small supply of athelas and hesitated.  He was not altogether convinced that it was a Morgul poison, and he didn’t want to waste his precious supply.  Morgul poison worked in obvious ways, not the subtle ones, and the symptoms were severe.  No, he would keep his athelas to use another time.

            After several minutes of searching in the dim light, Aragorn found the small herb that he was looking for.  He leaned over, picked the plant up with his mouth, and quickly ate it.  It tasted bitter, and the Ranger wished he had some water to drink.  All of his herbs worked much better when taken with a liquid, but he would have to make due with what he had.

            Aragorn quickly turned back around and scooped the herbs into the pouch.  He decided that it would be best to put the shirt back in the corner where it would hopefully remain forgotten.  As things were going, he would probably need it again.

            Thirty minutes passed before Aragorn began to hear a change in his Orc guards.  There was too much movement; something was happening. He slowly moved closer to the door, trying to hear what was going on.  Even though the welts on his back had finally closed, it was still painful for Aragorn to do anything quickly, therefore, he only caught the last part of the Orc’s conversation before they started to argue.

            Abruptly, the voices in the hallway fell silent, only to be replaced with the dull thud of boots against stone.  Aragorn groaned; someone was coming, again.  He quickly made his way back to the cell wall.  He wanted to appear physically weaker then he was, and he needed every advantage he could get.

            The solid wood door groaned and creaked as it was opened.  Four Orcs entered dragging two large objects behind them, bodies, and Aragorn resisted the urge to get rise to his feet.  Now would not be the time to draw attention to himself, and past experience told him that more would be learned in quiet observation.

            The Orcs did not even look at the Ranger as they dropped their captives to the ground.  What happened next surprised Aragorn.  They brought out their daggers and cut the strangers’ bonds.  Adding to his confusion, they cut the ropes on his own wrists as well.  Then, as quickly as they had come, they left, not having said a single word.

            It took Aragorn a moment to remember that he was no longer alone in his cell.  He stiffly climbed to his feet and slowly walked over to the two prone figures.  They were both lying very still and face down on the floor.  Aragorn knelt down next to the first figure.  He laid a gentle hand on the person’s shoulder, trying to wake him.  Not getting a response, the Ranger carefully rolled the stranger over.

            Aragorn cringed.  Lying in front of him was the bloody face of a young man, probably no older then twenty-five.  The right side of his jaw was black and blue, along with his right eye, and blood was caked in his hair and down his face.  This man had not been as lucky as the Ranger in his treatment from the Orcs. 

            Aragorn ripped a piece of cloth from the young man’s shirt and began to wipe away the blood from his nose and cheek.  Suddenly, the young man opened his eyes.

----------

            Rayford stared up at the last thing he ever expected to see, another man.  He had been startled when he felt a hand touch his face.  The only thing he had known for a long time was the cruel hand of the Orcs, under the leadership of Felnorvard.  Now, this strange man was leaning dangerously close to his wounded face.

            Rayford shot his arm up and caught the stranger square in the chest, causing him to fall back.  He scrambled to his feet but was too weak from poor treatment and malnutrition.  He only made it to his knees before the stranger was beside him again, this time speaking.

            “Peace, sir.  I did not mean to startle you,” the stranger said as he tried to calm the younger man.  “Please, be still.  I may be able to treat some of your wounds.”

            Rayford did not relax under the other man’s touch. “Wait!” he said, pushing his hand away. “My cousin! Is she all right?  She needs my help!  Let me up!”

            Aragorn quickly released the young man.  He had almost forgotten about the other person the Orcs had brought in.  As Rayford struggled to get back on his feet, Aragorn was already moving to his companion.  She was also lying face down and very still.  The Ranger took her by the shoulders and slowly rolled her over. 

            Aragorn gasped; this woman was no more then a child, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old.  She did not seem to be as injured as her cousin; there were bruises on her face, but there was no blood.  Aragorn visually searched for any sign of a hidden wound, checking her clothes for blood.  The Ranger was stunned at what he saw.  He turned back to Rayford, who was now at his cousin’s side. “She is with child?” Aragorn asked, stunned.

            The young man brushed the woman’s hair away from her face and replied simply, “Yes.”  He leaned over his cousin and listened for any sign of life.  After a moment, Rayford sighed and sat back up.  “She still lives.”

            Aragorn was still so completely taken aback, that all he could do was nod.  There were a thousand questions flying through his mind.  Why had they been taken alive by the Orcs?  What did they want with a pregnant girl?  How long had they been prisoners?

            The young man broke through the Ranger’s train of thought when he spoke. “I am truly sorry for striking you.  Were you injured?  My name is Rayford, by the way, and this is Milena.”

            Aragorn shook his head. “I am known as Strider, and no, my friend, you did not injure me.”  He looked down at the unconscious girl.  “How is it that you two came here?  Orcs do not usually take prisoners.”

            Rayford had been mumbling softly to Milena and did not even raise his eyes when he responded. “We were captured traveling to our new home, and I know not why.”  That was all the young man said as he continued trying to wake his cousin.

            Aragorn saw that he would get no answers at that time, so instead, he joined Rayford.  After several minutes, the two men were able to coax the young girl back to the conscious world.  They slowly helped her up to a sitting position so Aragorn could assess her injuries.

            With a shaky voice, she assured him that there were no hidden hurts.  Aragorn accepted this but insisted that she remain seated.

            “Although I know very little about the actions of Orcs, I was surprised when we were taken alive,” Rayford said, turning his attention back to Aragorn.  “We have been held here for several weeks with very little contact with any of them.”

            Aragorn furrowed his brow and asked, “Were you questioned or given any indication of why you were taken?”

            Rayford sighed heavily. “Every now and then they questioned us but about nothing of importance.  Once or twice they would speak of us being important for something, but that was all.  Until the last few days or so we were mostly left alone.  That is when they started tormenting us.  At first, it was just taunts or shoves, but,” he said, motioning to his face, “it eventually came to blows, for both of us.”  His brown hair had grown long and unkempt in his weeks of captivity and now hung over his face.  The young man tried to tuck the hair behind his ears but without luck.

            “You have the look of a Ranger,” Aragorn said, noticing Rayford’s long hair and black over coat.

            With a small laugh, the younger man replied, “You flatter me but no.  I traveled with some for about one year but nothing more.  Please, Strider, how is it that you came to be in this place?”

            Aragorn hesitated.  He could not reveal himself to these people so he had to be very careful with what was said.  The slip of his tongue had been what helped get him into this situation in the first place, and he would not make the same mistake twice.

            “I was overtaken during one of my travels.  When I was brought here, they questioned me about things I can not speak of.”  That was the most Aragorn could say.  He only hoped it would be enough.

            Milena had been sitting very quietly with her head bowed.  Then, as if she had been startled awake, her head shot up.  “Strider is a strange name.  Where are you from?” she asked.

            Aragorn replied with his long practiced response. “I have been traveling as a Ranger of the North for many years now.  Before then, I lived in a small village of little importance to any man.”

            Milena smiled and nodded.  “We thought our home to be insignificant as well.  There were maybe fifty of us all together.  About seven months ago, a band of men and Orcs attacked us.”

            Knowing that she did not want to finish the story, Rayford continued for her. “They took us completely by surprise.  Eleven of us managed to escape into the forest where we were continually hunted.  We were never able to avoid them completely.  Milena and I strayed too far from the group, and with only five people left, they weren’t able to rescue us.”

            Aragorn nodded.  He had known Orc groups to track their victims for several months.  “Were the others before you taken alive as well?” Aragorn asked.  Perhaps this was some new trick of Saruman, capturing people to serve him. 

            “No,” Milena said.  “We would always search for them, and after a day or so, we’d find their bodies, barely recognizable.” 

            “And all of this happened over the past seven months?” Aragorn asked.  It would be a very strong willed people who could survive seven months of Orc attacks.

            Milena nodded.  Her hands rested uncomfortably on her enlarged midsection, and she shifted her weight. 

            “May I ask how far into the pregnancy you are?  Perhaps one of my herbs could help make you more comfortable, take some of the pain from your back.”

            “I am seven months along,” she said in a monotone voice.  “And no, thank you, I’m in no pain.” 

            “Married so young.”  Aragorn said to himself, his voice trailing off.  He was old enough to be her grandfather.  At that moment, the Ranger felt like a very old man, although he did not look it.

            “I am unmarried, and my child was not conceived in love,” Milena said quietly, almost too soft for Aragorn to hear.

            Aragorn could feel himself blush.  He should not have even mentioned marriage and kept his thoughts to himself.  He had suspected the truth, and now his comment had caused the situation to become very uncomfortable.

            It was Rayford who broke the silence.  “Our village lies on the border of Gondor to the west.  Before then, we had been bothered very little by Orcs; it came as a complete surprise.  What I fail to understand is why we were not protected or at the very least warned!”
           

            Aragorn frowned and sat quietly thinking to himself.  Someday, these would be the things that he would have to deal with.  Would he be able to do a better job of protecting the innocent people?  Would he have been able to prevent the Orcs from attacking the village?  How would he be able to protect those farthest away from Minas Tirith?  How would he keep the Wilds any safer for travelers?  What would he do differently?  All of those thoughts weighed heavily on Aragorn’s mind.

            “You’re bleeding, Strider,” Milena said, redirecting the Ranger’s attention. 

            “So I am,” Aragorn said.  The new freedom of motion had caused some of the welts on his back to open again.  Without treatment, it would not be long before infection settled itself in the wounds.

            “I have some training as a healer,” Milena said softly.  “The wounds do not look very old.  How long have you been a captive here?”

            Aragorn opened his mouth to respond but stopped.  How long had it been?  Surely it had not been a full week already.  Finally, he spoke. “Honestly, I can not remember the exact number of days.  They have all run together in my mind, but I do not believe it has been more than a week.”

            “It is nearly time for them to bring us some water,” Rayford said to his cousin.  “Perhaps then we can clean away the blood and dirt.”

            “Then you have been lucky that they’re providing for you,” Aragorn said.

            Before they could respond, the door to the cell opened.  Felnorvard stood just outside room, holding a large jug.  None of the captives moved, waiting to see what he would do.  Aragorn glared at the man. He was worried Felnorvard had returned to deliver another dose of the drug.

            “Come here, Ranger,” Felnorvard commanded.  His voice was cold, but not threatening.

            Aragorn replied with a soft snort.  “I think not,” he said under his breath.

            Milena leaned closer to the Ranger and whispered, “Please, do as he says.  He carries a water jug.”

            I doubt very much that he carries just water, Aragorn thought with a mental sigh.  “As you wish, Lady,” he said, rising to his feet.  He tried to hide his pain as he slowly walked the short distance to the door.  He set his jaw and stared dangerously at the other man.

            For his part, Felnorvard kept his face expressionless as he took a step into the room toward Aragorn.  Both men stopped only a few feet apart.  “We are not the enemy you think us to be, Aragorn,” he said quietly, so that only the Ranger could hear.  “I am offering you water, for I know you’ve had none in several days.”

            At first, Aragorn said nothing, his eyes searching Felnorvard’s face for signs of deception.  He focused on his eyes but found nothing.  “I have told you before, I will not willingly take your drugs.”

            Felnorvard laughed.  “And as I have told you, if I was trying to make you drink something, you would drink it.  But, now I offer only water.  Do with it as you please.”  He held out the jug. 

            Without taking his eyes off Felnorvard’s face, Aragorn reluctantly accepted it.

            “You could save your people, Aragorn, save them from death, he added quietly.

            “I will not hand over so many innocent lives to the Enemy.  That would not be saving them, and whether you ask me now, or in two years, my opinion will not change.”

            “I wouldn’t plan on being around that long, if that is the case.” 

            Silence.  The conversation was obviously over, but neither man moved, neither willing to back down first.  This time, Felnorvard glared while Aragorn remained expressionless.

            “Strider?” Rayford called from behind the Ranger, though he was ignored.

            Rayford’s comment, however, did break Felnorvard’s concentration.  He blinked and took a step back, as if noticing for the first time how dangerous Aragorn still was.

            “Get back, Ranger,” Felnorvard said, his voice almost a growl.  He wanted to leave, but it was impossible for the door to close with Aragorn blocking its path.

            Aragorn’s lips very slowly began to pull back into a sly smile.  I could try to escape, Aragorn though as he watched the anxiety spread across the other man’s features.  Felnorvard must have been thinking along the same line, because with surprising quickness, his hand shot up.  The sharp point of a dagger rested dangerously on Aragorn’s exposed chest. Perhaps not…

            “I said, move back,” the man threatened, the blade biting into the Ranger’s skin.

            Aragorn lowered his head in a mock bow.  With the smile remaining on his face, he took a step back, allowing the door to slam closed once again.  It was always refreshing to get a reaction like that out of his captors.  It made him feel like he was still in control of the situation.

            Taking a deep breath, Aragorn turned back to the two cousins.  He was developing a monstrous headache just behind his eyes, and the only thing he wanted now was to just sit and rest.  It would only take him six steps to cross the room. 

            After two shaky paces forward, Aragorn knew that he wouldn’t make it.  His vision blurred, and his heart began to pound in his chest.   Something was wrong.

            After two more, the Ranger extended his arms in an attempt to pass the water jug to Milena, but the world was beginning to spin.  The jug tipped and slid from his fingers, which would no longer obey his commands.  The last thing he saw was Milena diving for the jug, the surprised expression on Rayford’s face, and the ground rushing to meet him.

----------

            Aragorn dreamed he was sitting on the throne of Gondor.  Before him were hundreds of his loyal subjects, young and old.  They were clapping for him.

            He was the ruler of Gondor, and his people loved him.  He supported and protected them, and now he was trusted.  He was content and just sat there, watching.

            He watched as one of his soldiers burst into the large hall.  He ran toward his king, and everything suddenly became silent.

            Aragorn rose to his feet, wanting to hear what the man had to say.

            What?  How could this be?  No!  Seven villages destroyed and no survivors?  Where was his army?  Why weren’t they there to protect the people?

            Aragorn returned to his seat in silence as all of his subjects’ faces turned from joy to anger.  The hall was emptying; his people were leaving.  They had trusted him, and he had let them down.

            Aragorn sat in the empty throne room for a long time, thinking.

            His people had trusted him, trusted that he would protect them, and he had let them down.

TBC

Thanks to luinthien for reviewing!! 

I've had a good day today, so I've decided to post chapter 8 early!  *g* 

Chapter 8

            Felnorvard bowed low before his master.  Everything was going exactly as it was supposed to.  Events were set in motion, and now all they had to do was wait for the results.  “He is progressing quicker then expected, my lord.  Even now, he lies unconscious.”

            Saruman allowed a small smile to creep across his face.  “Yes, I suspected as much.  Leave him alone for a time so we can see his reaction.  Watch him closely, and report back to me.”

            “Yes, Master.”  Felnorvard hesitated.  The wizard had been in a strange mood lately, ever since Aragorn had arrived, actually.  “Please pardon my asking, but what types of reactions should I be searching for?”

            Saruman let out a low, dangerous laugh.  “He will bend to my will, though he does not know it.”  He crossed the room and picked up a bowl containing the herb drug.  “Do you know what this is?  Inwist, the Elves called it; all but forgotten now.  Alone, it has little power, but with my superior skills, I have been able bring it to its full potential.”

            Felnorvard waited for the wizard to continue, but it appeared as if he was lost in thought.  “Master?” he prompted.

            Saruman turned his back on the man and continued.  “Just watch him carefully.  You will begin to notice a change.”

            Felnorvard bowed again and left Saruman alone.

----------

            Rayford rushed to the fallen Ranger’s side.  He had collapsed no more than two feet in front of them, however they had not been able to catch him.  Hopefully, he hadn’t injured himself further in the fall, though his feet seemed to just cave in under him. 

            Milena had managed to save some of the water in the jug although a good deal had been lost.  They would need it to treat the fallen man.  Now, they had to decide what to do; there was no telling how long they would have alone.  Time was short.

            “All right, come on then,” Rayford said to his cousin.  “We can’t just sit here and wait for him to wake.  Bring the water.” 

            Milena knelt down beside the Ranger and placed the jug on the ground next to her.  With Aragorn’s head resting on her lap, she tilted it back and brushed his hair off his forehead.  His skin felt abnormally warm.

            “He has a low fever,” she said quietly.  “Hopefully it wont become a problem and break on its own.  We should concentrate on his other wounds.”

            “I agree,” Rayford said.  They did not know why Strider had fallen.  It could be from any number of reasons.  Was it from hidden injuries, dehydration perhaps? 

            Rayford tore a small piece of cloth from his shirt and dipped it into the water.  Then he tore off another piece.  They had to be careful not to contaminate what little water they had.  One cloth would have to be used to transfer the water while the other scrubbed the wounds.  They must use their supply very carefully.  Right now, he could only concentrate on washing away the dirt from the most serious wounds where infection would likely occur. 

            Milena sat by the Ranger’s head and continued to try and wake him.  She noticed that his eyes were rapidly moving back and forth behind closed lids.  He was dreaming and from the scowl forming on his face, it was not a pleasant dream.  Strider’s breathing had become shallow and quick.  The woman put her fingers on his throat, checking his pulse.  That too was abnormally fast.

            She knew that he’d work himself into a fit if he didn’t wake soon.  After several more minutes of trying, Milena concluded that he was in an unnatural sleep.  It should not have been that difficult.  The only thing she could do now was to try and calm him down.  She placed one hand on the man’s forehead to keep him from rocking it back and forth.  The other, she set on his upper chest, just below the base of his neck. 

            Milena slowly began to move her finger tips in small circles.  When she had cared for sick children in her village, she often rubbed their upper chest, and it comforted them.  Though not instantly, Strider did relax under her touch.  His breathing slowed, but it was obvious he was still plagued by dreams.

            “He needs water,” Rayford said, rising from his work.  “I can do nothing more with what little we have.”

            “I have no way of knowing when he will wake, and I fear he needs the water urgently.”

            Rayford sat back for a moment in thought. “Here,” he said, scooping his arms under the unconscious man.  “Sit behind him so he doesn’t choke.”

            Milena pulled the Ranger up so that his head rested back on her shoulder.

            “Hold his mouth open.”

            She nodded and placed her free hand underneath his jaw, pulling his lips apart.  Strider struggled weakly for a moment, but Milena held him tightly against her.  She tried speaking quietly close to his ear in an attempt to calm him.  “Be still,” she whispered over and over.

            Rayford took his clean cloth and dipped it into the water that remained in the jug.  Then, without loosing a drop, he brought it up to the Ranger’s mouth.  Very slowly, he squeezed the liquid from the cloth, being careful not to give him too much at one time.  With Milena’s hand in the way, however, Rayford could not tell whether the Ranger was swallowing.  So, he looked over questionably at his cousin. 

            She slowly nodded her head and answered.  “He is accepting the water; I can feel him swallowing.”

            They decided it was time to take their own share of it.  Both cousins took one large mouthful and drip-fed the rest to the unconscious Ranger.

----------

            Aragorn slowly felt himself leaving the realm of sleep.  He didn’t want to leave, because there was no physical pain there.  But now he could feel it creeping back up on him.  There was a severe pressure in the back of his head, near his neck, and it was slowly spreading down his back.  The pain was threatening to seriously hindering any sort of movement. 

            Aragorn tried to focus all of his attention on keeping his breathing slow and steady.  His head was pounding; it felt as if some type of beast was clawing at the inside of his skull.

            He was finally becoming aware of his surroundings though he was having a difficult time remembering where he was.  A whispering someone was holding him upright, commanding him to be still.

            Wait, they were holding his mouth open and some liquid into it.  Something in Aragorn’s mind screamed that this was a very bad thing.  He began to struggle against the hands that held him.

            A different voice called his name.  “Strider.  Be still,” it commanded.

            Then, all at once, the memories came flooding back to him, and he stopped fighting.  His sleep-induced amnesia had vanished.  As he remembered where he was, Aragorn allowed his eyes to slowly open.

            He was mildly surprised to find himself in Milena’s arms with Rayford leaning over him.  “What happened?” he managed to ask.  It was taking longer than expected for him to fully wake up.

            “You collapsed no more than two steps in front of us,” Rayford answered.  “I was able to clean most of the dirt from your wounds with the water we had left.”

            Aragorn groaned.  “It was not all lost, was it?”

            Milena released her hold on him, seeing that he was indeed awake and alert.  “No, I managed to turn the jug upright and save about a third of it.” 

            Aragorn slowly shifted his weight so that he could rise to his feet, but Rayford laid a hand on his shoulder.  “I think it would be best if you do not rise yet.  You were unconscious for quite some time and for no apparent reason.”

            Aragorn sighed.  He was finally beginning to feel the effects of the drug.  Every part of his body ached but especially his head.  There was a throbbing pain somewhere deep inside his skull that made it difficult to think. 

            There was something else as well.  A sense of dread had settled itself in the Ranger’s heart, and he didn’t know why.  A darkness had come without warning and was beginning to shadow his thoughts.  But it didn’t feel like something unnatural.  It reminded him of the mental anxiety everyone experiences occasionally.  Such problems are rarely spoken of with others and are left to be battled in the mind.  Aragorn knew that if such feelings were left unchecked and unchallenged, they could easily draw him in deeper where they would eventually destroy him.

            Rayford and Milena had begun their own conversation, and Aragorn was relieved that it only required minimal participation from him.  He just didn’t feel like talking to anyone else.  Right now, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and try to figure them out.

            The two young people noticed Aragorn’s distress and lowered their voices.  They could see easily enough that something had changed in the man.  They understood that he needed time to himself.

            Aragorn smiled at them as they backed away.  He was grateful for the medical attention they had given his wounds and now for their consideration.  It was not often anymore that ones so young behaved in such a mature manner.

            Aragorn rested his head in his arms.  Something was happening to him inside his mind.  It had been a long time since he had felt so depressed and hopeless.  Over the years, he’d been in several other situations that appeared to be hopeless, and it had not broken him.  But now, he felt that all was lost, that it would be impossible to survive.

            Why the change? Why now?  It could not be coincidence; there could be only one answer.

            It must be the drug, Aragorn concluded.  Somehow it has affected the workings of my mind.  But now that I know, what is there to be done?  What could he do to change the way he felt?  Aragorn knew the cause, and he believed he understood the effect.  But now he was unsure how to counter.

            For nearly an hour, Aragorn sat by himself in silent thought.  Every possible solution that he could think of was quickly rejected.  Nothing he could conceive would solve his problems.  Often his mind toyed with the idea of agreeing to Saruman’s demands.  But in his heart, he still knew what it would mean.  Finally, Aragorn knew that he could not spend anymore time dwelling on things he could not change.  Going around in circles was doing nothing for him.

