Sarah back again!

Yes, Chloe, I sense a great deal of the pot-calling-the-kettle-black aura about you... (the 'inner eye', you know, sees all) ;P And you weren't supposed to know about our injuries calendar. You were reading over my shoulder! To quote Susan again: "It was very naught of you, playmate"

Emmithar: Well, um, I was being just the teensiest-microscopic bit, um, sarcastic. I know, it's a severe flaw of mine... just after 'torturing poor, unsuspecting elves and rangers'. *sigh* And I'm afraid you'll have to translate for me! When I said 'not very good at Spanish', what I meant was 'if Corté s heard me, he'd shoot me'... *'nuther sigh* ;)

Don't strain your eyes, Ecri!! All the same, thanks for the praise! I'm glowing brighter than the computer screen...

And we try and post every other day, but sometimes Hannah (or Siri, as you better know her) gets swamped and we run a little late. :)

Good heavens, Halo, don't hurt yourself... *feels her hair go flying back at the sudden bout of screaming* And don't kick Siri: that one was my fault. You can kick her later on. ;)

*creeps out from hiding place* Thanks for the 'heads up' on the typo, iverson! I'll try to avoid it in the future, and I'm not the least bit offended at your mentioning it -- I'm just glad you're reading it so closely, enjoying it, etc.! :)

Greedy readers are welcome, so long as they don't come after us with torches at any point. ;)

And we are a little less than 1/3 of the way through this. Makes you feel all happy inside, don't it? I mean, all that lovely time to get them into even *more* trouble! But you didn't hear me say that...

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 8

The Price

Naraka was agitated as he entered the chamber of his over lord, and though he bowed and made the properly respectful greeting, Furnmorth cast one glance at him and immediately picked up on his mood.

"Captain," the lord acknowledged, motioning for Naraka to stand beside him, "is there trouble?"

Naraka moved across the stone chamber and nodded briefly, "My Lord, there are difficulties with the armor. There have been many broken tools, and even more cracked armor plating from the ever growing heat and dryness down in the foundry. I believe that each of these problems can be made up for in time, but your orc army is beginning to become restless with all these delays. I fear that it will drive them to bear down on the slaves, or worse, my men, and we really can't afford to lose any of either at this juncture." Furnmorth listened quietly and, apparently, unconcernedly.

"Captain, I have all ready taken such matters in hand."

"My Lord?"

Furnmorth did not answer immediately; such was his way. The closed demeanor that had kept him on top for so long still ran thickly in his veins and he was not about to divulge plans of any sort hastily. "I have promised our troops a little entertainment," he replied finally. "A possible quenching of their obvious desire for blood." Naraka cocked his head slightly in question, and something of an amused smile crept onto Furnmorth's otherwise stoic features. "You may rest assured captain that after tonight they will withstand the delays. Return this evening and I will explain."

"Yes sir," Naraka nodded and turned from the room.

"And captain?"

The Lord Furnmorth's voice stopped him and he turned back, "Yes my Lord?"

"Do be sure that the young, stubborn human is not damaged before then, will you?"

Naraka paused for thought, then nodded. "Yes sir."

The captain left the chamber and Furnmorth sat quietly for a moment, then, when he was sure the man was out of earshot, he spoke quietly to himself.

"The boy's spirit must be broken. We can't have him influencing the others to his folly."

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Aragorn sank to the floor, ready and willing for some manner of rest after the long day's labor. Truly the days seemed to become longer, as if the overseers were allowing them less sleep and giving them more work to do. //Likely enough.//

Legolas was already seated, his sore legs resting gingerly before him, and he smiled faintly at Aragorn as the young man toppled beside him, letting out a long breath. Turning, Aragorn looked up into his friend's pale face and felt concern rise up inside him.

The elf's wounds had been very painful, but had fortunately left no lasting damage and, with a good deal of aid from Kelegalen, Aragorn had managed to begin the healing on the terrible burns.

The past few days Aragorn had given Legolas his undivided attention and had made a point to look out for the prince while they were working, or when they slept at night, and now, thankfully, his friend was slowly recovering.

Still, Aragorn could not ignore how sick Legolas was becoming: the lack of sun and the bitter conditions of the foundries had left the elf pale and weak, the added injury had done all but help him, and he had never once received a departure from the grueling work for more than a day. Aragorn had tried everything to get Legolas the rest he needed, but all it had earned him was punishments for his stubborn, rebellious behavior, and finally the elf had begged him to stop trying. However, every time the ranger thought he could stop, he would see Legolas as he stumbled, trying weakly to continue his work, and though many times the elf had tried to keep Aragorn from worrying, his own physical appearance had betrayed him to the ranger's fears.

"I could do for a rest." Legolas admitted, breaking into the human's thoughts.

"As could I," Aragorn agreed. //Though not half so much as you// He added silently to himself.

