Chapter 4
Out of the Darkness: The Rescue
Where were the orcs, none had come in quite some time. Kalan's fever filled mind faintly registered the sounds of a battle outside. His body ached and he tried to move slightly. It sent a searing pain through his whole body, he groaned, falling into oblivion.
*
When he awoke, one again there were no orcs, the sounds of fighting had faded to almost nothing. 'I wonder what is going on,' he thought.
"Sarumon…high tower…." A voice faintly echoed to him.
"…. would be…dungeons…" another voice. Who were they? Not orcs, that's for sure. They were getting closer, footsteps could be heard now.
"Check everywhere, he must be here somewhere," said the first voice.
"This one is locked,"
"Stand back," a crash, then another against the door. 'What's happening?' Another crash and the door burst its hinges. 'Who's here?' Kalan feared to open his eyes, lest the leering faces of the orcs appear again.
"Aragorn!" 'Aragorn? Don't I know him?' he heard footsteps approach. "Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!"1 and a hand touched his arm. Kalan jerked and tried to get away from the hand, fearing the pain it would cause. His bonds allowed very little movement and movement caused pain. He whimpered.
"Please, no more. Don't hurt me anymore," he whispered, trying to plead, though he knew the orcs would not care.
"Kalan? Aragorn, what is wrong with him?" a fair voice, not like the orcs….familiar. Another hand, this one large and callous gently touched his shoulder, Kalan shook.
"Kalan, open your eyes. 'Tis I, Aragorn. We wont hurt you, no one is going to hurt you anymore," a rough voice, though not orcish. Kalan slowly opened his eyes; they were swollen from lack of sleep and tears. Yes, tears. Kalan had broken down two days ago, the pain and torment of violation too much for the young half-dragon.
Above him were two worried faces, one with the starting of a black beard and black hair. The other was clean-shaven and had light, longer blonde hair. Some recognition flickered in his dull silver eyes. He looked to the first man. "Aragorn?" his small voice cracked. The man nodded with a sigh. Then noticing Kalan's nakedness tore off his cloak and draped it over the quivering body, but not before he noticed the traces of old blood staining the table between Kalan's legs.
Kalan's eyes moved over to the other…. an elf, by the ears. 'I know him too," "Legolas?" the blonde nodded, and smiling wanly. Aragorn looked over to the wall and took something hanging there. He unlocked the chains that bound Kalan's hands, taking note of the old blood and redness on his wrists. Gently, he laid the arms down alongside his body. They began to tingle and pain as feeling flowed back into the limbs. Kalan gritted his teeth, tears seeping out through closed lids. The past days of torture had broken his resolve.
Aragorn next unlocked his ankles and laid his stiff legs flat, also noting the long bloody furrows along his thighs, mostly healed over. To Aragorn it looked like fingernails did them. He filed the information away in his mind. Kalan's shaky voice came to them, barely audible and sounding nothing like the strong warrior they had once known.
"How do I know…you're not some trick of Sarumon? How do I know that…. you're real?" he whispered. Something caught in Aragorn's throat and he could not answer. 'What did they do to, mellonamin?'2 he thought. Legolas, however, took one of Kalan's limp, shaking hands between his own. The elf crouched down and brought that hand to his lips, then to his cheek.
"Is that real enough for you?" he asked softly, his kind gray-green eyes gazing gently and calmly into the silver ones. Kalan shuddered once more and closed his eyes, a few tears of relief fell from them. He felt the elf rub his skin and then whisper to Aragorn. "He is terribly dehydrated, Aragorn. They probably didn't give him any water at all," he said. The man took his canteen from his pack. Moving around the elf to Kalan's head, he lifted him slightly. He brought the canteen to Kalan's dry and cracked lips and the water ran into his mouth and down his throat. At first Kalan choked and coughed, but then drank greedily.
"Slowly, Kalan. Take it slow," the Ranger whispered. He pulled the canteen away after a while, not wanting Kalan too get sick from too much water. Kalan grasped his arm in a strong grip, surprising Aragorn.
"Aragorn, where is Frodo…. then Ring?" he asked in a feverish voice, then his grip slackened.
"They are both far from here, Sarumon will never get the Ring," the man reassured him. Kalan's hand fell back down and he closed his eyes.
"Good, then it has not been in vain," he whispered, more to himself than to the others, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. Aragorn patted his hand.
"Now, we are getting you out of here," he said and gathered the cloak more securely around Kalan's body before picking up his trembling friend, cradling him in his arms.
Kalan cried out in pain as he was moved, his sore and abused body protesting. The world darkened again as pain enveloped his mind. His head lolled onto Aragorn's shoulder as the man walked out of the dark room. The elf walked beside them his sharp eyes watching the shadows, guarding them. He was safe.
"Please, Aragorn," he whispered, the man looked down at him, the silver eyes frightened and pleading and clouded with fever, "please don't let them hurt me anymore," and then the eyes closed in exhaustion. Aragorn held him tighter.
"I swear, Kalan, no one will ever hurt you again," he said vehemently as they made their way out of Orthanc.
Outside the black tower, Gandalf, returned from the supposed dead and now dressed in white, waited with Gimli, Merry and Pippin. Aragorn appeared, carrying something wrapped in his cloak. Beside him strode Legolas. The hobbits leapt to their feet and ran to them, followed closely by the dwarf and wizard.
"Aragorn! Did you find him?" asked Merry, anxiety creeping into his voice. The man did not stop, however.
"He is worse than we thought, Gandalf. I must get him to where he can rest and heal," he said. The wizard nodded.
"Then we shall go to the camp of Theoden King," he said and the group found their horses. Gandalf sat upon Shadowfax with the hobbits, Legolas with Gimli, and Aragorn sat behind Kalan on his own steed. The youth moan in pain as he was set upon the horse, but Aragorn whispered something to him in elvish and he quieted. Merry looked back at Kalan and gasped when he saw his face.
Kalan's skin was pale, his features drawn, pained and exhausted. His black hair was unkempt and damp; a large bruise marred the left side of his head. The hobbit looked away, upset and feeling guilty for what had happened to his friend.
"Its not your fault, Merriadoc. He told you and Peregrin to go, he knew what he would face ahead," said Gandalf behind him. The hobbit said nothing in return.
**Hey, look!! Kalan's alive, I didn't kill him!! REVIEW ME!!!!!! Give me your opinions of my story. Flame me if you want, they will be used to toast marshmallows!**
1 By the Sea and Stars!
2 mellonamin = my friend