            Even though he was incredibly sore and stiff, the Ranger slowly got to his feet and made his way over to where the two young people were quietly talking.  When they asked if he was alright, Aragorn replied, “I need to occupy my mind, to distract me from recent events.  May I join you?”

            “Of course,” Milena said with an understanding smile.

            The three captives talked for several hours.  They spoke of childhood indiscretions, of family, and future goals and aspirations. They laughed, which was a strange sound for a prison cell.  Milena talked about how she wanted to raise her baby, and Rayford spoke about a young maiden from a nearby village that he wished to know better.

            Aragorn found himself enjoying their company and conversation.  However, they were still very young compared to his eighty-six years, and they did not understand the ways of the ever-changing world.  The Ranger knew the chances of all three of them safely escaping were very slim.  They may never get a chance to do the things they were talking about, and it bothered Aragorn more then he wanted to admit.  But he was willing to put all that aside if it meant he would have a few more hours of relative normality. 

----------

            Felnorvard smiled.  He had been standing outside the door for several hours now, listening.  He had secretly watched Aragorn’s mental struggle, and what he saw pleased him.  This was exactly what his master said would happen. 

            He really couldn’t believe how perfectly everything was progressing, the Ranger’s reaction to the drugs, the prisoners’ growing friendship, everything.  Saruman had given Felnorvard permission to continue whenever he felt the Ranger would be ready.  All of the signs were there; it was very nearly time for the second phase to begin.

            Yes, he would allow them another hour or two to build up their friendships, and then, he would carry out his master’s wishes.

TBC

Thanks to luinthien for reviewing!!  To all you lurkers... thanks for reading!! *g*

Okay, so now I have no idea when I'll post these chapters!  Originally I said Saturdays, but today is not Saturday...  Just know that it'll be about every two weeks. (maybe less if I get reviews)  *g*

A quick note:  There is some Quenya and Black Speech in this chapter.  I spent a long time looking up all of the words and trying to get the grammar and syntax correct, but the data on the websites didn't always agree. Especially with the Black Speech, I was forced to choose words that looked the most authentic.  I know that it’s no where near perfect, but if there is a major problem, please let me know, and I’ll do my best to correct it.  Thanks guys!

On to the post!

Chapter 9

            Laughter from the race of Men could be heard up and down the corridors of Isengard, something that had not been heard there for many years.

            A cruel smile crept across Felnorvard’s face as he stood outside the dungeon door, a handful of Orcs close behind.  It was time.

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            Aragorn knew their solitude couldn’t last forever, but he had hoped for a while longer to recover himself both physically and mentally.  They had been sitting, enjoying each others’ company, when Felnorvard had marched into their cell. Orcs had rushed in, surrounding the captives, and Milena was taken away separately while the two men were tightly bound. When they were finally forced from the room, the men were turned to the left, opposite the direction Milena took.

            Now, after navigating the corridors of Isengard, Rayford and Aragorn found themselves standing in a small room.  Quickly looking around, the Ranger could see manacles chained to the ceiling.  He groaned inwardly.  He was in no mood to play Saruman’s games.

            But the two were not fettered.  Instead, Aragorn was forced to his knees by the hands of two strong Orcs behind him, while Rayford remained standing.  The pressure remained on the Ranger’s shoulders until he was sitting on top of his legs, pinning them under him.  Then, one of the Orcs knelt behind him, one hand clutching each of the man’s shoulders.  Aragorn’s heart sank as he saw Felnorvard emerge from the shadows holding a mug. 

            A low growl escaped from the Ranger’s lips as he began to struggle against his bonds.  He could feel the foul breath of the Orc on the back of his neck as the creature wrapped its arms further around the man.  It made his skin crawl, but he continued nevertheless.

            As Felnorvard continued to advance, Aragorn did the only thing he could think of and threw his head back.  A loud crack could be heard as he connected with the face of the Orc.  The force of the impact caused the creature to release its hold as it fell back, dazed.

            Even though he wasn’t sure where he was planning to go, Aragorn used the opportunity to scramble to his feet.  But before he could regain his footing, another Orc roughly pushed him back to the ground, having taken the other’s place.  Aragorn’s only comfort at the moment was spotting the first Orc picking himself off the floor, nursing a bloody and obviously broken nose.

            But his attention was quickly redirected as Felnorvard stepped directly in front of him.  Aragorn’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man kneel and offer the mug.  The muscles in Aragorn’s jaw tightened and locked as he glared at him. 

            Felnorvard sighed in annoyance.  “Of course, I nearly forgot,” he said, more to himself then anyone.  “You like to make it difficult.”  With the mug in one hand he drew his dagger and nodded to the Orc.

            Aragorn was surprised to feel himself being pulled backwards over top his legs.  He tried to struggle as his body was bent further and further down, but with his legs underneath him, it proved to be impossible.

            The muscles in his upper thighs burned as they were stretched to their limits.  Finally, with his elbows touching the floor, Aragorn’s head came to rest in the lap of an Orc.  He looked up at the cruel smile on the hideous creature’s face and shuddered.  This was not a position he wanted to be in.

            With the Orc holding the Ranger’s shoulders down and Felnorvard putting pressure on his knees, Aragorn could not move an inch.  His limbs were being stretched in far too many directions to allow movement.

            Felnorvard leaned over and placed the tip of his dagger on Aragorn’s lips.  The Ranger flinched as the blade’s end nicked the underside of his upper lip, drawing blood.

            Felnorvard smirked at his reaction.  He nodded and Aragorn felt himself being pulled higher onto the Orc, so that his head was now bent and resting on the creature’s stomach.  Aragorn tried again to pull himself away, not wanting to touch the disgusting beast but could not.

            The blade continued to maneuver its way past Aragorn’s lips until it found the natural gap that existed between the upper and lower jaw.  Then, Felnorvard slowly raised the handle of the dagger, using it like a lever to pry open the jaw.

            Aragorn had very little time to determine his own course of action.  He could feel that the blade was dangerously sharp, and a wound to the mouth would be painful and difficult to heal.

            Reluctantly, Aragorn allowed his mouth to open, though he was surprised when the blade entered further and rested lengthwise on his tongue.  The dagger insured that the Ranger’s mouth would remain open.

            Felnorvard poured in a mouthful of the potion.  Aragorn was forced to swallow, however the movement caused the blade to bite into his tongue.  He tasted blood but thankfully, not enough to make him worry.  The dagger was being used only as a warning.

            After the mug had been emptied, Aragorn was pulled back onto his feet.  Although he felt dizzy and faint, he remained upright.  This was what made Aragorn truly angry.  Had he already fallen so far that he could surrender himself like that?  There had been no real force involved that time, and he had made the conscious choice to open his mouth!  He had surrendered to avoid the superficial pain the dagger would have caused.  He’d never had a problem keeping his resolve before.  And now, to do so in the face of the Enemy and standing beside Rayford who was looking to him for strength and leadership…  He would not make the mistake again.

            Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn could see Rayford watching him.  Very quietly, he heard him asking what had happened and if he was all right, but Aragorn refused to answer.  He didn’t want to lie to the boy, but he just couldn’t bring himself to utter the truth, not yet.

Movement from the opposite end of the room caught the Ranger’s attention, and for the second time in as many minutes, his heart jumped into his throat.Aragorn heard his companion gasp as they watched Saruman enter through a hidden door with two Orcs carrying an unconscious woman.  Milena.  She was quickly secured to the shackles attached to the ceiling, her head flopping onto her chest.

            “What have you done to her?” Rayford barked.  He began to struggle wildly against the Orc that held him.

            Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.  Rayford was just going to get them into more trouble, bursting out like that, but Aragorn was not about to draw attention to himself.  It would only cause Milena more suffering.  Now, was the time for silent defiance.  He mentally winced as the Orcs used their fists to subdue the young man. 

            As Saruman turned and approached the two men, the Orcs wrapped their large arms around their captives in a giant bear hug.

            Aragorn’s breath quickened as the wizard stopped directly in front of him.  He tried to back away, but the Orc held him firmly in place.  Saruman’s lips curled to form an evil smile as he watched his captive struggle.  Very slowly, he raised his palm and placed it on the Ranger’s forehead. 

            Aragorn shut his eyes at the wizard’s touch and focused on his breathing.  He could not allow Saruman to frighten him.  He had to maintain his resolve.

            Almost too quiet to hear, the wizard began to chant, and Aragorn felt his head being pressed against the chest of the Orc.  Though the words were mumbled and slurred together, he recognized them as Quenya.  Aragorn was fluent in many of the languages of Middle-Earth, but the High Tongue was not one of them.  It just wasn’t used often enough.  But living and studying in the House of Elrond had at least given him the opportunity to become familiar with it, though mostly through written text.

            It was impossible to make out everything that was being said, but he was able to pull out a few words.  “Mornië… muina caurerya…” But it was the wizard’s final sentence, which was spoken clearly, that caused Aragorn to worry.  “Si illumë ostimë avathar avaomanya.”

            As the words were spoken, a shadow began to make its way slowly through his mind, turning his blood cold.  It felt as if someone was draining ice cold water through his brain.  Aragorn squeezed his eyes tighter and forced himself to fight against this new enchantment.  The feelings of despair and hopelessness came flooding back to him as the wizard withdrew his hand. 

            Aragorn let out the breath that he’d been holding, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rayford struggling once again.

            “Be still,” Aragorn hissed at his companion.  He would have to teach his friend how to recognize the proper time for physical resistance.  Although, Aragorn thought with a mental chuckle, I don’t know if I have learned that lesson either.

            As Aragorn struggled to control his resurfaced feelings of hopelessness, Saruman turned his attention to the unconscious Milena.  “Such a young thing,” Saruman said to no one in particular.

            Aragorn saw Rayford tense again but was able to control himself.  However, his actions did not go unnoticed by the wizard.

            “Do you care for this girl, boy?  She is your kin, is she not?”  The wizard’s tone was mocking and his taunt was not wasted on the young man; a low growl escaped from deep within his throat.

            Seeing that the situation was treading a dangerous line, Aragorn quickly spoke before Rayford could.  “Saruman!  I know what you want from me.”  He swallowed hard before continuing.  “And I may consider what you requested if these two are freed.”

            Saruman’s eyes narrowed, studying him, but Aragorn did not retract his statement.  He hadn’t actually intended to say that, but it was the first thing that came to him.  Besides, he would deal with the possible outcomes later, when he didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone else.

            “We will discuss your options,” the wizard said, “as soon as I believe you are ready.”  He turned back to Milena.  “But first…”  Saruman raised his staff and a bright white light shot out from its tip, hitting the woman square in the chest.

            Her body convulsed as the energy coursed its way through her, and Aragorn was thankful she was not awake to feel its effect.  He shot a quick glance at Rayford, afraid that the young man would completely loose control.  But Rayford had his eyes closed and his head bowed in silent defeat.  He knew there was nothing he could do to help his cousin.  As the bolt of light ended, and her body relaxed, blood could be seen dripping from her nose and staining her clothes.

            Aragorn could feel his anger swelling inside him.  He was angry with Saruman and himself, for letting such a thing happen.  She was little more then a child herself and did not deserve this treatment.  She had talked about so many things that she wanted to do with her life, and now Aragorn was afraid she would be able to complete none of it.

            As the wizard raised his staff once again, Aragorn could not control himself any longer.  “Saruman, stop!  You will kill both the mother and the unborn child!”  Aragorn knew that there was little chance now, but the guilt would eat away at him if he didn’t try.

            Saruman lowered his weapon and laughed, low and menacing.  “Why shouldn’t I make her pay for your mistakes?  Countless others will sacrifice themselves for you, Aragorn, if you continue down this path toward war.  And as for her child,” Saruman said, placing a hand on her midsection, “think of this as the impact your decision will have on the next generation of your Race.  It is you, Aragorn, that is killing any hope of your peoples’ survival.”  He paused.  “I find it interesting though.  Isn’t that what the Elves call you?  Estel?  The name seems hardly appropriate.  What hope should anyone have in you?  If you continue down the path you have chosen, it will be a fool’s hope.  Nothing more.”

            The wizard’s words echoed throughout the small room and then hung in the air like a dense fog.  Was there some truth in his words?  A part of Aragorn’s mind and heart cried that there was.  This was some of what he had struggled with for so long.  Would the price of victory be more devastating then the consequences of surrender?  When was the risk too high?  All the innocent who will suffer…

            Aragorn hung his head as energy flowed from the wizard’s staff once again.  This was it; this was the end.  Milena would die because of his refusal to cooperate with Saruman, and Rayford would be next.

            Aragorn turned his head away for he could no longer watch.  Blood was flowing freely from the young woman’s nose and mouth, and the Ranger hoped the end would come soon, for her sake.

----------

            Aragorn and Rayford were lead out of the room after fifteen minutes, followed by the body of Milena, and taken back to their old cell.  He sat quietly as Rayford knelt over the body of his cousin, softly speaking to her and brushing away the hair and blood from her face.  Aragorn had briefly examined Milena and confirmed that she had passed.  There was no life left within her.

            The Ranger placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder in silent support.  What was he supposed to say?  That everything would be alright?  It wouldn’t be; more likely than not, Rayford would be dead in a matter of days.  Aragorn could not bring himself to lie to him.

            Luckily, it was Rayford who spoke first.  “Perhaps it is better this way.  This was no place for her.  She couldn’t live like this,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes.  “Do you think she suffered in the end?”

            Aragorn sighed deeply.  “I do not believe so.  She was unconscious from the beginning,” he answered honestly.  However, his heart told him that Rayford would not be so lucky in his own fate.   “The fault is mine that she’s dead,” Aragorn said shifting his weight so that his head could rest in his arms.  “Perhaps if I had chosen my words more carefully...”  He finished the last part in his mind, then another innocent would not have died.  It doesn’t matter that it was not by my hand.

            Rayford did not agree or disagree with the Ranger.  He merely sat with his head bowed before responding.  “We had both known from the beginning that something like this could happen.  “We knew there was little hope of survival on our own.  But what are we to do, Strider?  I can see it in your eyes that you fear for me and rightly so.  What can we do?” he repeated.

            Aragorn frowned, anger and frustration etching into his features.  After so many long years, he had developed a skill for hiding his emotions.  Why was it that now everyone was able to read him like an open book?

            “I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to free us both,” he said, putting emphasis on the last word.  “All we must do is wait for an opportunity.” 

            After that, little was said between the two men.  Aragorn sat, thinking intently about his options, and Rayford was tending to his cousin’s body.

            Yes, Aragorn thought.  Something must be done and soon.

----------

            Saruman and Felnorvard stood in the hallway outside of their captives’ cell.  Nothing that happened in Isengard escaped the wizard’s notice.  His spies were everywhere, constantly reporting in.  They were his ears, and Saruman knew everything that was said between the men.  It was time for the next phase of his plan.

            “Bring them to the main room,” he said to Felnorvard.  “But send only two Orcs, and you are to remain here, out of sight.  Let us watch,” the wizard said as he made his way further down the corridor with Felnorvard close behind.

----------

            The men were startled when two Orcs came rushing into their cell.  Surely they can’t be back for us so soon, Aragorn thought.  Over the past few days, they had left them alone for several hours before continuing their questioning and tormenting.

            The Ranger was surprised that only two creatures entered.  He was weaker, yes but still very capable of handling a couple of adversaries.  Aragorn could feel his heart rate increase.  Something in the back of his mind warned that this was not right.  It was too soon.

            The Orcs hauled the two men to their feet.  Aragorn’s wrists were jerked behind his back, but before they could be bound the other Orc spoke. 

            “There’s no time for that.  They’re wanted now!  They’ll be good gurukû, and do what they’re told.  Move!  Quickly!”

            Much to the Ranger’s surprise, they were both shoved toward the open door.  This was indeed a very interesting development.  Aragorn could see that his young friend was trying to get his attention, and he risked a glance.

            Sure enough, Rayford was staring straight at him, motioning his head.  Aragorn understood what he was trying to say.  With a slight nod, he mouthed the word ‘wait’ before being pushed out into the hallway.  He had to make completely sure that no one else was waiting for them.

            As he looked around, Aragorn noticed that the passage was deserted; there wasn’t a single guard in sight.  This was almost too perfect an opportunity.  One that he could not possibly pass up.

            Aragorn glanced back at Rayford and smiled with a slight nod.  They should go now.  Aragorn would not be able to forgive himself if he led his new friend to his death without a fight.

            The Ranger abruptly stopped, causing the Orc to run into him.  The startled beast was thrown slightly off balance by the impact, and Aragorn was able to swiftly bring his fists around and fell the creature.  Only a few moments slower, Rayford knocked down  his Orc, though not without taking a hit to the jaw first.  Surprise had given them the advantage.

            With their escorts taken care of, Rayford knelt down and seized a weapon from the unconscious Orc.  “We may need these,” he said as he messaged his bruising jaw line.

            Aragorn nodded as he took a dagger for himself.  Then he glanced down the long corridor.  “I do not know the way out of his place,” he said, turning back to Rayford.

            “We’ll try our best.  For now, perhaps we should continue to descend whatever stairway we come to.”

            “And let’s hope we recognize the ground level.  I would not want to become lost in the crypts and vaults.”

            “Neither would I.”

            Hoping their luck would not change, the two men began to sprint down the corridors.  The quicker they could leave the area, the more likely they’d completely disappear.  Isengard was a huge tower and had plenty of places to hide.  But they had to hurry.

            They were running so fast, they didn’t notice Saruman and Felnorvard standing in a room just off the main hallway.

            Felnorvard, however noticed them, and he began to start after the fleeing prisoners.  But the wizard’s hand on his shoulder quickly stilled him.

            “Wait,” Saruman commanded.  “Follow them by way of the back passage; let them think they have a chance.  Follow them down, but circle around the front to meet them.”

            An evil grin spread across the man’s face as he quickly exited through a hidden door in the far wall.  Yes, he thought as he gathered his Orc company to follow him.  Everything is working out perfectly.

TBC

***************

Mornië… muina caurerya…----- Darkness… his hidden fear…

Si illumë ostimë avathar avaomanya.  ----- Now, always blend the shadows without my voice.

gurukû   ----- Black speech: “mortal man”

***************

Thanks to luinthien and grumpy for reviewing!  It's good to know that people are enjoying this for the first time and are even willing to have a second go at it!  *g* Thanks guys!

Hmmm, I knew there was something I was forgetting when I left last Tuesday for Thanksgiving break...  Sorry folks, I should have posted this chapter a week ago!  Please forgive me!  I won't let it happen again!  *g*  Anywho.  I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving, and if you don't celebrate it, I hope you had a great November 27th!! 

Chapter 10

            Aragorn raced down a staircase followed closely by Rayford.  They had met very few guards along the way, and the Ranger decided not to question his good fortune.  Besides, with the luck he’d been having, it was a very welcome change.

            His instincts told him it was time to slow down, that they had gotten far enough away.  Now was the time for caution if they wanted to remain undetected.  Aragorn carefully poked his head around the stone corner.  He silently thanked himself for his caution, because he could see, standing no more than five paces away, the backs of two large Orcs.

            Very quietly, the Ranger drew the dagger he had recently acquired and motioned for Rayford to do the same.  As long as they kept the element of surprise, there would be no time for the creatures to raise the alarm.

            For a split second, Aragorn hesitated.  Should he risk a confrontation?  It had been a very long time since he’d been this apprehensive.  He was confident in his own abilities, but he had no idea how Rayford would perform in a fight.  If an Orc was able to raise the alarm, there would be no chance.

            They had to keep moving forward, and Aragorn could only hold on to the knowledge that his friend had survived seven months of Orc attacks.  He should be able to hold his own.  Without giving the matter another thought, Aragorn raised two fingers and flicked them forward, indicating to the other man to follow him. 

            The Orcs never saw what hit them.  Both fell to the ground simultaneously with a dull thud, their black blood pooling.  Rayford had not let him down.

            Aragorn knew that Saruman probably knew they were missing by that point, and it was imperative that they keep moving, quickly.

            “Come,” Aragorn whispered.  He looked down both sides of the hall, unsure of their next course of action.  Which way should they go?  It was his responsibility to choose the correct path.  “Down the passage to the right.”

            They had to be extremely careful now.  The two men were taking too long, and the Enemy was probably already closing in on them.  Aragorn was beginning to get jumpy and paranoid.  Every sound made him start with his dagger drawn, every unexpected footfall of Rayford, every creek of timber, every echo in the distance.

            After another five minutes of navigating the maze of corridors, Rayford turned to his companion and said, “Strider, how will we know when we have reached the ground floor?  As far as I can tell, we could be three floors under by now and never know it.”

            “Here,” Aragorn said, guiding the younger man toward a large wooden door.  “Keep watch while I see if there is a window inside.  Then we’ll know how far we have to go.”

            With a nod from Rayford, Aragorn held his breath and slowly pushed open the heavy door.  He thanked his still-holding luck that it was dark, deserted, and had one small window on the far wall. 

            Aragorn had no idea what the room had once been used for, but it had clearly been forgotten and left to ruin.  The floor had deep holes, and it required all of the Ranger’s attention, in his weakened condition, not to trip and fall.  He dodged over turned chairs and shattered tables as he made his way over to the window.

            Looking out through the small opening, Aragorn could see they were no more then three stories from the surface.  As he studied the surroundings, he was disappointed that he could not make out the exit of the Isengard complex.  That would have to be something worried about once they were safely out of the Orthanc.

            Not wanting to remain in one location, Aragorn quickly made his way back out of the room.  He found out what he needed to know, and he was not going to risk waiting around to see who would come along.

            Aragorn led Rayford down two more flights of stairs, once again, meeting no one.  They had still not found any indication of a front door, but that did not worry the Ranger.  All they would really need was a window.  Also, Aragorn thought.  The lack of activity greatly bothers me.  Saruman would not be so careless as to allow us this far without a fight.

            He halted and motioned Rayford closer to him, so as not to make too much noise.  “Wait,” Aragorn said quietly.  “I do not believe we should look for the main door.  It may be watched.”

            “I was thinking the same.  A window perhaps?” Rayford asked as he cautiously looked back down the hall.  Their lack of confrontation was bothering him as well.

            The two searched through the nearby rooms for a window large enough for them to escape.  Every time Aragorn opened a door he prayed for it to be unoccupied and every time, it was. 

            The men had split up so that they could search faster, each taking every other room.  Finally, on his third or fourth attempt, he found a very small room with a large enough opening.  He called for his friend and then cautiously peered outside.  Everything appeared clear and peaceful. 

            Rayford volunteered to exit first and with help from the Ranger, managed to climb out of the building.  Aragorn waited for the young man’s call that everything was clear.