As Legolas shut his eyes and leaned back against the rock wall, the ranger wanted desperately for him to keep his eyes open, but he knew that it was beyond the elf's control now. Aragorn swallowed another bout of fears — he knew he had enough to worry about without forever grieving over his inability to help his friend. There was still the question of Lord Furnmorth's plans for the capture of Mount Gilthad. Aragorn knew that, above all else, he and Legolas *had* to keep the tyrant from taking hold of Gilthad — it could mean the downfall of everything else, and he knew that Mirkwood was the chief concern in both of their minds. But the answers were not forthcoming and they had no idea how they would thwart the lord's plans.

Letting out a troubled breath, Aragorn looked around at the slaves. They were all so tired, beating against a steady despair and making absolutely no head-way. Some, like Helkhmorn, had given up entirely. Others, like Nethtalt, were close on the verge of disaster, and developing scars that could last forever.

Aragorn felt so helpless around the many he longed to help, it made him wish he had never known such turmoil; yet there was still a vague and distant hope that he and Legolas would be able to thwart Furnmorth's plan, and if they did, then maybe these slaves could be free.

A hand rested on the ranger's shoulder and he reached up to touch it with his own, resisting the urge to twitch away when his finger tips were brushed with the cold, clamminess. Aragorn turned worriedly towards Legolas and the elf smiled wanly.

"Worrying again, human?" He teased gently.

"I suppose," Aragorn admitted, looking out again and sighing. "What will happen to them, Legolas?" He nearly whispered, certain that his friend would hear him. "If Furnmorth carries out his plan successfully, what will he do with them?"

Legolas didn't respond, but the dread of the inevitable was clear in their minds as they gazed at Kelegalen, at Stavhold, at Nethtalt, at the many hurting souls around them. After the plan had been carried out, Furnmorth would not need them any longer, but he certainly would not be willing to let them leave, allowing them to spread word of his deeds. He might…

With sudden and unexpected strength, Legolas gripped Aragorn's shoulder tightly. "He won't," the elf assured with conviction and Aragorn felt determination flow from his friend as it had not done in a long time. "Stop worrying and sleep, Strider." Legolas leaned back once again and Aragorn moved up next to him. "We will find the answer, we cannot give in...not now."

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a the thudding of feet as several of Furnmorth's men passed down the short tunnel and entered the chambers. At their head was Naraka, moving in a definite direction with purpose in his movements, and there was a strange gleam in his eyes which made Aragorn suddenly uneasy. The ranger was surprised to see them in the slaves' chambers at all — as far as he could remember they had never yet entered the chambers unless it was to pick up the next shift of slaves, and it was not time for that yet. The ranger swallowed as a veiled sense of foreboding began to fill him.

Naraka glanced keenly around the room for a moment and he quickly spotted Legolas, but he seemed to ignore the elf and turned his eyes instead on Aragorn. The Dúnadan felt Legolas tense beside him as he followed the captain's gaze.

"Him." Naraka snapped brusquely to the guards, clearly indicating the ranger. The three guards moved between the quailing slaves to the young human and grabbed him roughly by the arms, yanking him to his feet.

"No!" The prince rose swiftly, wrapping a hand around his friend's arm and trying to pull him back.

"Get out of the way!" One of the guards ordered, attempting to wrench the ranger away from Legolas. The elf didn't loosen his grip — he felt the danger like a shadow falling over the sun and he knew they intended the young man harm. He was not about to let go. In a swift, impatient movement, Naraka crossed the room.

"Get out of the way!" He ordered angrily, cracking a brutal blow across Legolas' head and knocking the elf clear across to the wall. Legolas hit it hard, crying out as a rock projecting from the wall slammed into his back, badly bruising his ribs. The elf slid to the ground and for one breath-freezing moment, he didn't move.

Aragorn had to bite back the urge to cry his friend's name aloud, knowing it would do no good, but then he saw Legolas turn slightly. There appeared to be no permanent damage, though the elf was plainly hurting.

"Don't worry slave," Naraka reassured the fallen immortal sourly, his temper assuaged, "you'll hear all that goes on." Legolas turned his blue-gray eyes up to meet Aragorn's and the ranger tried to send assurance through his gaze, but he felt a twinge of fear sneaking into his heart, wrapping it in an iron fist, and he felt sure his reassuring gaze was not as confidant as he'd hoped.

Under the direction of Naraka, the three men pulled Aragorn from the slaves' quarters to the room adjacent, and the young man tried not to tremble when he realized just where they were taking him: the orc's chamber.

He put up no struggle, knowing it was futile and not really wanting Naraka to know just how fearful he was. He couldn't imagine what they were going to do to him, but he had encountered blood-hungry orcs before and he knew it was an incident he had not soon wanted to repeat.

Memories fresh around him, he involuntarily recoiled at the entrance, but was easily over-powered by the three guards, and forced into the darkened chamber. With a solid kick, one of the men took Aragorn's feet out from under him, knocking him to his knees on the stone floor. He tried to rise, but they held them there firmly, hands clamped painfully hard on his shoulders.

Naraka entered the grotto next to the ranger and smiled cruelly at him for a moment. The human could see that in such work as this, the captain took great pleasure, and it made him even more anxious.