            After several unimaginably long minutes, Aragorn heard the man’s summon and scrambled out of the tower.  He hadn’t realized he’d become so afraid of that place.  More afraid of what could happen if I stay, he mused.

            Now was the time that they had to be the most vigilant for they were in the open and vulnerable.  Aragorn pulled the younger man up against the wall of the building and, still looking around, said, “This is a very large complex, and we must escape from it swiftly.”

            “Which way would you suggest?” Rayford asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  He completely understood the severity of their situation.

            Aragorn furrowed his brow and studied each direction carefully.  There was no indication of a road or path that would lead them out of the complex.  They would have to make for the tree line and go from there.

            “Follow me,” Aragorn said as he sprinted as quickly as his injuries would allow for the safety of the trees.  The cool breeze bit at his wounded back, but he pushed that aside.  He had to remain focused on their escape.

            After they were safely concealed within the trees, Aragorn finally allowed himself to relax, though only a little.  They were still in great danger.  Except for a small flock of birds that had been disturbed, the forest was peaceful and quiet but not unnaturally so.  Aragorn pulled Rayford behind the trunk of a large tree so they could discuss their next move. 

            “We go together,” Aragorn said. “Unless we are overtaken.  Do you understand?  At that point, it would be much more difficult for them to track us if we separate.”

            Rayford nodded, but he looked troubled.  “If they capture one of us,” he began, but was quickly cut off.

            “Then the other is to find the exit to this place and seek help as quickly as he can.” 

            Aragorn knew that would be the only way to save his young friend.  Ideally, both of them would escape safely, but Aragorn’s heart told him that their chances were slim.  His only hope was that Saruman would not waste his time tracking Rayford and concentrate his forces on him.

            “But wouldn’t we have more chances of success if we stayed together,” Rayford offered.

            Aragorn displayed his best false smile to reassure the young man.  “This is the way it has always been done among the Rangers.  This tactic has worked well enough for us.  Fear not, I would not abandon you.”

            “Nor would I you,” he said quietly, looking down at his feet.  “There is more to our situation that you are not telling me, and I understand, but it causes me to fear for you.”

            The Ranger placed a gentle hand on his young companion’s shoulder.  There was nothing he could say, because it was true.  Right now, he was focusing his entire mind and body to helping Rayford escape, without any care of what would happen to himself.  To him, it would almost be payment to for not being able to save Milena.  Almost.

            Avoiding responding to Rayford’s statement, Aragorn turned and began to make his way deeper into the forest.  “Let us move on.  I think it would be best if we keep Orthanc in sight.  It would be far too easy to loose our way in these unfamiliar woods.”

            “Agreed.  I wouldn’t want to wander through these trees any longer than needed.”

             The two men carefully made their way deeper into the trees.  Somewhere behind them, Aragorn heard a dull metal clunk.  The Ranger felt his breath quicken as reality finally settled in his mind.  They would both be captured; he could feel it.  His heart pleaded with him to simply surrender to keep those around him safe.  But somewhere in his mind, true reason still had a stronghold, and it was forcing him to fight.

            The trees were gradually thinning, and Aragorn knew that they should be approaching the front entrance.  Now was when they needed to be the most vigilant.  Both men pressed against the trunk of a large tree and waited.  Aragorn slowly stuck his head around it and studied the surroundings.

            Swearing, Aragorn pulled his head back so quickly it caused Rayford to jump.  A band of Orcs was just beginning to appear through the thinning trees, and Felnorvard was slowly leading them forward. 

            Without letting his thoughts race out of control, Aragorn quickly scanned the trees behind them, and it was as he feared.  More Orcs were approaching that direction as well.  Their small daggers would be of no use to them against twenty fully armed, combat ready, Orcs.

            Rayford’s eyes met the Ranger’s in a silent plea for guidance. 

            Taking a deep breath, Aragorn did what he knew he must.  “Now is where we must part company, my friend.  Head to the right, deeper into the trees, quickly while there is still a chance.  We will meet again.  Go!”

            Rayford hesitated, “But what will you...”

            “I said go!” Aragorn said forcefully, giving the younger man a none too gentle push in the right direction. 

            Aragorn watched in sorrow as his friend vanished into the forest.  He would probably never see him again in his lifetime.  It surprised him that he’d grown so close to Rayford in the short amount of time they’d been together.  Usually he was much more reserved. 

            I mustn’t think of such things now, Aragorn thought as he turned his attention to his surroundings.  There are much more pressing matters at hand. 

            Having seen Rayford expose Aragorn’s hiding place, the Orcs were no longer sneaking through the underbrush, and with a command from Felnorvard, they rushed forward, intent on capturing their former prisoner.

            Aragorn, on the other hand, had very different plans.  Like a startled rabbit, he sprang from behind the tree trunk and raced toward the tower.  He knew that he wouldn’t be able to outrun them forever, but he only hoped he’d make it long enough for Rayford to escape to safety.

            Once in the clearing surrounding Orthanc, Aragorn could think of nothing but going faster, one foot in front of the other, faster and faster.  He could hear the Orcs behind him, but they seemed to be gaining no ground.  Even with a slight limp from his healing leg, he was holding his own.  He dared not glance over his shoulder; he needed to concentrate on keeping his pursuers just out of reach. 

            Some of the Orcs, seeing they weren’t catching up, had decided to attempt archery to bring the Ranger down.  Unable to shoot and run at the same time, the creatures were forced to fall behind, and as long as Aragorn kept his speed up and did not run in a straight line, their arrows were consistently wide or short.  But there was no chance for him to keep that pace up for long, so Aragorn quickly formed a new plan.  Back into the trees, he thought.

            After sprinting for a few minutes, Aragorn was ready to make his break for the tree line.  All he needed was to find the thickest and most over grown part.  That way, it would be more difficult for the clumsy Orcs to follow him.

            Finally, he spotted a section that looked perfect.  The trees were large and dense foliage covered the forest floor.  Even though his legs and side were burning, Aragorn managed to find one last burst of energy and broke for the forest.

            He was almost there, almost to relative safety.

            Suddenly, it seemed as if he’d run full force into a brick wall, and Aragorn found himself lying flat on his back, gasping for breath.  He had seen nothing blocking his path, and yet something large and very hard had stopped him.  He should have known the wizard would use his magic.

            Before he could gather his senses, evil hands were upon him, pulling him back onto his feet, but the sudden motion caused Aragorn’s world to spin.  As they continued to hold him steady, Aragorn struggled to catch his breath; his short, quick gasps only caused his side to ache more.

            As his vision slowly returned to normal, Aragorn could see Saruman and Felnorvard directly in front of him.  “Your friend will be found,” Saruman said.  “No one can escape from Isengard.”  The amount of conviction in the wizard’s voice caused Aragorn’s hope to slip even more.  There was such finality to those words.

            As Saruman turned to reenter the tower, Felnorvard started his advance.  Aragorn saw, with slight amusement, that the man was severely out of breath.  This development was enough to pull him away from total despair.

            “Did you have a hard time keeping up with me?” Aragorn taunted, finally able to control his own breathing.

            Felnorvard responded by violently backhanding the Ranger, causing his lip to split and bleed.  “Such comments will not get you very far with me, Ranger,” the man growled.  “Right now, I am holding your life in my hand, and I suggest that you hold your tongue.”

            Orcs held him firmly as the man landed another blow to Aragorn’s exposed midsection, causing him to gasp and cough.

            “These games end!  My master has offered everything, and you still refuse.  If you do not wish to see him truly angry, then it is my suggestion that you agree to his proposal.”

            Aragorn clenched his teeth and glared at the man. “I say again, I will never agree to cooperate with anything the allies of Mordor offer.  Ever.”

            “Then it will be to your death,” Felnorvard said angrily and threw up his hand as a clear signal to the Orcs.

            Aragorn was unprepared for the abuse that followed.  Claws came at him from all directions and at every angle, attacking his exposed ribs and back.  Aragorn had no way to defend himself or block the blows with his arms firmly held. 
            Somewhere behind him, the Ranger heard the unmistakable hiss of a sword being unsheathed.  He did not have long to wait as the hilt of an Orc blade quickly slammed into the base of his skull, sending him into blessed darkness.

            His last thought was the hope that Rayford would make it to safety and bring help.

TBC

Well, since I made everyone wait three weeks for the last chapter, I figured the least I could do was get this one out a week early.  What do you think?  Good plan?  *G*

Chapter 11

           Somewhere in the distance there was a thumping sound, slowly growing louder.  It was beginning to annoy him because it cut through the darkness, drawing him back to painful reality.  It took Aragorn several minutes to realize the thumping was his own heart pounding in his chest and echoing in his ears.

            Everything was confusing him.  Parts of his face were cold and resting against stone while his nose and mouth were very warm and curiously sticky.  Aragorn argued with himself about whether to move or not.  The front of his face was throbbing and any movement would only increase it.  His chest and ribs ached -- from what, he could not remember. 

            Finally, reason won out, and the Ranger slowly opened his eyes.  He was lying face down on the floor, and from that vantage point, he could clearly see the body of Milena, still resting as if in sleep along the wall next to him.  He closed his eyes as the memories, emotions, and pain came rushing back.

            After a few moments, Aragorn forced his mind to continue on.  Nothing would bring her back, and there were other things that still required his attention.

It was extremely dark and shadows covered most of the room.  Aragorn had to resist the urge to make any other movement as his senses strained to catch any sign that he was not alone in the cell.  Everything was still muddled in his mind, and it was taking him longer then expected to focus.  But everything was quiet and still.  He was alone.

            After a few minutes, Aragorn swallowed hard and slowly pulled one of his arms out from under him, which helped to relieve some of the pressure on his sore chest.  There was a strange taste in his mouth and something coated the back of his throat.  He coughed softly a few times before willing himself to raise his head.

            As Aragorn lifted his face, he felt the stickiness of his own blood that had pooled on the floor from his injured nose.  He rolled over onto his back and groaned.  His face was caked with dry blood, and he prayed they had not broken anything.  He gingerly felt the area around his nose and was relieved to find that it was slightly swollen and very tender but not broken.  Glancing down, Aragorn could see that the Orcs had not been gentle during his recapture for there were numerous new scratches and bruises forming on his chest.

            Rayford was nowhere to be seen which Aragorn took to be a very good sign.  Perhaps the young man had been able to avoid the Orc patrols and Saruman’s magical traps.  Perhaps…

            Aragorn allowed his arm to fall from his face and land above his head.  All he wanted to do was rest, to sleep.  His problems disappeared when he slept, or at the very least, they became distant.  He didn’t have to worry about who was about to torment and abuse him.  He was not in pain, and no one around him was suffering because of him.  There, everything was peaceful. 

            Even with his eyes closed, though, Aragorn could not sleep.  His mind was racing with thoughts.  Would Rayford be able to escape?  Could he trust him to find help?  What evil did the Enemy have planned for him?  What would happen to those around him if he agreed to join with Mordor?  Aragorn lay there for some time.  With one hand, he gently massaged his thigh.  His earlier chase had caused the older wound to become aggravated, and it was beginning to throb again. 

            There was a new sound that was slowly growing louder.  Doors were being opened somewhere in the distance, and many feet were thundering toward him.  Great, Aragorn thought.  This was the last thing he wanted to deal with.  Couldn’t they just give him time alone?  What was the rush?  He wasn’t going anywhere.

            Aragorn didn’t move as the door to his cell was pushed open.  Maybe if they thought he was still unconscious, they would go away.  He could feel the vibrations in the floor as several pairs of feet moved to his side.  His eyes were closed so he didn’t know if they were Orc or human.  Someone knelt by his head, and the Ranger kept very still as he felt a gloved hand gently touch his face.  It was difficult to keep his breathing slow and even, but he knew his health and life depended on it.

            He forced his body to relax as the hand tilted his head to the side.  Aragorn prayed that they would believe him still sleeping and go away.  His body and mind needed time to process all that had happened to him over the past few days.

            When the hand suddenly gripped his injured nose, Aragorn could not completely stifle his cry of pain and surprise.  His eyes shot open and focused on the cruel smile of Felnorvard who was leaning over him.

            “What’s the matter, Ranger?” Felnorvard growled softly, leaning closer to his captive’s face.  “A little sore from your failed escape attempt?”  With a malicious laugh, he seized the man’s nose again before rising to his feet.  However, Aragorn had been ready for the second abuse and barely flinched.

            There were four Orcs standing along the wall next to the door, and it surprised Aragorn that they did not come for him.  They simply stood there as Felnorvard paced back and forth in front of him.  Aragorn pulled himself into a sitting position and waited.  The more time they gave him, the better.  But the Ranger’s heart sank as Felnorvard took a mug from one of the Orcs. 

            The man drew a short dagger from his belt and crossed back to the Ranger’s position on the floor.  Aragorn did not move as Felnorvard knelt in front of him, staring into his eyes.  “How difficult do you want to make it this time?” the man asked as he brought his dagger to rest at the base of Aragorn’s throat.

            Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and with a deep sigh, parted his lips.  He had no desire to fight this man again against something so trivial.  The way his luck was going, he needed no extra troubles.  Besides, he thought as Felnorvard poured the liquid into his mouth.  This drug is having no effect on me.

            Felnorvard was smiling broadly as he finished emptying the fluid and said, “There!  That’s how it should be.  Much easier this way, don’t you think?”  With a slight chuckle, the man patted the Ranger on the cheek before rising to his feet.

            Aragorn swallowed hard, trying to get the taste of the liquid out of his mouth.  It was different this time; he could taste more of the odd drug in the water.

            The sound of footsteps drew Aragorn’s attention back to the doorway in time to see Saruman enter.  The older wizard was not smiling, and his expression seemed extremely solemn.  “Your actions had serious consequences, Aragorn, some that I don’t think you fully comprehend,” the wizard said.  As he completely entered the room, Aragorn could see two Orcs dragging a large object behind them. 

            Aragorn tried to keep his face completely expressionless and focused on Saruman as the Orcs dropped their burden at his feet.  But he could not help seeing.  It was the barely recognizable body of a man.

            “Your friend put up quite a struggle, but in the end, my Orcs were able to have their fun.  I’m afraid this is all they left of the foolish boy.”

            Aragorn looked down at the body, and the sight made his stomach jump into his throat.  Before him was the beaten and headless body of Rayford. 

            Aragorn pictured, in his mind, the battle that must have taken place.  He must have gotten lost by Aragorn’s extremely poor directions and overtaken by the Orcs.  He imagined Rayford turning to fight and refusing to surrender.  The Ranger pictured an Orc approaching the young man from behind and raise his sword for the kill.  He didn’t deserve that fate, no one did.  Had they just left his head lying among the trees, left for the animals? 

            He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out the images.  He didn’t care if the others saw him.  His emotions needed to be controlled.

            Aragorn couldn’t understand why they had brought the body back into the tower.  He didn’t have to see it to believe.  From the beginning, there had been little hope that Rayford would make it to safety.  He could look at the body no longer and forced himself to glare up at Saruman instead. 

            The wizard seemed very satisfied with the reaction Aragorn gave him.  “Let us see what progress you’ve made,” he said aloud to himself as the Ranger was pulled to his feet.  The Orc’s hands were still covered in Rayford’s blood and left deep red smears where they held him.

            Saruman raised his hand and placed his palm on the man’s forehead.  Aragorn tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go; he was held too tightly.  He realized that he was actually afraid of what the wizard would do.  No, he thought quickly.  If he wanted me dead, I would be.  There is no reason to be fearful of him.  I should not be afraid.

            Aragorn struggled to suppress the feelings of fear and doubt that were beginning to overwhelm him.  What was happening to his mind, to his control?

            Saruman’s hand began to glow a pale yellow where he was touching the Ranger’s face.  For a moment, Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated his mind on the wizard.  He didn’t know what it would accomplish, but something inside him ordered it.

            As the wizard’s hand began to press harder against him, Aragorn opened his eyes only to see a scowl forming on the wizard’s face.  At this, Aragorn began to struggle again.  He had no desire to find out what was causing Saruman to grow angry.

            Suddenly, as if by some unseen force, Saruman’s hand shot back from the Ranger’s head.  Aragorn watched silently, trying to figure out what had happened as the wizard stormed back to Felnorvard’s position on the far wall.  Although the Ranger could not hear the entire conversation between the two, he was able to pick up most of it.

            “My lord?” Felnorvard asked, noting the frustration creeping into the wizard’s expression.

            “He is no longer progressing in his treatments,” Saruman said angrily.  “By this point in the doses, his mind should be completely ready to accept anything I suggest.  Any more drug would kill him, and I am not ready for that yet.”

            “Perhaps he merely needs more time for it to completely enter his system,” the man offered. 

            “Yes, perhaps,” the wizard said as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth in thought.  He stared into nothingness as he considered all his options.  He did not want to give up his prisoner, but if the Ranger would not cooperate, he’d have no choice.  “I will wait until sunrise tomorrow.  You, Felnorvard, will gather a company of Orcs to be ready to leave at that time.  If Aragorn is not ready by then, you will depart with him for Mordor.  He will make a wonderful gift to the Dark Lord.”

            Felnorvard hesitated slightly at Sauron’s title but quickly replied, “Yes, Master.  As you command.” He turned and briskly exited the cell.

            Aragorn had seated himself back on the floor during his captor’s discussion with his head bowed.  Over the years, he had learned that if people thought you weren’t listening in on their conversation, they were more likely to continue talking.  Now that everything was quiet, however, he found his mood was much too sorrowful and distressed to raise his head.  Even as Saruman stood before him, the Ranger did not move.

            “I have enjoyed our little time together, Aragorn,” the wizard said, his voice showering a feeling of superiority.  “But I am afraid that nothing can last forever.  I’m sure you will be more cooperative for the Dark Lord.”

            Saruman then left Aragorn alone with his thoughts.

----------

            Aragorn had no way of knowing how long he’d been sitting there, but the aches in his muscles told him it had been a while.  Everything was becoming a blur in his mind. The past several days had blended together to the point where he no longer knew or cared what had happened and when.  He kept his eyes tightly shut and his head down.  He did not want to see the bodies that occupied the room with him.  They were a constant reminder of his failure. 

            There was no sound in the room except for his own shallow breathing and the pounding of his heart.  Sometimes an insect would fly by his ear, but he would pay it no heed.   He could not stop thinking about the next day.  They were going to take him to Mordor.  Aragorn searched his brain for any positive outcome of this new turn of events but could find none.  Alone and without a weapon, he could not overcome and escape from an entire troupe of Orcs.  It was a death sentence to him for sure, but it was also a disaster for Middle-Earth.  The Elves continually told him his heritage must remain a secret at all cost.  The consequences were unimaginable.

            “Strider.”

            Aragorn’s head shot up, and he quickly scanned the empty room.  Someone had softly called his name, but no one could be seen.

            Thinking that perhaps he had imagined it, he lowered his head to rest in his arms once again.  The cell was quiet, although Aragorn remained alert.  Could this be another one of Saruman’s tricks?  As he sat there, Aragorn got the feeling that someone was watching him.  Having not heard anyone come in, he knew it was impossible.  Yet, he slowly raised his head.

            He gasped.  Sitting against the far right wall of the room, he could see the faint outline of Milena.  Aragorn jerked his head to the left at where her body was supposed to be.  Sure enough, her corpse was still lying where it had been placed.  A shudder coursed its way through his entire body.  He looked back and saw her sitting very still, just staring at him.

            Aragorn wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.  She was obviously a spirit of some kind.  He had heard of such things happening before, usually the result of some foul craft.  He wouldn’t put it past Saruman to pull this poor girl’s spirit from where ever its final resting place was.

            Aragorn could not speculate longer because a new figure was beginning to take shape.  He swallowed hard as he recognized Rayford.  Would they speak or merely sit there and haunt him?

            This question was answered when the young man’s spirit spoke.  “Strider, I thought you would keep me safe?” 

            The simplicity and bluntness of his statement caused the Ranger’s heart to break.  “Forgive me, my friend,” he said, fighting once again his rising emotions.  What else was there to say? 

            “I trusted you; we both did,” Rayford said, motioning to his cousin.

            “If I could have done it any other way, I would have!  I know it’s my fault you both lost your lives.”  He tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.  “I should not have involved you.”

            “You used us,” Milena’s spirit said softly.  She was still staring intently at the Ranger.

            The two spirits said nothing more after that, but Aragorn continued to talk.  He noticed that at some point, a child appeared in Milena’s arms.  He had asked if it was her dead child, and she only nodded. 

            He repeatedly asked for their forgiveness but would get no response.  They would only sit very sill and quiet, watching him and listening.  So he just talked.  He spoke of everything to them, his childhood, his years as a Ranger, and the future he hoped to have.

            Aragorn’s one way conversation exhausted his remaining strength until he could no longer keep his eyes open.  His head sank to his chest as much needed sleep finally over took him.

----------

            Aragorn awoke to the sound of metal grinding against metal.  He had slept until dawn, and now they were coming for him.  He quickly looked around his cell and found that the spirits had gone.  All that was left were their lifeless bodies.

            He quickly closed his eyes and turned away.  The events of the previous evening had emotionally drained him.  He felt defeated, though he refused to show it to the Enemy.  He would have to gather his strength, no matter what.

            He didn’t even look up as the Orcs entered and pulled him to his feet.  He was still sore from his rough treatment over the past several days, and he was unable to suppress a soft groan.  It did not surprise him when they pushed him into the corridor and down the long staircase at the end of the hall.  They were going to deliver him to the Dark Lord, and there was nothing Aragorn could do to stop them.

            They continued twisting along their path for several minutes until they reached the front entrance of Isengard.  Saruman was there waiting, along with Felnorvard and a dozen Orcs.

            Aragorn did not even struggle as the wizard approached and once again placed his palm on the man’s forehead.  Saruman stared deeply into the Ranger’s eyes but did not like what he saw.

            “It is not to be,” he said, finally lowering his hand.  “It would appear, Aragorn, that your stay here is at an end.”  Saruman motioned his hand, and Felnorvard stepped forward, holding a length of rope and some cloth.

            “We wouldn’t want you trying to escape again,” Felnorvard growled into the Ranger’s ear as he pulled the man’s arms behind his back. 

            Using the rope, he firmly secured Aragorn’s hands.  The Ranger winced in pain as the rope bit into his skin and threatened to cut off the circulation, but he did not struggle. 

            With a deep sigh, Aragorn also allowed Felnorvard to cover his eyes with the cloth.  This will make it extremely difficult to escape, he thought as the other man gave the ends one last tug to make sure it was secure. 

            While his predicament had always been serious, Aragorn now had to be concerned about how his capture would effect the rest of Middle-Earth.  There was a huge difference between being the prisoner of Saruman and being a prisoner of the Dark Lord Sauron.

            Every reasonable opportunity to escape would have to be taken, and the only plus was the long distance they’d travel.  Weeks on the road would hopefully provide numerous opportunities.  But the blindfold would prove a problem.  Just like it had been on his journey to Isengard, it was going to be difficult without his vision.

            “I would like to see you escape from us now, Ranger.  This time, we are under no orders to accommodate you,” Felnorvard whispered before allowing the Orcs to move in.

            Although Aragorn could no longer see, he could feel Saruman approach.  “It is a shame that we could not become allies, Aragorn, because together, with the Dark Lord, we would go undefeated.”

            “Joining with you was never an option for me,” Aragorn replied softly. 

            “So be it.”

            Aragorn felt himself being lifted by his bound arms and positioned between two large Orcs.  The group started down the road to Mordor to deliver Aragorn to the Dark Lord himself.

TBC

My deepest apologies to everyone.  I had every intention of updating on Sunday but with the holidays and all...  Sorry!  So here's my Christmas gift to you all!  Chapter 12!  It's a short one, but better then nothing!  :-)  You wouldn't believe how much trouble it was to get this chapter from my laptop to the home computer...  Anyway,  thanks to luinthien and Kathira for reviewing!  If anyone's interested, Kathira had a good question in her review that I answered.  Check it out, and happy holidays!

Chapter 12

            Aragorn groaned as he shifted his weight.  The company of Orcs had stopped for the night, and the Ranger was finally left to himself.  The ground beneath him was rocky, and he could do little to clear a spot for himself.

            For three days, Aragorn had been tossed from Orc to Orc, each taking their turn carrying or pushing him along as they ran.  Now, as he was finally able to lie still, he could feel his ribs protesting.  They had already been abused during his stay at Isengard, but the constant jolting and bouncing was almost more than he could bear.  Several times during their journey, Aragorn had lost consciousness from the pain.  Now, he was thankful for solid, unmoving, ground under him.

            They had not unbound him or uncovered his eyes, so Aragorn had no idea where they were or what direction they were heading.  He could tell from their pace and movements that the terrain had become increasingly rocky and uneven.  It was possible they were traveling southward, using the mountains bordering Gondor and Rohan for shelter.

            Aragorn could only hope there would be travelers in that region to engage the Orc group.  But I can not hope for such an event, Aragorn thought.  Felnorvard is not a fool; he would not lead us anywhere near a possible rescue.

Felnorvard had already gone to great lengths in keeping their trail as covered as possible.  Every few hours, they would abruptly change direction and their pace quicken or slacken.  Whether something was in the area or Felnorvard was paranoid of being followed, Aragorn could only guess.

            He was mildly surprised regarding his treatment by the Orcs.  They had not been overly violent or abusive though Aragorn had suffered a blow more than once.  On the first night of their journey, the Orcs had found sport in kicking him.  It hadn’t lasted too long, and Aragorn suffered only scrapes and bruises.  However, there was one spot at the very base of his ribcage that hurt more then it should.  Whether it was just a particularly nasty bruise or was actually fractured, he couldn’t tell.  He would have needed his hands free to make an accurate assessment.  

            Aragorn lay quietly on the ground and prayed for sleep to claim him.  The night would pass in darkness either way, and sleep would allow the morning to arrive faster.  

            The deep thud of footsteps caused the Ranger to hold his breath.  He was in no mood for a confrontation, and he doubted his sore and weary body could handle anything but sleep.

            Aragorn slightly relaxed as the creature sat down several feet above his head.  This was only the Orc sent to guard him overnight.  As long as the Ranger did not move too much or speak, he should have no trouble.

            As Aragorn focused on keeping his breathing slow and even, he could feel his already dark world begin to swirl in on him.  Sleep was not far behind.  His night was plagued by strange dreams once again, dreams filled with the fire and pain of the Dark Lord Sauron.

----------

            Aragorn dreamt that he was standing at the base of Mount Doom.  There was no one around him, but he quickly realized his body was frozen in place.  He knew he was waiting for someone, and he feared who it was.

            The mountain began to burn and throw fire and rock from its mouth.  Aragorn looked high above him and watched as a figure slowly descended the crag.  It was Sauron.

            Aragorn struggles against his unseen bonds as the dark figure approached.  The Dark Lord appeared as he did in the many paintings in Imladris, a shadow of evil.  His dark form towered above the Ranger, and he waited for the man to become still.

            With his eyes closed and head bowed, Aragorn finally stopped struggling and waited.  On the wind that blew down from Mount Doom, he heard voices calling to him.  They whispered the names of Elendil, Isildur, and finally his own, Aragorn. 

            Sauron raised his metal clad hand and placed his palm on the Ranger’s forehead.  With a cry of pain, Aragorn fell to his knees before the Dark Lord.  Every ounce of heat was being pulled form his body.  It felt like his very soul was being taken.

            Evil surrounded his entire being as he was pulled to his feet.  Sauron was drawing him closer, bringing him to his side.  The Dark Lord turned Aragorn around, allowing him to look out upon the rest of Middle-Earth. 

            Darkness.

            Darkness had swept over the countryside, spreading into every outlet, and Aragorn was standing at Sauron’s right hand.  It was as he had always feared.  He had not been strong enough to resist the power the Enemy had offered, just like his forefathers.

            As the two of them stood together, watching over the land, Aragorn felt the Dark Lord’s strong arms pull him closer, embracing him.

            Then Aragorn’s vision shifted, and he looked from afar at himself and Sauron.  Slowly, he saw the Dark Lord pull his entire body back.  Aragorn watched himself slowly fall back against him and disappear.

            It was over.  He had become part of those whom he hated most.  There was no escape, only defeat.  This would be the only existence that Aragorn would ever know, payment for his own weakness.

----------

            A sharp blow to the ribs quickly pulled Aragorn back to the world of the waking.  The Orc kicked him one more time before roughly dragging the man to his feet.

            Aragorn coughed several times as he was shoved from one Orc to another.  Apparently none of them wanted to carry him that day.  Because of the blindfold, the Ranger tripped several times and landed at the Orcs’ feet. 

            With his arms still bound behind him, Aragorn’s head hit the ground, and yellow spots danced before his already restricted vision.  He struggled to regain his footing for fear of another blow to his ribs.

            Through the deep laughs of the Orcs, Aragorn heard Felnorvard’s sharp command.  “We have wasted enough time!  Pick him up and move out!”

            They quickly lifted Aragorn and began their fast paced run once again.  Aragorn smiled slightly as he noticed the position of the blindfold.  When he had fallen, the cloth had caught on the ground and uncovered part of his right eye.  At least he would be able to see for a time.  Perhaps it would make a difference.

TBC

Ckeck it out!  I'm actually posting when I said I would!  Go me!  *g*  Well, there are a few more developments here for everyone to enjoy, but uhm otherwise, have fun with it!  Let me know what you think!

Chapter 13

            Aragorn ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting blood.  The Orcs had spent the entire night harassing him, allowing for very little sleep.  They had always found it extremely amusing that he couldn’t see, and when they got bored, would trip or hit him.  And since Aragorn was unable to see the blows coming, they always caught him by surprise.  The Ranger’s face was spotted with several new claw and boot marks though none were severe.  Now, Aragorn was having an extremely difficult time remaining awake while they traveled. 

            The group had been running for a week, going farther and farther on their journey.  Aragorn had not been able to sleep much, as every time he shut his eyes in rest, he received a blow to his head or ribs.  They also insisted on feeding him only a small serving of bread and a tall mug of Orc draught per day.  This kept him sustained but still very faint and tired.

            Thankfully, Felnorvard did not try to taunt him.  Besides, Aragorn did not trust himself to respond appropriately.  His mood was still bothering him.  Strange and disturbing dreams assaulted him every night and haunted his thoughts during the day.  There was little he could do to distract himself since there was nothing to look at except the inside of a blindfold.

            If he tilted his head the right way, Aragorn could see some of his surroundings.  That was not a risk he was willing to take, however, because he knew the Orcs watched him closely.  It comforted him somewhat to know that he had an advantage, though it be minor.

            The group had been making amazing time, spending most of the day running and had covered many leagues.  Aragorn knew that his day before the Dark Lord was quickly approaching, and so far, there had been very little he could do about it.

            Aragorn had been dragging his feet for the past hour or so which forced the Orcs to support his weight.  He found it was the easiest way to conserve his strength.  This is the only disadvantage to it, he thought as he suddenly felt himself being roughly thrown to the ground.  It was time for their midday break.  Like it happened every day, a knife slid under his chin, keeping him still, while another slipped between his bound hands to cut the rope.  Aragorn waited quietly as his arms were roughly jerked in front of him and rebound.  He was always allowed to feed himself, but meals were also when most of the abuse occurred.

            A stale piece of bread was pushed into the Ranger’s hands, and Aragorn braced himself for the blow that was sure to follow.  When none came, the Ranger decided to risk a glance for he was beginning to hear raised voices.

            Tilting his head down so his chin rested on his chest, Aragorn could finally see his surroundings out of his right eye.  Their camp had been set near the base of a large hill, and a line of trees bordered half of the clearing.

            Aragorn could see Felnorvard standing no more than fifteen paces away.  Two very large Orcs were arguing with him.  The Ranger strained his ears to pick up what was being said, but there was too much other noise to hear everything.

            “... over the next rise,” the first Orc was saying.

            “... large houses... too many... along the road,” was all he could hear from the second.

            At that point, Felnorvard nodded before responding.  “Then... split... half of you... northern slope while... south pass.  Afterwards... one hour... rejoin.”

            The two Orcs beat their fists on their chests and dashed off to carry out their human commander’s orders.  Then Felnorvard abruptly turned and began to advance on Aragorn’s position on the ground. 

            The Ranger swore under his breath as he quickly tried to maneuver the blindfold back over his eye.  He did not have enough time however, as the other man had already noticed.  Aragorn braced himself as Felnorvard raised his arm for a blow.

            “Do not start back to your old tricks, Ranger,” the man said as Aragorn’s head snapped backwards.  “We are close to our destination now, and you will find my patience extremely thin if tested.”

            Felnorvard readjusted the cloth over Aragorn’s head and pulled the ends tighter.  He knew a punishment would quickly follow, but the pounding of quickly approaching Orc feet distracted him.

            “My lord,” the Orc growled. “A cart and rider are approaching.”

            With a final shove that sent Aragorn down on his side, Felnorvard responded, “That is well enough.  Wait for it to come closer and then kill the rider.  Inform me when everything is ready.”

            “As you command,” the Orc replied before thundering away.

            Felnorvard found plenty of ways to entertain himself with Aragorn for the fifteen minutes it took for the Orc to return.  The Ranger’s world threatened to collapse in on him as a particularly violent blow landed on his temple.  Aragorn was left coughing as Felnorvard finally returned to his business with his Orcs.  It was a break that Aragorn was thankful for although he knew it would not last long enough.

            The entire camp suddenly became active.  Aragorn sorely wished that he could see what was going on for his instincts screamed danger and caution.  When Felnorvard gave a shout, strong Orc hands pulled Aragorn to his feet and dragged him across the clearing.

            Aragorn tensed as his feet were lifted off the ground, and he felt himself thrown onto a wooden platform.  Where are we going that would require us to use a cart?  Aragorn thought, but as he attempted to roll onto his back, Felnorvard restrained him. 

            “Now, you will listen to me very closely,” Felnorvard growled as he leaned closer to the Ranger.

            Aragorn heard the thud of a large object just above his head.  A chill went down his spine as an Orc wrapped its arm around the Ranger’s bare chest and pulled him close. 

            “You will lie very still and completely quiet.  Understand that my orders are to bring you to the Dark Lord, and it matters not if you still live.”

            “What is happening?” Aragorn asked.  An Orc blade had found its way to his upper chest, and its owner was lightly pressing it against the Ranger’s skin.

            Aragorn heard the other man sigh before replying.  “We must pass through a village that has too many sentinels on its borders.  You and I will go through on the main road before meeting back with the Orcs.”  Then he said to the creature at Aragorn’s back, “If he makes a sound, cut out his tongue.”

            Aragorn felt blankets and other bags land on top of them, completely covering both beings.  The man groaned as the cart jerked forward.

            The noises of the village were steadily growing louder, and Aragorn carefully shifted his weight at the bottom of the cart.  The Orc at his back was trailing the knife dangerously over the Ranger’s mouth, down to his throat, and back up again.  Aragorn tried to suppress a shudder as he felt the Orc’s warm breath on the back of his neck.

            Aragorn froze as he heard a man’s voice from the road.

            “Good day to you, stranger,” the man said.

            “Good day, sir,” Felnorvard replied calmly.  Aragorn could tell that his captor was trying to remain cheerful and friendly though he knew it was a pretense.

            “You’re a traveler, I see.  Where are you headed?” the villager asked.

            “Minas Tirith.”

            “Ah yes?  Are you a trader?  I am always looking for a good trade.  Perhaps I can take a look at some of your goods...”

            Felnorvard cut the other man off before he could finish.  “No.  I am traveling to meet an important buyer, and I’m afraid everything I have is spoken for.  Now, please, I am already behind schedule.  Good day, sir.”

            Aragorn had been holding his breath.  Part of him wanted to be discovered and perhaps freed.  But he did not want to push his luck with Felnorvard and his ‘orders’.

            The cart began to speed up as they neared the edge of the village.  Aragorn shifted again and tried to shrug off his Orc guard. 

            “You make too much noise, Aragorn,” Felnorvard called quietly from his front seat.  “We are not out of danger yet.  It will be another fifteen minutes at the very earliest.  The more cooperative you are now, the better you will be treated for the rest of our journey.”

            Emphasizing his commander’s statement, the Orc pulled Aragorn closer and dug his blade deeper into his exposed flesh but not drawing blood.  The Ranger merely groaned quietly and relaxed into the creature’s embrace.  All he wanted to do was see this situation through to the end.  He had a much higher chance of escaping while in the larger group.  The more Orcs that were in one place and in one group, the more attention they would draw.

            The cart jolted as it rolled over a particularly large rock, and one of the large sacks shifted above Aragorn’s head, falling onto his temple.  Excellent, he thought.  One more thing to add to my suffering.

----------

            After what seemed like an eternity, the cart finally came to a stop, and the objects were lifted from the Ranger and Orc’s body.  Without the creaking of the wagon covering all sound, Aragorn could hear many feet approaching from all directions.  The Orcs were returning.

            “My lord!” one of the Orcs called.

            Felnorvard forced Aragorn down onto his knees, thus keeping him still and at his side while he dealt with the Orc.  The Ranger was content to simply wait and listen.  He had discovered very early in his life that you could learn more when you were silent.

            “We were attacked as we rounded the village,” the Orc continued.

            “How many of you were lost, and how many assailants were there?”

            There was a long pause as the Orc counted up the losses. “Seven did not return and four came back with arrow wounds.  The attackers were not seen.”

            Aragorn’s heart skipped a beat during the conversation. 

            “Then we must move on quickly,” Felnorvard said.  His voice not being able to disguise his fear and anger.  “Send scouts ahead.  I want two on either side of the road.  Keep the area clear, and kill anyone you find.  Go!”

            Aragorn heard the creature scamper off to carry out his commander’s orders.  With seven Orcs dead, four wounded, and four others far ahead as scouts... Aragorn mused.  The odds were slowly shifting in his favor.

            Their speed was no faster however Felnorvard kept the group much quieter now.  The only sound was the pounding of their feet on the ground. 

            They traveled this way for another twenty minutes before the group suddenly came to a grinding halt.  Aragorn heard Felnorvard shout a command, and a small smile formed on the Ranger’s lips.  Four Orc bodies had been discovered near the side of the road.

            Aragorn was quickly pulled to the base of a large tree trunk and secured to it.  Felnorvard was not willing to risk loosing the Dark Lord’s gift to a few hunters in the forest.  They had to be dealt with before any more Orcs were lost.

            The Ranger waited and listened carefully.  Something was different now; hunters would not leave the dead Orcs by the side of the road.  They had been left for a specific reason, as a sign.

            As the Orcs scattered to track down the hunters, Felnorvard had made his way over to Aragorn’s position.  The Ranger could hear the other man’s breath coming in short gasps. 

            Felnorvard’s hand closed around Aragorn’s throat as he began his threat.  “I swear to you, Ranger.  If...”

            The man never finished his sentence.  An arrow whistled through the air and buried itself deep in Felnorvard’s shoulder.  He stumbled forward and nearly collapsed on Aragorn before reaching for the wooden shaft protruding from him.  The tip had pierced through the front of his tunic; the attacker was close.

            Aragorn heard Felnorvard cry out and pull his sword from its sheath as he turned to defend himself.  The Ranger could only hope it would not be used against him.

            He renewed his struggle to free himself for he was beginning to hear more sounds of battle, the whistling of arrows and the clanging of sword against sword.  Aragorn did not know who the attackers were and wanted to be able to defend himself if the need arose.

            He worked the ropes binding his hands back and forth, trying to create enough slack to pull them free.  At the same time, he rubbed the back of his head against the base of the tree in an attempt to pull the cloth away from his eyes but was unsuccessful.  The trunk was too smooth and the blindfold too tight to catch. 

            The attack continued for several minutes, and from all that Aragorn heard, the Orcs were on the loosing end.  Above the battle cries of the Orcs, the Ranger heard Felnorvard call for his company to fall back and retreat.  Apparently he thought regrouping was his best and only option.

            Aragorn heard several feet running toward him, and he could smell the foul breath and sweat of an Orc.  They had moved to untie to rope binding his arms to the tree when Aragorn caught the unmistakable sound of a swinging blade.  He heard the weapon connect with the Orc’s flesh and the creature fall to the ground.

            Felnorvard repeated his call for retreat, sounding more desperate and farther away.  He did not know that the Orc sent to retrieve Aragorn was dead.  The Ranger’s heart was beating faster now.  He would meet the attackers very soon now that the Orcs were pulling back.  The only thing that worried him was that he would be too weak to defend himself if they turned out to be unfriendly.

            Aragorn continued to pull at his bonds until he heard a soft voice next to his ear. 

            “Be still,” the voice commanded. 

            The Ranger froze as he felt cold steal slide between his hands and cut through the ropes.  His numb fingers barely had time to pull the blindfold from his face before he felt a strong hand behind his shoulder pushing him forward.

            “Move forward into the trees,” the man said quietly.  “It is not yet safe here.”

            Aragorn could not see the person who was guiding him toward the forest, and he did not want to risk turning.  A few hours before, Felnorvard’s beating had aggravated his old leg wound, and the cart ride caused it to cramp.  Now, his leg refused to obey his commands.  He stumbled as they reached the edge of the small clearing, and the stranger offered his support.

            Having to rely almost completely on the other man, Aragorn was forced to move much faster then his hurting body would have liked, but his companion was strong and sure of his step, so Aragorn did not fall again.

            After going a considerable distance from the fight, the stranger finally halted and said, “We will wait here until my companions return.  Then we will see to your wounds.”

            The man stayed protectively close to Aragorn but did not seem too concerned about him escaping.  A good sign, Aragorn decided as he slowly eased himself down to the forest floor.  He massaged his wrists to bring blood flow back to his fingers.

            Looking over at the stranger, Aragorn saw that he had an arrow notched to his bow, ready to fire should a fleeing Orc happen upon them.  So, there was no point in trying anything foolish.  He could make no safe decisions until the intentions of his rescuers were known, and the area was still too dangerous for vocal distractions.  He would have to wait.

TBC

Thanks to Rinn and Kathira for reviewing!  Both made some comments about Aragorn's current 'situation', and I decided to answer here in case others were thinking the same thing. 

Actually, I did have a location in mind when I wrote this.  My beta and I argued for a while, and neither of us could figure out how far running Orcs would be able to travel in a week.  So, I stared at the map for a while, and I'm going to say they're on the eastern border of the Firien Wood.  They're circling around the Dead Marshes to the south, probably rounding Fangorn Forest then following the Entwade south.  I'm not as familiar with the Firien Wood, but I don't think there'd be too much there.  I may be wrong.  If anyone knows, please tell me; I'm curious.  Everywhere else would be too close to Minas Tirith and Mordor.  I didn't want him to get that far.

And as for who rescued him... you'll have to read on to find out.

The good news is that I'm almost done editing!  Yay!  So that means that I'm back to posting every week!  I didn't think anyone would mind.  *G*  

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!!

Chapter 14

            The forest was quiet, as it should be when Orcs were in the area.  There had been no conversation between the two men, though it did not matter to Aragorn.  His questions would be answered soon enough.

            After no more than fifteen minutes, Aragorn heard the very faint sounds of footfalls coming from the forest.  A man dressed in a dark green cloak stepped from behind a tree and walked swiftly over toward the two men.

            “Greetings, Strider,” the man said.  “My other three companions are close behind and will appear presently.”  He offered Aragorn his hand in greetings, and when Aragorn gripped his wrist, he continued.  “I am called Lourin, and you have already met my kinsman, Amaleg.”  Amaleg nodded his head as he was announced.

            Aragorn was pleased to finally know his rescuers identity, however their names told him very little.  “Please, sirs, tell me what brought you to my aid.”

            Lourin laughed.  “It is possible, I suppose, that you do not know the names of every Ranger of the North!”

            A large grin swept across Aragorn’s face.  “Rangers...” he began but was cut off.

            “How do you always manage to find yourself in so much trouble, little brother?”

            Aragorn was startled by the voice and quickly turned his head, his grin broadening.  Elrohir was leaning against a large tree trunk with his arms folded.  He was wearing his long, silver-gray cloak like he always did when traveling among Rangers.  His face was stern, but his gray eyes twinkled.

            “Elrohir,” Aragorn called as he moved to embrace his Elven foster brother.  “Mae govannen!  This is a very welcomed surprise.  Is Elladan here as well?” His voice was strained, as if his happiness was slightly forced.  Elrohir noticed it at once, but his joy of seeing Aragorn alive allowed him to overlook it.

            “Yes,” the elf said with a small smile.  “He and another are finishing their pursuit of a few Orcs, though I regret to say that the man you were with has evaded us.”

            Aragorn nodded.  “That is well enough, I suppose.”

            “Come,” Elrohir said, taking Aragorn by the shoulder and guiding him to a clear area.  “Rest for a while.  Your time with Saruman has left you weary.”

            “You know of his betrayal then?” Aragorn asked, slightly confused.

            “We were not told directly, but the pieces fit together easily enough,” Elrohir said as he began to empty herbs and ointment from his pack.  “When Elladan returns you will need to tell us exactly what was done to you.  It will make healing much easier.”

            Aragorn nodded and relaxed as best he could, though his old injuries still bothered him.  He made light conversation with Lourin and Amaleg, telling them a little about childhood in Rivendell.        

            Elrohir smiled slightly as Aragorn skillfully kept the talk away from his ancestry and focused more on childhood antics.  But there was something different about the man’s tone of voice.  It was darker somehow and more sorrowful then the Elven lord had ever heard in him.

            After about ten minutes, Elladan appeared through the undergrowth with a not so pleasant look on his face.  Aragorn noticed that his cloak had been torn on his forearm, and a dark crimson stain could be seen bordering its edges.

            “Brother,” Elrohir said, moving toward his twin.  “What happened?  You’re injured.”  It was a simple question, but it held more emotion than words could convey.

            However, Elladan brushed aside his brother’s concern.  “Orc’s claws are long and sharp, but it truly is nothing more then a scratch.”  Another man stepped out from the trees.  Elladan noticed the color drain from Aragorn’s face, though he continued.  “Besides, I believe Rayford took a more serious wound to his own hand.  It may be broken.”

            Aragorn’s head was spinning as he stood staring at a relatively uninjured and very much alive young man.  “What spirit comes?” he whispered, taking a step back.  Another ghost? Aragorn quickly scanned the surrounding trees as he searched for Milena, but there was nothing.  Is this an illusion of Saruman? Did I ever actually leave Orthanc?

            “What is it, Strider?” Rayford asked when he saw the look of confusion and surprise on the man’s face.  The young man held up his injured hand.  “Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it looks.  I’m sure it will heal in time.”

            Aragorn laughed, though it was laced with surprise and fear.  “It can not be,” he said, taking another step backwards.  “You are dead.  I saw what was left of your body.  You cannot be here.  Please, leave me and rest in peace!”

            “What are you talking about, Estel?”  Elladan asked, falling into his old habit of using Aragorn’s elvish name.  His concern was growing.  “Rayford is the only reason we found and rescued you.  He is not dead.”  His voice stressed the last sentence as he joined Elrohir by Aragorn’s side.    

            “What happened, Estel?”  Elrohir asked.

            When Aragorn didn’t answer, Rayford stepped forward and placed his good hand on the Ranger’s shoulder.  “I did as you said,” he commented quietly.  “I found my way out of Isengard, although I had to avoid several bands of Orcs.  I traveled for five days before, by luck only, I came across these Rangers.  The two Elves said they knew you.”

            “We’ve been trailing you for almost two days, since you crossed the Entwash,” Elladan continued.

            “We were waiting in ambush along the edge of that town you passed, but...” Elrohir said with a shrug.

            Aragorn chuckled softly.  “Felnorvard thought it would be safer to travel through it instead of around.”

            “And so it was,” Elrohir said with a forced smile.  He knew Aragorn well enough to know that something was terribly wrong.  He seemed distracted, like his mind was working on too many problems at once.

            Aragorn’s own smile faded as his eyes fell back on Rayford, and he became very serious.  “What was it I saw then?”

            “Why don’t you tell us,” Elladan said, his eyes narrowing in confusion.  “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

            Aragorn briefly explained how the young man’s broken body had been thrown at his feet and then about his ghostly visions.

            Elladan and Elrohir stood very quietly when Aragorn was finished.  The two quickly searched their minds for every possible explanation, but nothing was making sense.  They knew that Saruman did not have the power to keep the dead from their final resting place, and although he could create illusions, they would not interact the same way Aragorn described.

            “Estel,” Elladan said.  “Saruman is not powerful enough to create what you have described.  Is there nothing more to your tale?”

            “Nothing.”

            “What was it that Felnorvard forced you to drink, Strider?” Rayford asked hopefully.  “Could that have something to do with it?”

            “I don’t believe so,” Aragorn said, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.  “It did not affect me.”

            “Maybe you should tell us anyway,” Elrohir prompted.  Hallucinations would explain many things, and it often took someone else to see the problem.

            “I was forced to drink some type of drug around half a dozen times.  I believe that Saruman was using it to force me to agree to join him, but it didn’t work.  The wizard said as much himself.”

            “A drug, you say?  That opens many more possibilities.  Do you know what it was he used, which herbs?”  Elrohir asked.  “Anything that could help us?”

            Thanks to growing up in Elrond’s house and living many years in the wild, Aragorn had a great knowledge of various herbs.  “I saw the leaf before the first dose, but it was nothing that I had ever seen before.  The smell was odd as well, old, like something you would smell in an ancient room or library,” Aragorn said.

            “All right then, let’s take a look at you,” Elladan said.  “Lie on your back, if you can.”

            Aragorn did as he was told.  The old whip welts on his back were still a bit sore, but the cool ground was soothing.  He took a few deep breaths and let his body relax.  The adrenalin rush had finally worn off, but it left his body feeling weak and unsteady.  It felt so good to lie down.

            The three other men sat quietly on the other side of camp and watched as the two elves knelt beside Aragorn.  Elrohir laid both of his hands on the man’s chest and closed his eyes in concentration.  Elladan focused his attention on Aragorn’s eyes and mouth.  He looked at the man’s tongue for a while and then stared deeply into Aragorn’s eyes. 

            For his part, Aragorn kept still and tried to aid the twins anyway he could.  He knew they were trying to sense evil within him and search for its outward signs.  Being able to detect evil presences in the world was a very useful talent the Elves possessed.

When Elladan placed his palm on Aragorn’s forehead and looked into his eyes, he tried not to blink or glance away.  He knew Elladan was looking for changes because many of the ancient herbs and drugs affected them somehow.  He was instructed to look to the right and left as the elf studied the way his eyes moved.  The eyes never lied.  Learning what he wanted, Elladan sat back and waited patiently for his brother to finish his search.

            After a few minutes, Elrohir slowly opened his eyes and looked at his twin.  Elladan nodded in response to an unasked question and turned to the three other men sitting behind them.  “There is much that needs to be done,” Elladan said.  “Check the area one more time for any lingering Orcs and then bring wood for a fire.  It will be dark in a few hours so we must make camp here.”

            After the other men moved off, Elladan turned back to his younger foster brother who had now pulled himself up to a sitting position.  “Estel, there are many things this can be.  We need to know exactly what you felt, if there was any weakness of body or mind.  Knowing this will greatly help narrow down the possibilities.”

            Aragorn thought for a moment.  It was always easy to talk with his brothers.  They had a unique talent for listening in patience and without judgment.  The same was true for their entire race.  It was a trait that Aragorn hoped he would someday perfect.

            “I experienced many emotions while I was held.  They were nothing that I haven’t felt before but never so intense or frequent.”  He paused.  “I suppose it is possible that it was brought on by the drug.  It had been many months since I’d thought on the matter at all,” he said slowly.  Then he explained further, telling about his fears of being an inadequate king and letting those around him die needlessly.

            The sons of Elrond listened very quietly.  This was nothing they hadn’t talked about before.  When Aragorn had been much younger, the twins often sat with him and talked about his future.  However, it had been many years since he’d had this much of a problem.

            “There were also dreams,” Aragorn continued.  “Although I do not remember all of them, I know they were on the same topics.  I always awoke with those doubts on my mind and couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it for the rest of the day.  I just thought it was because the years are passing by so quickly.  It always seemed so far away.  I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about… it… being found, and if it’s true, there may be even fewer years ahead then I thought.  But here I go again; even now I cannot stay focused.”

            Elrohir nodded once.  “Well, have these feelings lessened since you’ve been on the road?” he asked.

            “No,” Aragorn said, frowning.  “While it is not getting any worse, I was still having the dreams the night before last.”

            “And the last time you were given the drug?”

            Aragorn sighed as he tried to recall just how long it had been.  “The night before I left Isengard,” he finally said.  “And that was a little over a week ago.”

            “You are still feeling its effects after all that time,” Elladan concluded quietly.  “This eliminates many things.  Elrohir and I must discuss this.  For now, Lourin and Amaleg can start tending your wounds; they have some skill in healing.”

            Aragorn sat up slowly and saw that the three men had returned with wood.  A small fire had already been built, and a warm red glow bounced off the surrounding trees.  It was a welcoming scene.

            “Was anything learned?” Lourin asked as the Ranger approached.

            “I don’t know.  They are discussing it now,” Aragorn said as he sat by the fire.  “They suggested that we begin cleaning and dressing my other wounds.”

            Lourin laughed slightly.  “Of course!  I was just about to begin heating some water.  Come, let me take a look at you.”

            Aragorn’s back was caked with dry blood and sweat, and that was where they began.  The weeks of shirtless activity had not allowed the whip wounds to heal free from infection.  Some of them had begun to fester and would need to be drained.

            Aragorn was very quiet as the other Rangers worked.  He was grateful for their gentle attention, but his mind was occupied with everything he had told the elves.  Talking about it had brought those feelings back to the surface, just where he did not want them.

            After a small amount of pain, most of the wounds on Aragorn’s back were cleaned, and the more severe ones were being bandaged when Elladan returned. 

            “After we discussed all the possibilities, I believe we’ve narrowed them down far enough to treat you,” Elladan said, picking up his pack.  “Our list is small but all of them require very similar healing procedures.  Just so we’re certain, you said there was only one plant used?”

            Aragorn furrowed his brow as he tried to recall his memories.  “There were two whole plants that Saruman was holding.  One was significantly smaller than the other, but it is very possible they were the same, just a less mature version.  He used the smallest leaves from one and the largest from the other.  I found that very odd at the time which is why I remember it now, but I don’t recall much else.”

“That narrows the field even further,” Elladan said.  “Luckily, we have almost everything needed, and Elrohir is away searching for the rest.  I trust the area is clear,” he said, turning to the other Rangers.  The sun was setting and long shadows were being cast around the campsite.  The forest had to be secure before everyone settled down for the night.

            “Yes,” Amaleg said.  “There were Orc tracks in the area, but I believe they were from earlier today for none were fresh.  All were several hours old.”

            “Good.”  Elladan pulled some mugs and herbs from his pack and set them aside.  He glanced over at the pot next to the fire.  “Is this all the water that’s left?” 

            Amaleg nodded.  Aragorn had been positively filthy, and now there was barely a third of the pot left.  It had taken entirely too much water to clean the blood, sweat, and mud from the man’s back.  “There’s a small stream ten minutes out.  How much will you need?”

            “We’ll need more then this, a full pot at the very least,” Elladan said.  “I do wish we could have the light of day to work by, but we’ll take what we can get.”  He smiled slightly.  “Come, little brother, let’s get this fire brighter.  You may need its warmth before we’re done tonight.”

            Picking up a log to throw on the fire, Aragorn half smiled at being called ‘little brother’ when he was nearly eighty six years old, but it was somehow comforting. 

            As one of the other Rangers went to fetch more water, Elladan placed one of his elvish blankets down so Aragorn could have something comfortable to rest on.  Elrohir soon immerged from the trees and laid several handfuls of plants at his brother’s feet.

When the silence made him believe the twins were not going to offer information freely, Aragorn asked, “What was the drug then?”

            “We do not agree,” Elrohir said, eyeing his twin.  “He says it’s girnair, but though it is ancient and rare, it’s deadly in the dose you described.”

            “But all the symptoms point to it,” Elladan argued.

            Ignoring his brother’s comment, Elrohir continued.  “Then he claimed it was maywen with the same argument.  I, on the other hand, think it could be either inwist or hourma.”

            “It doesn’t matter,” Elladan said, cutting his brother off before they relived their earlier arguments.  “Since they produce the same symptoms, they are treated very similarly.”

            “Yes, but it’s a long multi step process and you, Estel, have a creature to hunt for, or so I am told.  So let us begin,” Elrohir said.

            As the twins began to fill several mugs with warn water, Aragorn fidgeted with the edges of the blankets.  “I do not think I’ll be continuing my search for Gollum,” he said, not bringing his eyes up to meet those of the elves’.  “I plan to return to Imladris and be with Arwen.  I’ve been away for a long time, almost eight years, and a few years vacation would be most welcome.”

            “Is that wise?” Elladan asked, simply.

            “Dropping his voice to a whisper, Elrohir said, “Shouldn’t now be the time for speed?  If Gandalf believes *it* has been found and he thinks Gollum is important, all haste is needed.  You cannot stray from your path now!  You are very important to this, Estel.”

            “I know that,” Aragorn said coldly, almost in anger.  “And you know I have never wanted that path.  I have seen what men do, how they act in war, and how they look exclusively to their leaders without being able to think for themselves.  I do not want such responsibility.  All I wish is to continue living my quiet life as a Ranger until the time is right for Arwen and I to live together in peace.”

            “And what about your people?  What if the war comes, and you are not a part of it?  What if the stories are true, and without you, there is no hope for a happy end?”  Elrohir asked.

            “Happiness is relative,” Aragorn countered.  “No, I will depart for Imladris, the one place where I can rest without worry and in the company of those I love and care for.”

            “But how can you…?” Elrohir started before he felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder, quieting him.

“Wait,” Elladan said.  Then, turning to Aragorn, “Do not make any decisions while you are ill.  Please wait until we purge this poison from your body, then we will talk.  Let us not speak of it now.”

            Aragorn agreed and relaxed a bit.  He was confident the twin lords would allow him to return to Rivendell if he wished.  Truth be told, Aragorn could not even remember why he’d agreed to help Gandalf in the first place.  Right now, all he wanted was to escape from the problems and worries of his life for a while, and Rivendell was the perfect place for such a thing.

            Even as the elves were busy mixing various herbs, Aragorn spoke again.  “Are you certain that I’m still being affected by the drug, what ever it may be called?  I don’t feel anything different.”

            Elladan smiled softly at the man.  “Yes, little brother, you are under its destructive influence.”  He paused and then stared seriously into Aragorn’s eyes.  “Do you trust me, Estel?”

            “That’s a foolish question.  You know that I’ve always trusted you both with more than my very life, if such a thing is possible.”

            “Then trust us now,” he said gently.  “You are very ill, and because so much time has passed since the last dose, great haste is needed.  You must cooperate completely with everything we ask, even if you don’t understand the reasons behind them.”

            Aragorn looked first at Elladan and then Elrohir.  He saw great concern and the love of brothers in their eyes.  “Of course.  Your intentions are the best, and I will do nothing to hinder your efforts.”

            “Good!” Elrohir exclaimed.  “Unfortunately, we must begin with one of the more unpleasant tasks.  Were you given any Orc draught over the last two days?”

            “Yes,” Aragorn answered.  That had been his first encounter with the disgusting draught, and he hoped to never taste it again.  “Other than brief mouthfuls of water, that was all that I was given to drink.”

            “I thought as much.  Here,” Elladan said, handing Aragorn a small mug filled with a sweet smelling liquid.  “Don’t be fooled by the smell.  It will make you sick and expel everything from your stomach.  For our healing to work, the herb poison can be the only evil presence in your body, and that includes the drink of the Orcs.”

            “I understand,” Aragorn mumbled and then emptied the fluid into his mouth. 

----------

            Rayford had been sitting across the campsite watching the quiet exchange between Strider and the two elves.  He couldn’t hear what was being said, but their facial expressions told him it was important.

            Lourin and Amaleg had left several minutes ago in search of food and to make sure the area was still free of enemies.  The three of them had decided to give the two elves and their patient as much room as possible.  Somehow, Rayford did not think it would be in Strider’s best interest to have him so near. 

            He could not understand why the man had thought he was dead.  It didn’t surprise him that Saruman had told Strider a lie, saying he had been slain, but why had the Ranger believed it?  Surely he could have seen through the deception.

            Rayford took out the small number of things the other Rangers had given him and began to settle down for the evening.  After he cleared away the rocks, sticks, and leaves, he laid out his bedroll.  It was late in the year and though snow was not common this far south, the nights were uncomfortably chilly if not properly outfitted.  Luckily, the Rangers had managed to find enough extra blankets that they could all sleep farther away from the fire, leaving the elves to their work.  Just as he was getting comfortable, Rayford glanced back over to where Strider was being tended. 

            Rayford gasped as he saw the Ranger on his knees, being violently sick into a large bowl held by Elladan.  Elrohir was kneeling behind Strider, holding the hair away from the man’s face with one hand while gently rubbing his back with the other.

            At first, Rayford thought something was wrong, and he began to climb to his feet.  But then he saw that the two elves didn’t seem to be concerned with Strider’s new illness.  He trusted the elves, and though he’d only spent a few days with them, it wasn’t hard to see how knowledgeable they were.

            Rayford smiled slightly.  There was obviously a long history between the three beings, thought he didn’t know exactly what it was.  They were family somehow, brothers.  Rayford’s thoughts immediately shifted to his cousin, Milena.  She had been the only family he had known for many months.  Now she was dead; he was certain of that.  He’d stared into her lifeless face and held her cold hand.  Rayford knew she would not be forgotten, and he hoped to create a new life for himself in honor of the dead that he loved.

            He watched as Strider sat back on his haunches, taking quick shallow breaths.  Then Elladan forced another mug into his hand.  The Ranger made an unpleasant face but quickly threw his head back, draining the contents.

            Rayford chuckled softly.  It would be a long night for Strider, but hopefully, the morning would bring comfort and final healing.

----------

            Aragorn collapsed into Elladan’s waiting arms.  He hated being sick to his stomach.  It always made him out of breath and his insides felt like they wanted to throw themselves from his body. 

            “Please tell me I will not have to do that again,” Aragorn complained to his caretakers. 

            “You will not,” Elladan said with a slight laugh.  “Though there are some other unpleasant aspects of your treatment, this was the worst.”

            “What else is there?”

            “Lie here,” Elladan said as he unfolded another blanket.  “There are a few more elixirs that Elrohir is preparing, but they’ll be nothing, sedatives mostly.  Just enough to keep you relaxed.”

            The three were silent as Aragorn eased himself onto his back, and the twins set up their supplies.  The Ranger resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  Just because they were the sons of Elrond Peredhil didn’t mean they acted any different then normal Elves.  No one could ever get full answers out of them.  Although Elves rarely felt it necessary to downright lie, it could often be difficult sorting out their riddles and find answers.  “Please brothers, I promised to cooperate, but that doesn’t mean I’ll accept being uninformed.  Why must I be kept drugged?”

            Elladan gave a small, understanding nod.  “Of course, forgive me.  Whatever Saruman gave you is affecting your mind.  There is a strange shadow surrounding your thoughts and redirecting your emotions.  We believe,” he said, motioning to his twin, “that I can guild you back.”

            “In my mind?” Aragorn asked, looking from one twin to the other.  He needed to make sure he understood what was going to happen.  Over the years, he’d been healed many times by various elves, but it had always been a physical wound, never something like this.  “You’ll be in my mind?”

            “Not exactly,” Elladan said as he shifted closer.  “It is very difficult to explain.  What I’m going to do is very unnatural for Men, and if given the chance, you will fight me at every step.  No,” he said, cutting Aragorn off as he began to protest.  “Every man fights against this kind of intrusion.  Trust me on this.  You must be completely relaxed to follow me.”

            “Is this dangerous?”  Aragorn surprised himself with the question.  Normally, he would never have asked.  If his brothers said it needed to be done, it didn’t matter the cost.

            But Elladan simply smiled.  “Not at all.  I said it was unnatural for Men, not Elves.  Sometimes, through guided meditation, it can help deal with grief and the beginning stages of Sea Longing.  It will work much the same way for you, but since you are no elf, I will do all the work.  All you must do is follow.”

            “How?”

            “Drink this.”  He handed Aragorn a mug filled with a warm, dark liquid.  “And relax.  Clear your mind as best you can.  The few men who’ve had this treatment say it’s uncomfortable but not painful, so do not be alarmed.  Try not to fall asleep, but if it happens, so be it.  But while you’re awake,” he said with a broad grin, “try not to squirm.”

            Aragorn snorted softly at the jest, but Elladan continued.  “Just relax.  We’ll be finished by sunrise.”

            He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind as Elladan sat by his head.  Aragorn had no idea what he was supposed to do, but he trusted his foster brother.

            Elladan placed a hand lightly at the base of Aragorn’s neck and with his other palm resting on the bridge of the man’s nose, stretched his fingers to touch Aragorn’s right temple and his thumb to his left.  The man kept his eyes focused on the elf’s calm face as he felt something odd and slightly alarming tug at the back of his mind.

            “Do not fight me,” Elladan whispered.

----------

            A shadow peered out from behind the trees and listened to the verbal exchange between the elves and man.  There was still a chance he could save his current situation.

            A branch snapped, and the dark figure knew it was time to retreat to safety.  The two other Rangers were in the area, and they would ruin everything if allowed.

            “This is far from over,” he said as he silently melted back into the protective shadows of the forest.

TBC

Thanks to Rinn, Kathira, and luinthien for reviewing! You all bring a smile to my face! *G* <-- see there it is!  I'm glad you guys liked what I did with chapter 14!  For some reason, I had a lot of fun writing it.

Well, here the next chapter!  Enjoy and be sure to leave a review!

Chapter 15

            Aragorn looked around.  He was back in Isengard, sitting in his old cell.  For a brief moment, the Ranger began to panic, but then he forced himself to clam down.  This was a dream.  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he just did.

            “Hello?” Aragorn heard himself call out.  He wasn’t sure why he spoke; it seemed he had very little control over his actions in this dream.  His arms were chained behind him, and though he could not feel it, so were his ankles.

            The sound of footsteps from behind the door caused him to hold his breath.  Anything could happen in a dream, and it was usually more awful then what the waking world brought.

            Aragorn surprised himself when he gasped at the image of Saruman in the open door.  He realized that all he could do was watch the events unfold.  His body wasn’t responding to his calls.

            “You will fail them all, Aragorn,” the wizard said.  “You should have joined me and saved them.”

            “No,” Aragorn heard himself say.  “Joining you would have destroyed everything I care about.”

            Then others entered the room, Felnorvard, Rayford, Milena.  They all stood behind Saruman and echoed his words.  “Everything you love will be destroyed by the Dark Lord.  Nothing will escape his wrath.  You should have joined him when you had the chance.”

            Aragorn tried to bring his hand up to cover his ears, anything to block out the words, but he was still bound to the wall.  He wanted to wake from this dream.

            Others entered the room, those long dead, Arathorn, the father he could barely remember, Elendil, and Isildur, the man Aragorn feared becoming.  They stood beside the wizard and taunted him mercilessly.    
            Aragorn renewed his efforts to free himself, but he made no progress.  There was so much noise.  They were all calling out to him, trying to give him directions, advise, and criticism.

            “This will help you, Aragorn,” Felnorvard said above them all as he stepped forward.  To Aragorn’s horror, he offered a mug full of liquid.

            Something told him to struggle, but once again, his body wouldn’t comply.  No! Aragorn’s mind screamed.  My brothers said the drug is harming me!  Why can’t I  wake from this nightmare? 

            There was a new sensation.  Now Aragorn could feel Felnorvard’s gentle but firm grip on his jaw, opening his mouth.  He felt something cool being poured into his mouth, but what he tasted was not from the dream.  The feelings were clear and defined.  Something is wrong with this!  Awake!

----------

            With a cry of alarm, Aragorn’s eyes flew open, but he could see nothing.  Sleep had not yet completely left him.  As his eyes focused, the Ranger found himself looking into the blue-gray eyes of Elrohir.

            “Peace, Estel,” he said.  “All is well.  You need to drink this.”  Elrohir had his arm under Aragorn’s head, supporting him as the elf held a cup to his lips.

            Aragorn hesitated and as he accepted the fluid, asked, “What is it?”

            “Only water,” he said, his expression serious.  “You are very dehydrated.  Please take as much as you can.”  Elrohir helped Aragorn sit up and waited quietly as he emptied the cup.  Then he asked,  “You dreamt again?”

            Aragorn lowered his eyes and nodded.  “I can remember every detail, which was not so with the others.”

            Elladan, who had been resting a few feet away, got up and took the empty cup.   “That’s a good sign.  It shows that we’ve made some progress over the past few hours.  What did you dream about, Estel?”

            A good sign?  How?  Aragorn knew they were trying to distract him from his treatment.  Since he’d grown up in Rivendell, Aragorn had learned very early not to bother Elves with questions while they were healing.  Often, one would not like the answer or would only become more confused.

            Changing the subject slightly, Aragorn asked, “Did you try to have me drink the water before I was awake?”

            “Yes.  I didn’t want to wake you, but you grew increasingly hostile.  It wasn’t long after I started coaxing the water into your mouth that you woke up,” Elrohir said as he helped his brother mix a handful of herbs into a small bowl.

            Aragorn tried to relax as he lay back on the ground, but he could not shake the feelings brought on by his dreams.  Ignoring the two elves who were rubbing a thick paste into his old leg wound, Aragorn looked back over his shoulder and past the fire to where Rayford was sitting.

            The young man was resting on his bedroll next to Lourin and Amaleg who were bandaging Rayford’s injured hand.  The men were having a quiet conversation, possibly on security.  Before Aragorn had fallen asleep, Amaleg reported finding tracks around their campsite.  Elrohir had then asked that at least one person patrol the perimeter of their camp throughout the night.  Felnorvard was still in the area, and Aragorn was sure he was a target.  Unfortunately, the elves made it clear that Aragorn would not be able to do much of anything for the rest of the night.

            As Lourin got up to begin his watch, Rayford looked over and met Aragorn’s eyes.  Both men held the gaze for a few moments until Elladan spoke.

 “Estel,” he said, drawing his human brother’s attention away from Rayford.  “Talk to me.  What troubles you?”

            “Rayford and his dead cousin visited me in my dreams again.  They said I had forsaken them and that I was the reason for their deaths,” Aragorn said quietly, almost to himself.

            “Is this what they said to you when you saw the vision in Isengard?”

            “It was.”

            Elladan left his work with the leg wound and moved closer to Aragorn’s head.  “The vision took place during your last few nights there?”

            “Yes, it was the last night.”

            “After several days with the drug in your body?”

            “Yes.” Aragorn frowned.  “What are you suggesting?”  Aragorn knew that Elves provided information in two ways: with riddles and with other questions.  Elladan was encouraging Aragorn to discover his own answers, but he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he should be.

            “You told us it was around the time when the drug began tasting different, stronger.  When you were in the forest surrounding Isengard, did you have any doubts about sending Rayford away?”

            Aragorn could not see where the questions were leading, but he answered, “I had strong doubts he would make it out of the forest alive, but I saw it as the only chance either of us had.”

            “And you held yourself responsible for his safety?”

            “Rayford is so young; he has his entire life ahead of him.  He could be my child, Elladan, even my grandchild!”  Aragorn took a deep breath, calming himself before continuing.  “At that age, you treat yourself as though you’re indestructible but rarely are so.”

            “I have fought by his side, Estel,” Elladan said softly.  “He is more capable than you think.”

            “Apparently so,” Aragorn said, looking back to where the young man sat.

            “So, you held yourself responsible for his well being.  Is it not true that the vision showed exactly what you feared?”  Elladan spoke slowly and quietly so that his full meaning could be understood.

            “It did,” Aragorn replied.  He hesitated, thinking through what he had just heard.  “It may be true,” he finally said.  “Looking back on it now, it does seem like I heard precisely what I’d been thinking about.  I was so certain that I was unaffected.”

            “That is also one of the effects.  It makes you believe that everything is still normal.  But, it is being corrected now, so let’s not dwell on it, only understand the reasons behind most of your feelings over the past few days.”

            Aragorn nodded.  That would explain his depressing mood.  He had spent many years learning how to master his emotions, and it was slightly comforting to know that it was not entirely his fault for his lack of control over them.

            “We will talk more about this later,” Elladan said.  “We have spent too much time tending to your other wounds.”

            “Now, we must move on to the next step of your treatment.  Drink this,” Elladan said, taking a full cup from his twin.  He laughed as Aragorn gave him a questioning look.  “Do not worry!  It won’t make you sick!  However, it will make you very tired, and this time, you must try not to fight it.”

            Aragorn drank what was offered to him, and within ten minutes, he could feel its effects.  His thoughts grew slow, and the world did not follow as quickly as his eyes moved.  Elladan placed his hands on either side of Aragorn’s face and began to speak, soft but commanding.  It was Elvish, but nothing he could understand.  Whether or not it was a result of the sleeping drug, he could not tell. 

            Or perhaps it wasn’t Elvish at all, but the words seemed to draw Aragorn deeper into his mind.  Sleep began to creep in from all sides, as if by the command of Elladan, and he welcomed it.  Aragorn soon found himself in a, thankfully, dreamless and restful sleep.

----------

            “No, we should not wake him.”

            “The hour is late, brother.”

            “But, the area has not been completely cleared of danger.”

            “All the more reason for him to regain his strength.  Then the threat can be dealt with.”

            A pause.

            “Let him rest.”

            “I would sleep if certain people would be quiet,” Aragorn complained through closed eyes.  He wasn’t really angry with the elves, however it was their fault he wasn’t still blissfully asleep. 

            “Well, you’re up now!” Elrohir exclaimed.  “Come, Estel, the sun has been up for hours, and the enemy still roams the area.”

            “Why wasn’t that taken care of last night?” Aragorn asked, opening his eyes and pulling himself to a sitting position.  “And why does my body feel like it has fallen down a mountain?”  Everything hurt on the Ranger.  His eyes burned from the sunlight; the back of his head was throbbing; his legs refused to obey his brain’s commands without protest, and his arms were unusually heavy and stiff.

            “And just how would you know what it feels like to fall down a mountain, little brother?” Elrohir asked with a large smile on his face.

            But Aragorn was in no mood and glared at him.

            “He only jests,” Elladan said, giving his twin a light shove.  “You feel sore because you are no longer under the control of the drug.  Your body responded very well to our healing, and the more you move about and stretch your muscles, the quicker you’ll feel back to normal.”

            The twins helped Aragorn to his feet but let him wander around unaided.  The group’s supplies had been repacked and gathered beneath a large tree, though Aragorn could not see anyone else around.

            “Are the others out scouting?” Aragorn asked Elrohir, who was gathering the last of their supplies.

            “Yes,” he said, laying Aragorn’s folded bedroll on the ground.  “They left a few hours ago, and we expect them back shortly.”

            “Felnorvard will not wish to return to his master empty handed.  We should be prepared for an attack,” Aragorn said.

            “But is he bold enough to attack an armed group of Rangers?” Elrohir countered.

            “It’s true that he’s no fool.  However, I believe he is desperate to gain favor with his lords.”

            “Then we must find him before he can do any more harm,” Elladan said from behind his brother.  “Here, Estel, you may need this, since you seem to have lost your own.”

            Aragorn smiled his thanks as he took the shirt from the elf.  As he slipped it on, he noticed that he was indeed feeling slightly better, and as his soreness left, so did his foul mood.  He still felt very weak, but he guessed that his strength would also return with time.

            After several more minutes wandering around the dissolving campsite, Aragorn needed to rest.  He knew they would be moving out as soon as the others returned.  It bothered him greatly that he had become so tired and worn out after such little exercise.  He was uncertain if he should ask Elladan about it, but their safety could depend on Aragorn’s fighting abilities.

            “Elladan,” he called a little too quickly, the emotion in his voice betraying him.  Elladan dropped what he was doing and immediately crossed to where Aragorn was leaning against a tree.  Before the elf could ask any questions, Aragorn continued.  “I feel too weak, brother.  When I  engage Felnorvard, I’ll need to be at full strength.  Is there anything that can be done?”

            Elladan visibly relaxed, knowing now that there was no emergency.  “You will not be alone during that encounter,” he said, smiling at the uncertain look on Aragorn’s face.  “Hopefully, we can capture him alive.  I know a place to take him where he’d be looked after, and perhaps information can be learned from him.  I know many people will be interested in what he knows about Saruman.”

            Aragorn shook his head.  “My experience with him would lead me to believe that he will not go quietly or without a fight.  I do not expect him to survive a battle against us, if that is indeed what happens.”

            “Well, as for your weariness,” Elladan said, moving squarely in front of Aragorn.  “It can be one of two things.”  He placed his hands on either of the man’s shoulders.  “Look at me, Estel,” he commanded.

            Aragorn raised his eyes to meet the steady, powerful gaze of the older elf.  Elladan narrowed his eyes and stared deeply into his, searching for something.  Aragorn waited patiently and tried not to shy away when Elladan leaned his face slightly closer.   The elf began to mutter a few words, too softly for Aragorn to understand.  Then he became quiet, and his pupils suddenly dilated.  Aragorn knew as soon as Elladan’s eyes returned to normal, he would have his answers.  After only a few minutes, the elf broke his gaze and quickly looked over the rest of Aragorn’s face.

            Aragorn realized that he’d been holding his breath and let it out with a deep sigh.  “What news?” he asked after another moment of silence.

            Elladan’s face lit up with a comforting smile.  “I sense no more evil in you.  You will feel weak for a time, but I don’t think there will be any lasting physical effects.”

            “That’s good news.”

            “What do you plan on doing?” Elladan asked suddenly looking very serious.  Elrohir had finished packing and was now standing at his brother’s side.

            Aragorn suddenly felt very confused.  “About what?”

            “Where will you go?” Elrohir asked, his expression matching his twin’s.

            “Ah,” Aragorn said with a heavy sigh and lowered himself to the ground, his weariness demanding attention.  The two elves, believing that it may turn into a long and drawn out discussion, joined him on the forest floor.  “What I should do and what I desire to do are not the same.”

            “So it often is with everyone,” Elrohir said quietly.  He didn’t want to rush Aragorn into any decision, but a push in the right direction wouldn’t hurt.  “But the question is where are you needed.”

            “I know why Gandalf wishes me to be involved, and I know how important this is.  But I fear the consequences.”

            Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a quick sideways glance.  They knew a little about why Aragorn was searching for Gollum, and over the past several years, they had been able to piece together most of the rest.

            “But if that is where our path leads then who are we not to travel it?”  Elladan said.

            “It’s easy to say that about someone else’s path,” Aragorn countered.

            “You must do what your heart knows to be the correct way.  Otherwise, you’ll never find peace.”

            Aragorn nodded once and lowered his eyes to the ground.  The three of them sat quietly for several long minutes.  The elves knew that Aragorn was fighting a battle with himself, and they were confident that he would make the right decision. 

            Elladan’s eyes shifted quickly to the borders of the clearing.  He was just beginning to hear the other Rangers returning.  If Aragorn wanted silence before coming to his decision, he would need to be quick.

            “The others approach,” Elladan warned, just loud enough for Aragorn to hear.

            This seemed to draw him back from where ever he’d been, and he looked up.  “If it is indeed my path to rule over so many then who am I to argue.  Right now, I see several other possibilities for my life, and until those ways are completely closed to me, I will attempt to search them out.”

            The elves both frowned at hearing this.  Elrohir opened his mouth to argue, but Aragorn cut him off.  “But I will not be returning to Rivendell.  Gandalf asked for my aid, and he will have it.  I will not shy away from this, but I want to keep my options open.”

They nodded, seeming to accept his answer.  Aragorn opened his mouth to say more, but he was cut off as their three companions entered the clearing.

            “Anything?” Elladan asked them.

            “Yes and no,” Amaleg said.  “There were many tracks in the area, and we followed them for some time before loosing them altogether.  Several were definitely Orc, but we couldn’t tell if it was a single creature wandering back and forth or if there was a group.”

            Lourin continued their report.  “However, there were other prints closer to camp that worried us.  They were definitely not Orc.”

            “Man,” Elrohir concluded, thought it was not a question.

            “Yes, I believe so.  The trail approached and followed along the perimeter.”

            “Almost too close for comfort,” Amaleg interjected. 

            “And then returned exactly the way it came.  It was not made by someone wishing to attack, only watch,” Lourin said.  “Soon he turned onto a heavily used animal trail, and we lost it entirely.”

            Aragorn had not said a word during the report but instead, watched the responses of the elves.  He knew it would be their decision on what to do next.  He saw Elladan nod and bring his hand up to his mouth in thought.  There were several different actions the group could take, and with Aragorn’s weakened condition, there would be little room for error.

            “Yes.  We could feel the slightest hint of danger last night,” Elladan finally said.  “But it was never directly upon us.”  He paused.  “As it stands now, there are five able bodies and one,” he looked at Aragorn, “who could fight if necessary.  The last any of us saw of the enemy, there was one man and perhaps three Orcs that escaped yesterday, and all of them scattered.  Strider doesn’t believe that Felnorvard will return to his master empty handed, and I agree.  We need to find him before he’s able to attack.”

            “Is he foolish enough to believe he could fight a group of Rangers with a handful of Orcs?” Amaleg asked.

            Elladan turned to Aragorn for the answer.  “No, he is no fool, though perhaps desperate.  I have no idea what he would try,” Aragorn said with a heavy sigh.  He could feel his strength returning, but something told him it would leave just as quickly.  “And as he said, I could fight if I was needed, but I fear I wouldn’t last long.”

            “Give it some time to wear off,” Elladan said as he helped Aragorn back to his feet.  “Either way, we should find Felnorvard quickly.  Let’s gather our things and track him as far as we can.  We can deal with the future when it comes.”

            The elf had been looking directly at Aragorn when he said his last sentence.  Aragorn had met his eyes and understood that he meant more than just dealing with Felnorvard.  Elladan was the first to look away and began picking up their supplies.  Aragorn smiled as he picked up one of the spare packs that had been prepared for him.  The future would come, and Aragorn knew all he could do was be ready for what ever it brought.

----------

            Felnorvard was worried.  He had never truly wanted to go to Mordor.  There were many wild rumors about the Dark Lord, and none were encouraging.  But he would gladly travel into the heart of Mordor and stand face to face with the Sauron, himself, then return to Saruman in failure.

            He had been able to watch the Ranger group from time to time throughout the night.  He never crept close enough to raise the alarm, but he knew the elves had sensed him.

            Elves, Felnorvard thought.  And two of them!  I’ll have to be careful of them.  They would easily ruin everything.  A cruel smile swept across the man’s face. A plan had been forming in his mind ever since Aragorn had been taken from him.  There were only a few more thing that needed to fall into place before he could begin.

            He swore under his breath as he heard his Orc messenger thundering through the underbrush, announcing to the world that he was returning.  He would have to remember that Orcs could sneak up on no one.

            “Speak,” he commanded the creature when it finally arrived.

            “Fifteen of them right where you said they’d be.”

            A small smile began to pull at the corners of the man’s lips.  “Where are they now?”

            “Ten minutes hike north, just like you commanded.”

            And so the last piece of my puzzle is ready.  Felnorvard had been ordered to meet with the larger group of Orcs as an added guard while crossing Gondor, and now they would be used to reclaim the Dark Lord’s gift.  All he needed to do now was scout around for the area he needed.  Yes, very soon, you will be mine again..

TBC

Thanks to Rinn for reviewing!! 

Sorry this chapter got out late, everyone.  I had some computer problems over the weekend which kept me from working.  So, I'm afraid that also means I wasn't able to finish editing chapter 17 either.  I'm a few days behind on it so it's possible it could be a week and a half or two weeks before I'm able to post.  Sorry!  In this case, reviews will absolutely give me more insentive to work on it.  hint hint *G* 

Anyway,  there is only one more chapter after this one so everything is quickly coming to an end.  Enjoy and let me know what you think! 

Chapter 16

            Aragorn paced back and forth several times, his eyes fixed on the ground. Tracking Orcs was generally an easy task because the creatures were large, clumsy, and heavy. This time was no exception. The difficult part was finding a human print. With a heavy sigh, Aragorn moved back to where the other Rangers were waiting.

            The elves were both leaning against the trunk of a tree, talking quietly with each other. They had allowed Aragorn to be the tracker for the group because even though they possessed the superior skill, his was far above any ordinary hunter and even above the skills of other Rangers.  It was something the man could do without tiring himself too much, and the twins had every confidence in his abilities. Besides, Elrohir thought as Aragorn slowly made his way back. The more we allow him to do now, the more likely we can convince him to stay behind during the fight.

            Back at their campsite, the group had spent two additional hours resting and planning. It had been decided that the scattered Orcs had likely gone southeast, toward the mountains, and the tracks around the campsite had confirmed it. Aragorn had been assigned to read the trail while Rayford and Amaleg followed behind, guarding against a surprise rear attack. The superior eyesight and hearing of the Elves was needed in front to make sure the group didn’t find themselves too close to the Orcs until they were ready. Lourin was to scout a very short distance ahead to help look for new trails as well as Orc rearguards. 

            “The tracks say much,” Aragorn finally said wearily. “I can count five different prints from the Orcs, which is only a few more then we originally thought. They didn’t pass through here long ago, perhaps a few hours. I believe we should be able to overtake them easily enough because they seem to be in no rush.”

            “What of Felnorvard?” Elladan asked.  

            Aragorn shook his head. “That’s what puzzles me. I can find none here that belong to him, but it is possible that he merely did an excellent job of covering his tracks.”

            “Even with all the Orcs with him?”

            Aragorn shrugged. “There were plenty of his prints around our site. Perhaps he knew it’s impossible to cover so many Orc tracks, but... ” He shrugged again.

            “Perhaps he traveled ahead to some cave in the mountains, and the Orcs trampled his prints,” Elrohir offered.

            “We could double back to the camp and see if we missed one of his side trails, but I still think this is the correct path,” Aragorn said as he turned to Elladan. “I would suggest that we keep moving so we don’t run out of day light.”

            “I agree,” he said. “There is little we can do about the tracks at camp now, and we can make easy work of five Orcs.”

            Elrohir stood and watched Aragorn take one last look at the trail before they set out. The elf could see that he was growing tired again but was trying to hide it. The man’s hand was resting heavily on the hilt of his small sword and the other on the handle of his knife. Between the four Rangers, they had been able to supply Aragorn with a small, lightweight sword and two daggers. 

            He would be able to defend himself at least, should the need arise, Elrohir thought as he continued to watch his human brother. But they will do him little good if he dies of exhaustion first. Elrohir caught the eye of his twin and silently spoke his concerns.

            Elladan looked at Aragorn and nodded. Then he turned to the other Rangers and said, “Perhaps we should rest a while before continuing. We may not get another chance.”

            Aragorn was not fooled.  “After only an hour’s travel?  No, we must press on.”

            “Estel,” Elrohir began.

            “I’m tired, yes, but I feel fine.” Aragorn thought for a moment. “Why don’t we just proceed at a slower pace,” he compromised.

            Elladan sighed and narrowed his eyes, a clear sign that he disapproved, but Aragorn stood his ground.

            “Fine,” he said finally.  “But a much slower pace, Estel.  It will do none of us any good if we have to carry you!”

            Aragorn tried to break through the elves’ serious expression with a large grin of thanks. “Of course, brothers!” But they merely rolled their eyes and groaned. 

----------

            After another hour of very slow tracking, Aragorn was beginning to wish they had stopped for a break. His old wounds, which his brothers had masterfully tended, were starting to protest, and what little activity he had done, left him terribly out of breath. His body felt as if he hadn’t slept in days although he knew he’d feel much better after a short break. However, right now, he knew he could not go on.

            “Elladan,” he said, taking a few steps over toward the elf. “I am afraid that...” But he was cut off as Lourin came rushing through the trees. The desire to hear what the young Ranger had found and the resulting small surge of adrenaline caused him to completely forget about his own discomfort. “It can wait,” Aragorn said quickly as the elf turned to him. “What did you find, Lourin?”

            As the younger man struggled to catch his breath, he said, “The Orcs have stopped and made camp no more than ten minutes ahead. They were uncharacteristically quiet, and I was nearly upon them before I spotted them through the trees. As quickly and quietly as I could, I pulled back, and thankfully I was not detected.”

            “Indeed. You did the right thing. We should wait for Amaleg and Rayford to catch up with us before we plan any further,” Elladan said as he set his pack on the ground.

            After ten minutes of waiting, Aragorn felt his strength slowly returning, and he was glad for the break. Rayford and Amaleg had returned, and now Elladan was ready to develop their plan of attack. They had surprise and superior skill, all of which Elladan was planning to use in their favor.

            “What can you tell us about the area surrounding the Orcs? Is there anything we can use to our advantage?” Elrohir asked.

            Much to Aragorn’s pleasure, they had all decided to sit on the ground so they could use the forest floor as a drawing board if necessary. Lourin told them how there was a thick line of trees surrounding the clearing on two sides while there was a large fifteen foot rock wall on the third.

            “I could not see what was on the fourth side very clearly. However, I think there may be a small cliff because I could see a height difference in the trees. It would be perhaps a ten foot drop, but I really have no way of knowing for sure,” Lourin said as he finished drawing a rough sketch in the dirt of what he saw of the site.

            Elladan was very quiet for a while, his eyes studying the drawing on the ground. The other Rangers sat quietly as well, waiting for the elf to make his choice. It was always better to have only one person making the battle decisions. Too many leaders lead to too much wasted time in arguments. They all trusted Elladan with their lives, so there was no problem accepting his decisions. However, they also had no qualms about making suggestions, but the final say was left to him.

            “We can use the environment to our advantage,” Elladan began. “Keeping the Orcs backed up against the wall will be important, along with our surprise attack. We should have no trouble with the odds so favorable. Estel, you must remain hidden within the trees in case any of the creatures escape us.”

            Aragorn frowned. He would try one last time to persuade his brothers to allow him to join the fight. “What if you run into trouble? I will not stand by idle should you need me!”

            It was Elrohir who quietly responded.  They had been expecting Aragorn’s protest and had already discussed their response. “You know as well as I, Estel, that you will serve us better as a sentry.” Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but Elrohir cut him off. “However, if anything were to happen, I’ll whistle. You’ll be able to hear me above any noise from the fight.”

            Aragorn responded with a disapproving growl but finally nodded his head, admitting defeat.  Elrohir only smiles and offered his hand to Aragorn, pulling him to his feet.

            The group needed to move as close as possible without being noticed, and with the two elves along, the distance would need to be even greater.  Orcs had very keen senses when it came to Elves, and they did not want them spooked.  Just as the twins could begin to feel the Orc’s presence, they found an area where the trees were not as dense and signaled the group to stop.

            As they put their supplies at the base of a large tree where Aragorn would wait, Elladan said, “Estel, be careful. I can sense evil in the area, and I fear that it is not entirely from the Orcs ahead of us.”

            Aragorn nodded.  “I wish I was coming with you,” he said plainly.

            “I know, but you know that you’re far too weak. For your own safety, you must stay here,” Elladan said as he quietly drew his sword. “We’ll be back soon.”  He placed his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, and after a reassuring squeeze, he turned and disappeared into the trees.

            Even without looking back, Elladan knew that Aragorn was still upset, but he could hardly blame the man. Had their positions been reversed, Elladan knew he would have reacted the same way, wanting to join in the action. He also knew that Aragorn realized he was right and would not enter the fight unless called.

            Elladan quickly cleared his mind because he needed all of his senses sharp if he wanted to surprise the Orcs. As the group soundlessly crept forward, Lourin motioned that their target was just ahead and slightly to the right. Elladan nodded and signaled the Rangers to slightly spread out. They would need to create a ring around the enemy if they wanted to keep them confined. Just as his Elven sight allowed him to see the Orcs, he raised his hand, signaling them to halt. Now they would need extra stealth.

            Elladan scanned the line to see if everyone was in place. Next to him was Lourin, followed by Amaleg, and furthest away was Rayford and Elrohir. Elladan smiled slightly as he remembered the conversation he had with Rayford just before they set out earlier that day. The young man had come to him concerned about his fighting abilities. His inexperience with organized attacks was making him slightly apprehensive, and Elladan remembered smiling at the young man’s honesty. He had told him that he felt confident in his abilities, but if it made him feel better, he could fight beside either him or his brother. 

            After receiving a nod from everyone, Elladan motioned them forward. They needed to move slowly at first and then charge as soon as they broke free of the trees. Timing was important, but Elladan was confident they would be able to defeat five Orcs and hopefully, one man.

            Their only disadvantage was that they had to leave their bows with Aragorn.  Lourin’s was damaged during the rescue, and Elrohir and Amaleg were more skilled with their swords and long knives.  Elladan considered bringing his bow, however it would be very difficult to secure a clear shot through the dense trees.

            With weapons drawn, the group of Rangers crept forward until they could all plainly see the five Orcs. A few were casually lying on the ground while the rest were ripping apart some type of meat and stuffing it into their mouths.

            Elladan could feel the eyes of his companions watching him, waiting for him to make the first move. He took one last deep breath, tightened his grip on his sword, and broke into a run. He could see figures moving beside him and knew the others were following. After a few paces and at a full sprint, they broke through the trees.

            The first creature didn’t even have a chance to turn and see his attacker, as an elven blade quickly severed its head. Elladan quickly brought his blade around in time to see the other Orcs already unsheathing their weapons. A quick glance at the other engaging Rangers told him that these Orcs were slightly more skilled than normal. But Elrohir had just raised his sword for the killing blow, and the other men were quickly gaining the upper hand with their own enemies.

            Seeing that only two of them remained alive, the Orcs made a last minute desperate attempt to escape. Knowing that they couldn’t make it past the Rangers and into the trees, they abandoned their personal battles and bolted for the cliff.

            The sudden change of tactics caught the Rangers slightly off guard, and it wasn’t until the Orcs disappeared over the side that Elladan and Elrohir cried out together. “Follow them! We can not allow them to scatter again!”

            The group reached the edge in time to see the Orcs stopping just before reaching the edge of the trees. They stood there, staring back at the Rangers and waited to see if they would follow.

            Looking down, Elladan saw that it was no more then a ten foot drop, and only hesitating a moment, he leapt over the side. He landed lightly beside his brother, and the three men were only a split second behind.  They all brought their swords into an attack stance and began their advance. Strangely enough, the two Orcs had turned and were standing their ground.

            Both elves stopped dead in their tracks as they heard the sound of feet shuffling behind them. Quickly whirling around, they could hardly contain their surprise when they saw Orcs filing out of a small cave in the rock cliff.

            Nearly two dozen of them poured out of the opening and stood, with weapons drawn, ready to advance on the Rangers. Elladan swore softly as he realized he’d lead them into a trap.

----------

            Felnorvard let out a heavy sigh. He had taken a huge risk in not scouting out the site himself, but there hadn’t been time. The Rangers had left earlier then expected, and it had stretched his abilities to organize and instruct his Orcs so quickly. He’d spent nearly an hour the previous night questioning them, trying to find out everything he could about the surrounding area. He learned very little from the stupid creatures, but he’d heard something in their ramblings that caught his attention. Felnorvard shuddered as he thought about how his entire trap had relied on the memory of Orcs.

            It had been near chaos organizing fifteen Orcs to circle far enough around the Rangers as to not catch the attention of the elves. Then he had trusted them to scatter so they didn’t leave a noticeable trail and reassemble at the cave. It had been a huge risk, but it had worked. The elves had taken the bait.          

            Felnorvard slowly pulled away from the edge of the cliff where he’d been watching the Orcs and Rangers beginning to fight. He doubted his Orcs could win against the skilled warriors, but he hoped it would give him enough time to accomplish his other goal.

            He had seen where the Rangers had broken through the trees, and he figured that Aragorn would not be far away, waiting. First, however, Felnorvard had to make his way back to where he’d left some of his Orcs before he could recapture the troublesome man. He would have to move quickly but still make sure that Aragorn did not hear him coming. It could prove difficult.

            After sprinting for a few minutes, Felnorvard saw the two Orcs that he’d left behind. They were the strongest and relatively quietest of the group. It was time for the second part of his plan. 

            Picking up a large club, Felnorvard motioned the Orcs to follow him.  All they would need to do was circle around behind Aragorn and take him by surprise.  The man smiled as he thought, The tables will be turned.  You are not the only one who can devise a surprise attack.  Slowly, they made their way through the woods.

            After a short distance, Felnorvard stopped. He could just barely make out Aragorn’s form through the trees. It was time to strike.

TBC

Big thanks to luinthien and bumper for reviewing! 

Well, here it is folks!  The last one.  It took me a lot longer then expected to finish this chapter, but I added about two pages onto the original.  So be happy!  It's my longest chapter yet!  I'll have a few more notes at the bottom so read on and enjoy!

Chapter 17: Many Strengths

            Aragorn tilted his head to one side and closed his eyes, allowing the wind to blow through his long hair.  After watching his brothers and the other Rangers disappear into the shadows of the trees, he had decided that the only thing he could do was wait.  Aragorn knew that three Rangers, two Elves, and a young man could more than handle five Orcs and if their luck held, one man.  There was no need to sit around and worry.
            The wind was steadily growing stronger, and the forest around him rustled and creaked against it.  Looking up through the trees, Aragorn could just see large, lazy white clouds racing across the sky.  Unfortunately, the wind was likely to stay strong into the night, which would make for a very chilly evening and little sleep because of the noise.

            He got up and slowly stretched his sore leg muscles.  His, now very old, wound was healing nicely, but it still wanted to cause him trouble.  He was glad to find, however, that his strength was slowly returning and hopefully, when the group returned, he would be able to help them set up camp for the evening.  He really didn’t like feeling so useless and burdensome and was anxious to begin pulling his own weight.

            Aragorn shifted impatiently.  He held his small sword loosely in his right hand, ready should he need it.  I am only fooling myself, Aragorn thought.  I won’t be needed.  He stared down at the blade, and then with a heavy sigh he placed it back in its holder around his waist.   He would force himself to wait patiently for them to return.

            He was about to look back up at the clouds when he suddenly stopped, tensing.  Something didn’t feel right.  It was the kind of feeling someone got when they were being watched, and he quickly focused his attention toward the Orc camp.  He strained his eyes to catch any movement in the dense undergrowth, but the strong wind caused everything to sway and bend.

            A sound.  Aragorn froze, holding his breath and listening intently for any other sign of the where his unseen enemy was hiding.  Then he heard it; the whistling sound an object made as it flew through the air.

            Relying on instinct, Aragorn quickly spun to his right, and had he been an Elf, he would have completely cleared it.  However, his human blood betrayed him.  As he whirled around, he felt the sting of a large object as it grazed his left temple and ricocheted off into the brush.

            Even though it was not a direct hit, the contact caused Aragorn’s vision to blur, and he staggered, falling on one knee.  His hands flew to his sword as he struggled to regain his footing.

            Before he could draw his blade, however, his arms were captured and pulled behind him.  Aragorn groaned softy as calloused hands pulled him to his feet; without even seeing his attackers, he knew they were Orcs. Somehow, a few must have escaped his brothers’ watch.

            They were dragging him somewhere, and Aragorn knew he should be struggling.  The Orcs hadn’t taken the time to bind his hands, and his mind screamed at him to pull out his daggers and fight before it was too late.  But his body would not obey.  The world was spinning violently, and Aragorn had to shut his eyes to keep from being sick.

            He tried to keep his head still as he waited for the world to return to normal.  His hands, however, were slowly attempting to make their way to his belt where his daggers still hung.

            As the seconds ticked by, Aragorn opened his eyes, and his vision cleared.  Knowing this may be his only opportunity, he suddenly sprang to life, pulling his blade from his waistline.  This, of course, caught the Orcs completely by surprise.  Their cry of alarm was cut off as the Ranger’s weapon buried itself deep in one of the creature’s chest.

            As it fell lifelessly to the forest floor, Aragorn pulled his dagger free and drew his sword, ready to dispose of his other adversary.  But he was surprised to see the second Orc taking a step back and focus his attention just over Aragorn’s shoulder.  The man’s lips formed a narrow line in barely concealed frustration as he realized they were surrounding him again.

            Not taking his eyes off the Orc and keeping his weapon level, Aragorn took several steps to his side.  It was better to have both his attackers in sight then have one lurking behind.  Slowly, he turned his head to see his new opponent.

            Aragorn kept his face expressionless as his mind cried out in surprise.  Felnorvard was not supposed to be there.  The other Rangers were supposed to be engaging him, and that was the very reason Aragorn had been forced to stay behind in the first place. 

            He blinked hard, clearing away the last few dark spots that danced in front of his vision.  He half hoped that Felnorvard would disappear as well, but unfortunately, the other man was still there.

            “Come now, Aragorn,” he said as he pulled his sword from its holder.  “You didn’t think I would give you up so easily!”

            “I tire of your games, Felnorvard,” Aragorn warned.  Deciding the Orc was no longer a serious threat, he slowly rotated his stance, allowing him to completely face the other man.

            “Lately, I’ve observed many things tire you,” he said as he began to advance.  “This fight is folly.  Surrender to me quietly, and you have my word that no harm shall come to you for the remainder of the journey.”

            Despite the growing severity of the situation, Aragorn laughed.  “Your word means nothing to me!  I would rather die here then suffer the torments of Barad-dûr and the see the ruin of Middle-Earth.”

            “Very well,” Felnorvard sneered.

            Aragorn knew the formalities were over.  Felnorvard no longer cared if he took the Ranger alive.  A dead body would be the next best thing, and this suddenly made the man much more dangerous.

            As Felnorvard slowly stalked forward, Aragorn noticed the forgotten Orc shifting uncomfortably near a large tree, its weapon hanging loosely at its side.  At least I won’t have to concern myself with him.  He won’t join the fight unless called by his master, Aragorn concluded.  However, he could not lie to himself; he couldn’t fight Felnorvard alone.  If he was at full strength, it wouldn’t be a problem, but now…

            The wind whipped through the trees, causing the Ranger’s hair to blow in his face.  He knew he should call for his brothers’ aid, but would they be able to hear it?  Pushing aside his pride, Aragorn let out a shrill whistle, the kind many Elves used when calling for assistance.

            “They are busy with their own troubles,” Felnorvard said, recognizing Aragorn’s call.  “No one will be returning for you any time soon.”

----------

            Elrohir raised his sword, blocking an Orc’s blade, and easily twisting to his right, the elf drove his weapon into the back of the creature.  Taking a deep breath, he surveyed the scene before him.  The Orcs had begun their attack only minutes ago, but already, the Rangers were gaining the upper hand. 

The men were holding their own as they were forced to block strike after strike.  With so many attackers, a killing blow was difficult; the men were too busy defending themselves.  A few Orc corpses however, did lie around the Rangers, showing some progress.

            Elrohir grinned as he spied his brother a few paces away, severing the head of another attacker.  This battle would be short lived if they kept at their pace.  They too had to defend themselves against far more enemies, but superior strength and reflexes gave them the advantage.  There were still more than enough opponents to keep everyone busy.

            His attention was quickly drawn back to the battle as he was forced to block the low swing of an Orc blade.  Easily deflecting it, the elf danced a few steps back.  He was about to swing to his right when something caught his eye.  A quick glance told him that one of the Orcs had climbed back up the small cliff.

            Knowing that he couldn’t allow himself to become distracted, Elrohir blocked another blow and countered with his own swing at the creature’s upper thigh.  It fell to the ground injured, but Elrohir was already blocking another attacker’s blade.  There were just too many of them for a proper offense.

            It was Elladan’s cry of warning a moment later that caused Elrohir to look up again.  He groaned as he saw a lone Orc standing atop the cliff.  It was holding a crude bow and aiming into the crowd.

            A bow was a clumsy weapon to use in close combat.  That was why the elves had specifically left theirs behind.  Perhaps it would have been a good idea to bring at least one of them, Elrohir thought, slightly sarcastic.

            The other Orcs were pulling back in a surprising display of strategy and discipline, forming two separate circles around the Rangers, and Elladan and Elrohir found themselves cut off from the other three men.  They could hear them still fighting, trying to force their way back into the group, but there were too many Orcs between them.

            The Orcs that surrounded the elves continued to block any strike that was tried against them but strangely enough, did not go on the offensive.  They seemed content to merely wait.

            Above the growls and taunts from the Orcs, Elrohir caught the faint whistle of an arrow flying through the air.  Relying on instincts, he sank to his knees and rolled to the side.  The arrow shaft flew through the ends of his dark hair, narrowly missing him. It landed in the dirt a few paces behind him. 

            The two elves exchanged glances.  This was a new threat that neither of them had anticipated, and now they were being targeted. 

            Another arrow shot out, this time flying straight toward Elladan.  He brought his sword around swiftly, deflecting it as he dodged to the left.  Elladan growled something inaudible as he turned back to his brother.

            “Any suggestions, Elrohir?” Elladan asked as he struck an Orc that came a little too close.

            “Well,” he began.  “Perhaps...” But Elrohir was cut off as he was forced to dodge yet another arrow. 

            It was then the Orcs got tired of waiting, and the circle began to close in.  The elves could only hope that the men were still holding against their own adversaries, as they engaged the enemy once again.  Elrohir heard an arrow sail by somewhere near him, but he could not waste any of his attention.  The Orcs were fighting with a renewed passion, and Elrohir was constantly finding himself blocking first in front then behind.  He was hard pressed to get a hit in, himself.

            Elrohir was able to land two more killing blows while weaving in and out of Orc blades and whistling arrows.  There were fewer and fewer enemies to deal with, and Elrohir knew it would be over soon.

            That was when Elrohir heard the unmistakable thud of an arrow hitting bare flesh accompanied by a soft cry.  Sending another Orc to the ground, the elf turned and gasped as he saw Elladan stagger, a black arrow shaft protruding from his upper arm.  Elrohir struggled to reach his brother, ready to defend him while he gathered his senses. 

            Elrohir quickly went over their options.  The archer would have to be dealt with or else they would be shot down one by one.  He remembered his emergence dagger was still sheathed in his boot and knew Elladan had one as well.  It would be a long throw, and he would only have two chances.

            Knowing that he had no other choice, he kicked the Orc closest to him to the ground and pulled the blade from his boot.  “Brother, watch my back.”

            Elladan knew what his brother had in mind and nodded, replying through gritted teeth.  “I will try.” He brought his sword around and connected with the side of an Orc.  Kicking the creature aside, he added, “Be swift.  I don’t think you’ll get a second throw.”

            Elrohir danced aside as another arrow flew toward his head.  Thankfully the Orc was a poor shot.  The elf eyed the creature, mentally determining the distance and speed needed.  Just as he released his weapon, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye forced him to spring to the side to avoid being hit.  With only one good arm, Elladan had not been able to keep an Orc from slipping by.  Swinging his sword, he quickly relieved the creature of its head.

            Looking back atop the cliff, Elrohir swore under his breath as he saw the archer.  It was still alive, though now on his knees with the elf’s dagger stuck in its left thigh.  He would have to try again.

            “Your dagger, Elladan,” he said as he dropped to the ground next to his twin.  Without disturbing Elladan’s swing, he pulled the blade from his brother’s boot and in one fluent motion, threw it, hitting his mark.  The Orc archer fell with an elven blade buried in its throat.  Smiling, Elrohir turned back to help his injured brother.

            The Orc ranks were quickly thinning out, allowing the Rangers to cause greater damage.  Now the advantage was shifted from the Orcs’ numbers to their skill.  Finally after another ten minutes, the Orcs began to panic.  Orcs were confident and cocky in larger numbers, but generally tended to fall apart when the tables turned.  This was no different, and seeing their comrades dead, they began to scatter.  Amaleg and Rayford followed two Orcs that fled into the trees while Elrohir dispatched the last creature in the clearing.

            After seeing that the remaining Orcs were being taken care of, Elladan sank to his knees and gripped his arm tightly.  Adrenaline had done an excellent job of covering the pain, but it was also quick to wear off.  However, he was more concerned with what he’d heard during the fight.  “We must get back to Estel,” he said as his twin approached.  “Did you hear his whistle?”

            “No, I heard nothing!  Estel is fine; it’s you I worry about,” Elrohir said as he knelt down to take a better look at Elladan’s injured arm.

            “I swear I heard him call for aid!”

            Elrohir sighed as he looked around the clearing.  “At least let me tend to you while we wait for Amaleg and Rayford to return.  We can do nothing until then.  Lourin, do you have any spare bandages with you?”

            “Yes, a few, though most of my supplies were left with Aragorn,” Lourin said as he knelt beside the wounded elf.  He dug through the small pack on his belt and pulled out several pieces of white cloth, setting them at his companion’s feet.

            Elrohir took his knife and carefully cut away the fabric surrounding his brother’s wound.  Thankfully, the arrow had completely missed the bone, and its tip was just piercing through the opposite side of the arm.  Treatment would be much easier since he didn’t have to worry about the shaft breaking and loosing the arrowhead in the arm.

            “Hold still,” Elrohir said.  He firmly gripped the wood just above the skin and quickly snapping it, causing Elladan to groan softly.  Placing the broken piece aside, he pressed one of the bandages over he aggravated wound which was beginning to bleed and instructed his brother to hold it in place.  Then, he moved to his back, ready to pull the arrow the rest of the way out.

            “No, let it be,” Elladan said, pulling his brother’s hand away.  They didn’t have time for the rest of the procedure.  The wound would require cleaning and heavy bandaging if the arrow was removed, but with the other two Rangers returning, it would be safe enough to leave it until they found Aragorn.  “We must leave.  Now.”

            Elrohir helped him to his feet and did not argue.  He trusted his brother’s instincts, which had saved them on more then one occasion, so he followed closely behind Elladan as he made his way to the base of the cliff.

----------

            Aragorn took a step backward and adjusted his grip on his sword.  Felnorvard was toying with him, pacing back and forth and never coming close enough for their blades to connect, but he didn’t care.  The longer the man waited, the more likely help would arrive.

            Normally, Aragorn would have had no problem in a sword fight, even if he was outnumbered.  He’d been trained by elves who had several thousand years of practice perfecting their techniques, and he personally had seventy years of practical experience behind him.  Of course, he hadn’t always been in good physical condition during previous encounters, but he’d never faced something like this.  Now, he would have to come up with a way to conserve his depleting strength and still come out the victor.

            Thankfully, Aragorn’s attention never wavered, and he was ready when Felnorvard finally lunged forward, his sword aiming at Aragorn’s chest.  It was an easy block that didn’t require too much energy, though he doubted it would last.  The man had already stated his knowledge of Aragorn’s weakness, and it wouldn’t take him long to exploit it.

            Aragorn had to make a choice.  Defense or offense?  He could let Felnorvard do all of the work on offense, but he had little chance of the fight being short.  If he decided to go on the offensive himself, then with luck, he would win.  But at what cost?  It would be very risky to expend his energy, because if it wasn’t enough to defeat Felnorvard, there would be nothing left, and it would be over.  But what choice did he have?  Perhaps a combination of the two would be the best.

            All of this flashed through Aragorn’s mind in the split second it took him to raise his sword to block Felnorvard’s second strike.  He needed to find the man’s weakness; everyone had one.  Aragorn knew his was that he favored high swings, leaving his thighs and abdomen less protected.  Luckily, it was a very rare case when it was exploited.  It would take a few more swings and blocks before Aragorn would be able to find the weakness of his opponent.

            My strength holds better than expected, Aragorn thought as their swords connected for the fifth time.  I must remain strong for just a while longer.

            A block by Aragorn was quickly followed by a swing at Felnorvard’s upper left arm.  He nearly scored a hit, but the man was quick to deflect the blow while jumping to the side.  It was then that Aragorn saw what he’d been looking for. 

            Felnorvard wore a very dark green tunic, but he could just barely make out an even darker section near his left shoulder.  Blood.  It was then that Aragorn remembered what happened during his rescue.  He had heard the whistle of an arrow and felt Felnorvard fall against him.  Aragorn mentally smiled to himself; this would be the weakness he’d exploit.

            It was time to go on the attack.  Aragorn did his best to make his opponent use his left arm for every block.  He forced a high strike over his head, followed quickly by one low and to the right.  Each man had powerful swings so they needed to keep both hands on the sword hilt.  Therefore, by alternating where Aragorn tried to strike, Felnorvard was forced to stretch his wounded muscles, but Aragorn could also feel his own strength failing. 

            Aragorn’s breath was coming in short gasps, unfortunately showing Felnorvard his current weakness, and the adrenaline that flowed through his blood did not provide enough strength.  After exchanging another few strikes, Felnorvard made a bold move.  He feigned a lunge to the right but as Aragorn moved to block, managed to twist his sword in front of him.  Aragorn gasped as he felt the cold steel slice through his forearm.  Blood quickly soaked through the torn fabric and began to slide down his hand, coating his fingers.  The slick blood did nothing to help his already faltering grip, and he risked taking a moment to wipe it away. 

            However, Felnorvard saw his opportunity and was quick to take advantage of it.  He swung his sword in a very high arc, bringing it toward the Ranger’s shoulder.  Aragorn had plenty of time to knock the blade away, but he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to prepare for the following blow.  His right side was left completely unprotected, and Felnorvard’s fist shot out, catching him in the cheekbone just under his eye.

            Aragorn reeled backwards from the force of the blow.  He could feel the blood already starting to creep from his nose.  That hit should never have happened, and it only served to further deplete his strength reserves. 

            But Aragorn knew it was too late to back down.  It would quickly come down to who could better cope with injury and weakness.  Aragorn felt like he was back in training, always one step and thought behind, never enough of a break to think through a series of moves, and never gaining the upper hand against an opponent with superior strength.  However, he’d been able to beat the Elves often enough, and he could do it now to this man. 

            Felnorvard’s shoulder was indeed giving him more trouble, and Aragorn noticed the man’s swings were clumsier and a bit less powerful but still incredibly dangerous.

            But then that Aragorn got his lucky shot.  Felnorvard stood on slightly uneven ground, and Aragorn aimed his next swing to knock him off balance.  It was not enough to send him to the ground, but it did open an important window.  In that split second, Aragorn charged forward and slammed his shoulder directly into Felnorvard’s arrow wound, causing him to stagger back with a sharp cry.

            They continued for several more minutes dodging each other’s swings and thrusts, making little progress.  It was clear that Aragorn was loosing.  He simply could not get a chance to take an offensive position, and Felnorvard knew it.  He couldn’t rely on lucky shots to pull him through this.

            His breath was coming in short gasps now, and it seemed that he would block Felnorvard’s blows with no time to spare.  He simply could not force his arms to move any faster.  The man was able to land two more quick punches to Aragorn’s head, causing his vision to blur and yellow spots dance.  This was not going well.

            “You can’t beat me, Ranger.  This ends,” Felnorvard said.  From somewhere, the man produced a sudden burst of energy and unleashed it on Aragorn. 

            They were coming more quickly now, blocking a high arc, dodging a low swing to the right followed quickly by a thrust.  Aragorn could not keep up with the pace, and he was forced to take step after step backwards.

            Then it happened.  Felnorvard’s next strike sent Aragorn’s sword flying from his hands and landed in the brush several feet away.  Aragorn sank to his knees, his legs refusing to support him any longer.  He was disarmed, he couldn’t breathe or move, and the darkness was closing in from all sides.

            Aragorn could see Felnorvard approach him, his sword lowered seeing the defeat of his opponent.  Aragorn’s mind raced; he had nothing to defend himself, having lost his dagger he used to kill the Orc. 

            No wait, he’d been given another small blade that he’d put in his boot.  But he could barely lift his arm to fight. But perhaps...  Not being too far from the truth, Aragorn let his eyes close as his hand snaked down to his small dagger. 

            Felnorvard stood proudly over Aragorn’s prone form.  “I told you I would win,” he said as he leaned down and grabbed the front of the Ranger’s shirt, attempting to pull him up.  What he did not expect was for Aragorn to suddenly come back to life brandishing a sharp blade. 

            Just before Aragorn’s world completely fell in, he felt his dagger pierce flesh and warm blood flow down his hands.  Then everything went dark.

----------

            Elladan was far from pleased as the group climbed the rock wall.  The crumbling surface was barely holding their weight, and several of the men had lost their hold, swiftly finding themselves at the base once more.  Thankfully, the fall was only a few feet, making the situation more annoying than dangerous.  It would have even been amusing had someone’s life not depended on their speed.

But Elladan knew there was nothing to be done.  His arm burned with every inch gained, and he could spare nothing.  His mind was focused on finding the next hold, praying the rock would not dissolve under his touch.

Elrohir helped as much as he could, but he also needed both his hands for climbing and even uninjured, seemed to have just as much trouble.  Thankfully, none of the other Rangers had sustained any serious wounds that would keep them from continuing.  They consisted of cuts and bruises that would heal over time but unfortunately still caused their muscles to protest under stress.

            After several painfully slow minutes and a few more scrapes and cuts, the Rangers finally made it to the top, and Elladan led the group at a sprint into the trees.  Unfortunately, Elladan’s suspicions were confirmed when they reached the clearing where Aragorn was supposed to be waiting and found it empty.  The two elves quickly fanned out, checking for trails while Amaleg and Lourin went through their packs to grab their bows and extra arrows.

            “Here,” Elladan called, taking his bow from Lourin.  “He has been taken this way.”  He placed his hand on a set of prints, studying it intently.  “Here and here.  Two... Orcs…dragging something heavy.  See?  You can see where Estel tried to dig in his heels to stop them.”  He then looked up along the tail.  “Come, we must hurry!  I fear the worst.”

            Spreading out, the Rangers made their way down the trail at a fairly quick pace.  They needed to find Aragorn but not at the risk of failure; stealth was still a necessity.  They hadn’t gone far when a brief flash of gray in the distance caught their attention.  An Orc.  It had been spooked and was swiftly heading the other direction.

            Still remaining silent, Lourin placed his hand on Elladan’s good shoulder.  He nodded once and turned off the path after the Orc.  The elf knew the creature would not escape to warn possible companions so he returned his attention forward.  It was very possible there was still more of them in the area, and Elladan was constantly searching, concerned that perhaps he would miss Aragorn if he somehow managed to escape and backtrack.

            After a few more cautious paces, the Rangers halted.  There was a pile of dark bodies just ahead of them, and Aragorn was barely visible as one of them.  As much as Elladan wanted to rush to his brother’s side, he had learned his lesson and quickly scanned the surrounding trees for signs of an ambush.  It would do none of them any good to walk blindly into another trap.  Elladan could see one Orc lying dead a few feet from the other bodies.  That would be the other of the two prints, then, he thought.  But we have been fooled before.  Rayford and Amaleg strung their bows, ready to provide cover fire if needed as the elves took a tentative step forward.

            As they approached the two bodies, they could see a lot of blood, too much in fact, and they feared the worst.  The dark liquid soaked the ground and stained flesh and cloth, bringing them to the awful conclusion that one, if not both men, were dead.

Elrohir, with his blade in hand, quickly pulled Felnorvard off Aragorn’s body.  Flipping the man onto his back, the elf’s fingers searched for a pulse and found one.  The man’s heart still beat faintly, though he would never rise again.  There was nothing Elrohir could do with their current supplies.  He would bleed to death in minutes.  Satisfied that Felnorvard would cause no more trouble, he turned to his human brother.

            Aragorn was covered in blood, and the only thing that comforted Elrohir was that Elladan worked very swift but not frantic.  Aragorn still lived.  Elrohir sat down next to the man’s head, checking his pulse.  His heart was racing, matching his breathing.  “He spent all his energy,” Elrohir concluded.

            “I believe so,” Elladan responded.  He pulled some bandages and herbs from his pack and began his examination.  “He is lucky that he didn’t simply fall over dead.  We should not have left him alone.”

            Elrohir chose not to comment.  He knew there was no arguing when he was in that mood.  So instead, Elrohir decided to help determine the extent of Aragorn’s injuries.  He was surprised to find relatively few wounds.  “This must be Felnorvard’s blood,” he concluded as he smeared more of it off Aragorn’s face.

            “Yes, I don’t think he suffered any serious injuries, though his forearm must be cleaned and wrapped.  But he’s exhausted, and we should let him sleep as long as possible.”

            “Come on then,” Elrohir said, helping his brother to his feet.  “Let’s see what we can do for Felnorvard if he still lives.  I’d hate to see everything he knows slip away.”

             The elves knelt beside the dying man and looked him over carefully.  They cut his shirt away, revealing numerous gashes and old scars.  The arrow wound had been poorly tended and blood still trickled from its edges.  The most serious however, was what appeared to be a stab wound to his lower abdomen. After making sure the man was indeed still alive, the two elves split up their efforts.

            Ripping part of a cloth in two and handing it to his brother, Elrohir pressed his hands firmly against the man’s abdomen.  The wound was not wide but extremely deep, and there was no way to control the bleeding.  It was a fatal wound.  Looking up, he saw Elladan holding the man’s shoulder, which had finally stopped bleeding. The twins met each other’s eye.

            In silent understanding, Elladan sighed and placed his hand at Felnorvard’s throat.  Then he brought his head down so his ear hovered just over the man’s mouth.  “His heart still weakly beats, but he no longer draws breath.”

            “I can not stop the bleeding,” Elrohir said quietly.

            The other two men had already returned, having finished their inspection of the area and finding no sign of any other attackers.  Amaleg was at the elves’ side, ready to assist any way he could, and Rayford had taken up a post beside Aragorn.

            “Then it’s over.  He can’t survive, and there’s nothing to gain if we try to breathe for him,” Elladan said.  However, all three remained next to the fallen man for a few more moments until finally, Elladan took his hand from Felnorvard’s throat and said, “Come, he’s dead.  Let’s begin our work on Estel.  He still needs to be cleaned up.”

            Elrohir placed a hand on his good shoulder, stopping him.  “I will let you bind his arm, and that is all.  Your own injuries require attention,” he said, his voice full of concern.  “You’re lucky I’ve let you come this far.”

            “I know, and I thank you.  The danger has passed so I will do as you say.”

            Elrohir laughed as they took a place on either side of Aragorn.  “Very rarely have you taken my advice so quickly, brother!  I can only hope this change is permanent.”

            Smiling, Elladan quickly responded, gently rotating his shoulder.  “Yes, but rarely have my hurts protested so.  However, I shall endeavor to return to my old stubbornness as quickly as possible,” he said, bowing low.  Elrohir shook his head and laughed again.  He could not help but notice the playful twinkle in his brother’s eyes. 

            Rayford had already done a good job of wiping the excess blood off Aragorn’s face, which helped show the elves exactly where he was injured.  Thankfully, Aragorn remained unconscious while his arm was cleaned and wrapped.  It was an easy enough task without him resisting their efforts.

            During that time, the other men had already seen to their own minor injuries and appointed themselves the task of cleaning Aragorn up the rest of the way.  His shirt was ruined and Felnorvard’s blood had soaked all the way through to his skin.  Aragorn was going to need a thorough bath, but for now, a good wipe-down would do.  They would also be able to apply cream to the small cuts and scrapes that would keep away infection.

            Seeing that Aragorn would be well cared for, Elrohir led his twin a few paces away so he could remove the arrowhead.  After sitting down and having Elladan remove his shirt, he carefully examined the area around the tip of the arrow.

            “Why can’t all of them be like this?” Elrohir asked himself. 

            “What is it?” Elladan asked.

            “Arrows usually do not go straight through the body.” Elladan nodded.  He had hunted and fought enough to know it.  “However, yours exits right here,” Elrohir said as he carefully tapped the arrowhead that slightly protruded from the elf’s upper back.  Ignoring his brother’s hiss of pain at his touch, Elrohir continued.  “It would be easier and less painful if it was pushed the rest of the way through.”

            Elladan nodded.  It was going to hurt either way, but he knew Elrohir was looking for his permission.  They’d been alive for nearly three thousand years and entirely too often found themselves patching each other up.  It was only through the Valar’s graces they’d survived this long without receiving a fatal wound even though there had been a few close calls, and in situations like this, each of them knew what needed to be done.  “Do what you think is best, brother.”

            Elrohir positioned himself so that he faced his brother’s side and each hand had access to the wooden shaft.  A little more than an inch had been left exposed in the front of his chest while only the tip of the metal head could be seen at his back.  Elrohir placed his palm over the broken end and waited.  Elladan knew the drill and seeing his brother ready, put his good arm on the ground behind him to keep himself from falling back when Elrohir pushed.  He kept his eyes focused on the ground and with his jaw firmly set, took a deep breath and nodded once.

In one swift motion, Elrohir’s left hand pushed the arrow the inch it needed to completely break through which allowed his right to quickly pull it out the rest of the way, barely leaving a moment between the two actions.  And for his part, Elladan managed to stifle a cry deep in his throat and keep himself from falling back.

            “I have good news for you, brother. I think you’ll live!” Elrohir said with entirely too much enthusiasm.  The only response he got was a grunt of annoyance, which caused Elrohir to smile broadly and press a few more bandages on either side of the wound.

            “Live from what?”

            Both elves turned to see Aragorn staring at them from the ground.  The Rangers were still trying to clean him up, but having decided he’d had enough, Aragorn pushed them away.  He was more interested in what his elven brothers were talking about anyway.

            “The Orcs gave us a little more trouble then we expected, and I was shot,” Elladan stated flatly, through clenched teeth.  It was going to take a few more moments for his body to control the pain that was shooting down his left side, and he quickly looked to his brother to continue.

            Knowing exactly what Elladan wanted, Elrohir added, “And you should be asleep or at the very least, resting.  You nearly scared us to death when we found you!”

            “I am resting,” Aragorn said testily, the strain of recent events showing through in his voice.  The Rangers were being a little more forceful now, trying to keep him on the ground, but Aragorn still tried to shake them off.  “What happened at the Orc camp?”

            After making Aragorn promise to try and sleep, they told him about the ambush.  By the time they finished retelling the events, he simply could not argue any longer.  His head was beginning to spin again, and his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.  They were still talking to him when the darkness won, and he drifted to sleep.

----------

            The first thing Aragorn noticed was the heat of the sun shining on his face.  Even with his eyes still closed, he could feel it.  It’d been a long time since he felt safe enough to just lie still and not worry about anything.  It was incredibly refreshing. 

            Aragorn could hear people talking quietly close by.  How long has the sun been shining today?  Aragorn wondered, although he truly didn’t care.  His brothers would let him sleep for days if they thought he needed it, however his mind currently told him that he’d slept long enough.

            Slowly he opened his eyes and squinted at the trees above him for a while.  The other Rangers weren’t paying attention to him at the moment, but Aragorn was content to just lie there and stare.  But nothing can last forever and finally the talking stopped and the sound of someone’s footsteps could be heard crossing the clearing. 

            “How are you feeling?  We’ve been worried,” Elladan said as he helped Aragorn up to a sitting position.  He also handed him a mug that was filled with cool water.

            Aragorn gratefully accepted it and after draining the cup, answered, “I am well.  I believe my strength has returned, thought I’d like to test it, and I feel like I just spent a month under Lórien’s trees.   I can not remember the last time I felt this relaxed, both in body and mind.”

            Elladan smiled, obviously pleased with his response.  “What about your wounds?”

            Aragorn slowly rotated his shoulders and stretched his legs.  “They are as sore as expected but not like it was after your healing.  Now, it’s only because of the fight.”

            “Good.  That’s as it should be.  You have been asleep for almost an entire day now, and it’s given the side effects plenty of time to wear off,” Elladan said.

            Aragorn nodded.  “We really shouldn’t stay here too long then.  There may be other Orc groups sent from Mordor to meet Felnorvard.  I’d like to put myself far away from this place so there’s no chance of me being followed.”

            “Of course,” Elladan said as he handed Aragorn something to eat.  “We will be heading north-west, following the Entwash, and of course you are welcome with us.  Lourin and Amaleg need to meet back up with the Dúnedain at Bree.  Apparently the wolves are starting to cause more trouble in the Shire.  Elrohir and I are going farther north to see if we can track down Halbarad.  It’s been a long time since we saw him.”

            “Wolves, you say?  How much of a problem?”

            “Some are comparing it to the Fell Winter, which I pray isn’t the case.  We were traveling with the Rangers that year, and it took us a long time with many lives lost to restore peace again,” Elladan said quietly.

            “That was twenty years before my time,” Aragorn said.  Elladan had rarely spoken about his involvement during the Fell Winter, but nearly everyone knew what happened.  It was a terrifying time for the people of Eriador and a bloody struggle for the Rangers.  Aragorn knew many people who lost parents or grandparents during that winter.  “If they strike hard now, hopefully they can be controlled.”  Aragorn paused.  This was just one more thing that required his attention.  “I don’t think I can head west with you,” he finally said.  “I also need to speak with Halbarad, but I must find Gandalf first.  We may not have Felnorvard’s testimony, but my knowledge about Saruman’s betrayal should be more than enough.”

            “Do you have any idea where he is?  The last time we saw Mithrandir, he was just outside of the Shire.  However, that was over a year ago.”

            Aragorn shook his head.  “No.  We searched Eriador extensively for several years, and we agreed to turn east.  When we parted company, he was going south, then circling northeast.  He could be anywhere between the Grey Havens and Rhûn.”

            “You know,” Elladan said, moving closer, “I’d recommend speaking with ada.  He has a wonderful talent for finding Mithrandir.”

            “Yes.  He will definitely be someone I’ll speak with.  However, I must beg that you two say nothing about Saruman to *anyone*, not even father.  Gandalf should be the first to know, and it’s very possible he wants this kept quiet.”

            “I completely understand, and I’ll make sure everyone else does too.  What would you like me to say if we meet Mithrandir on the road?”

            Aragorn thought for a moment as he poured himself more water.  “Tell him that I have extremely urgent information for him.  Make him understand the severity of the situation without giving him specific details.  I truly don’t think you’ll find him, but send him to Rivendell.”

            “Well?  Where will you go? Rivendell?”

            Aragorn sat quietly for a moment before he finally said, “I can not pass up the opportunity to search briefly for Gollum in Emyn Muil.  It would be a protected place since nothing crosses the Dead Marshes.  Gandalf and I spoke often about the possibility of finding him there.  After that I will head north to the border of Mirkwood.  The Elves may have some information to offer if Gandalf has passed their border.  If I still can’t find him, I’ll speak with father.”

            “We will travel with you for a few days at least,” Elladan said with a smile.  “It will give us a chance to just talk.  It’s been too long since we’ve been able to do that.”  Now it was Elladan’s turn to pause as he looked around the campsite where the Rangers had made a small fire and started cooking.  “The day is half spent so we can leave at sunrise tomorrow if you feel well enough.”

            Aragorn laughed.  “That should be fine.  What is the current watch schedule?”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Elladan said.  “There’s more than enough of us to handle it without you.  I insist on this, Estel,” he said as the man began to protest.  “Complain all you want, but no one will wake you tonight.”

            “Don’t you think I’ve slept enough?” Aragorn asked with a smile.

            Elladan was silent for a moment, and Aragorn got the distinct impression that he was hiding something.  He quickly looked down at the cup he was holding.  “What have you done? Please tell me you didn’t put drugs in my drink!”

            Light elvish laughter echoed through the trees though Aragorn’s expression remained serious.  “Relax! No,” Elladan said.  “I considered it, but I thought I’d give you a chance to rest on your own.”

            Aragorn still eyed his glass of water, but decided that it was already too late, having drank two full cups.  “Actually,” he said as he drained the last few drops, “I think good company would help me more than sleep.”

            “We can help with that, I think,” Elladan said with a soft smile.  “I swear you will know if I decide to give you anything.  Just promise me you’ll try and relax this evening.”  Aragorn just smiled.

            And so the small group of Rangers spent the evening talking, enjoying each other’s company.  Aragorn didn’t have to worry about anything during those hours; his future seemed ages away and the past didn’t matter.  He would deal with whatever was to come but not until then.

----------

            Aragorn stood, embracing his brothers.  It was time for them to part company.  He wished that he could continue on with them, but it was not possible.  They needed to meet up with another group of Rangers, and Aragorn had to speak with Gandalf.

            “Let’s not wait so long to meet again,” Elrohir said, finally pulling away.  “And under better circumstances, if at all possible.”

            Aragorn could only laugh.  “I can promise you nothing, brother!”

            “It’s a new year; who knows what it will bring?  I have no doubt that we’ll see you again before its end,” Elladan said.  “Good luck in your search of the Dead Marshes.”

            Aragorn sighed, looking toward the east.  “Yes, it will take entirely too much time, but I fear I have no choice but to be thorough.  The marshes are wide, with many places for a small being to hide.  Emyn Muil will be the easiest.”

            Amaleg and Lourin had already wished him good luck, but Rayford waited until last.  After the elves had backed away, the young man approached Aragorn, saying, “I never got a chance to truly thank you for what you did for me in Isengard.  I would not have survived on my own.”

            Aragorn placed his hand on Rayford’s shoulder.  “You are the one who brought my brothers to me, and without you, I would already be in Mordor.  We are both in each other’s debt.”  After standing in silence for a moment, Aragorn asked, “What are your plans?”

            “I’ve lost everyone from my past, so I’m starting over.  I’ve decided to travel with the Rangers for a while, and I’m sure I’ll join them at some point.  It seems like the best thing to do,” he said.

            “It is a good choice, and I wish you safety and success.”  Rayford nodded his thanks again and stepped away.

            Aragorn repositioned his pack and looked to the north.  He would need to continue on if he wanted to make any distance before nightfall.  His brothers knew this as well and stepped forward to see him off.  They had one last thing to say to him.

            “Whether you believe it or not, you will come into your inheritance,” Elladan began.

            “And trust that we will be there, by your side, when that time comes.  You will not face it alone,” Elrohir finished.  “Know this and be comforted, Estel.”

            Aragorn smiled.  Elves could make the simplest statement seem golden.  It was one of the reasons he loved them so much.

            Knowing that he could not stay any longer, Aragorn began slowly walking north.  Maybe he would find Gandalf before Saruman could hurt anyone else.  Maybe his luck would change, and he’d find Gollum hiding in the Dead Marshes.  Maybe the One Ring really was lost forever and nothing would come of their concern.  Maybe he would become king, heralding a new Age of peace.  Maybe...  But he could not dwell on those thoughts.  It was a new year, and it held so many possibilities that only the future would tell.

THE END!

Well, there you have it!  All over!  Now is the chance for all you lurkers out there to tell me what you think!  I really would like to know...  Go on.  You know you want to.    *G*    But anyway, I am playing around with the idea of a short sequel where Aragorn finds Gollum and takes him to Mirkwood.  In the actual books, that's where Aragorn and Gandalf meet up, however, that will not be the case if I decide to write it.  Can't have him finding out about Saruman, can we!  I'd work it so they just miss each other, or something close to that.  Keep an eye out for it, but it may be *several* months before I start posting. 

WAIT!  You were going to leave weren't you...  Leave a review first.  *G*