Aragorn turned away from Naraka's smile and looked around the cavern — it was nearly impossible to see anything. He had always known that orcs detested sunlight and more than likely they wanted it to be as dark as possible. Only four torches burned in the four corners of the alcove, and as the light glanced off the many bodies of the orcs, Aragorn got his first look at Furnmorth's army.

He was surprised by the size of the creatures — he had seen many orcs before, and these were shockingly small, many of them coming only to his lower chest and a few even shorter than that. But they all looked at him with the same menacing eyes and he hid a shiver.

"I'll be back in an hour for what's left of him," Naraka said coolly to the orcs. He motioned for the guards to release their hold on the slave, and as they left Naraka turned briefly, "Be sure there is at least something left of him when I return; we are growing short on man-power." He sent a cold smile to Aragorn, "It should be an interesting challenge." Then he left the dark chamber.

Aragorn's heart was hammering as the first of the orcs advanced on their prey. He realized now why he had been brought here. Nothing more nor less than to be sport for the restless orc army, something to practice their battle skills on, something to keep them busy so that they wouldn't cause trouble.

//Illuvitar help me,// Aragorn thought as he looked fearfully at the many orcs, but he wasn't going to go without a fight. Even without weapons he was going to do everything he could to keep the creatures away from him.

The first one that pounced at him snarled with pleasure, giving him full warning of it's approach. He spun away quickly, moving instinctively towards the wall. Most orcs would have blundered past and whirled for another advance, giving Aragorn plenty of time to get entirely out of the way, but this small orc was cunning and even in the dark it tracked the move. Then, as it charged past, it's hard foot shot out, gouging the ranger deeply in the chest and sending him into the wall. There was a cackle of pleasure from the surrounding orcs, but Aragorn was back on his feet in a moment, ready for the next attack.

Another orc ran at him, a sharp weapon of some sort in hand, but Aragorn, knowing the perfect dodge for this maneuver, quickly jerked to the side. As he'd expected the sharp object went into the wall, but, like the other, the orc saw him move and twisted to meet him, striking Aragorn in the head. It was a hard blow and the ranger saw splotches for a moment before he regained his balance.

Unfortunately this distraction was time enough for another orc to jab him painfully in the arm with a small dagger of some kind. Aragorn started and let out a small cry as it sank deeply into his forearm, but he tried to silence it.

He now had a better idea of the orcs' moves and he had to try and use that knowledge against them. The next orc who rushed him was met with an unexpected attack: the creature was clearly expecting Aragorn to attempt a dodge, and was knocked off it's feet by Aragorn's superior weight as the young human kicked him full in the chest. The orc snarled angrily and wiped black blood from it's mouth.

Aragorn took a step back as it rushed again, and this slight retreat gave him enough room to kick the creature again, but unfortunately it had learned well and it anticipated the move this time, grabbing hold of Aragorn's foot. The Dú nedan brought up his other foot and jerked it around into the back of the orc's knees, tripping it up and knocking both of them to the ground. The orc tumbled away, and Aragorn was first on his feet, starting up quickly to avoid the next attack.

This time two leapt on top of him at once. He managed to strike one across the jaw and knock it down, but the other grabbed him hard by the hair and jerked him viciously to the side, growling a curse in the ranger's ear as he did so. Aragorn stumbled and nearly fell, but managed to stay upright, and, using the element of surprise, he was then able to twist away awkwardly. But not before another orc knife found a place in his side. Aragorn bit back a yell as he stumbled back into the wall and gasped out in pain.

The orcs howled gleefully to each other, obviously enjoying the sport, and Aragorn felt hope leave him. It didn't seem to matter what he did, if they didn't anticipate the move the first time, they would always recognize it the second time and be prepared to batter back his defense. The fact that the orcs came one at a time to 'play' with their prisoner proved that they were only intent on hurting him and using him as target practice.

But something inside of the ranger burned hotly against his chest — he could not give up now, he knew he couldn't. Watching closely as another orc advanced, he carefully formulated a plan that he could only trust would work.

The next orc that advanced was in for a nasty surprise, for as soon as he was within range, Aragorn launched himself forward and landed hard on the short creature's head. Bounding off his precarious perch, Aragorn hurled himself towards the wall, timing his launch perfectly and gripping the wall bracket tightly when he reached it. The orcs growled angrily up at him and the ranger carefully lifted one of the torches from it's bracket and dropped to the ground. As he waved the torch before his attackers they backed off slightly. The firelight reflected off the young man's face and the determination in his pure blue eyes showed clearly that he was not beaten yet.

One orc lunged at him only to be cracked back with the torch, another backed off yowling in pain as the torch burned into it's side. The largest of the orcs watched angrily as time and again Aragorn would beat back the many orc warriors. Sweat began to bead on the ranger's face as he struck the orcs that got to close. Several tried to leap over the fire only to meet with Aragorn's strong arm as he knocked one into the other, and then whirled to the left to catch a third with the torch. In his mind, they all seemed to grow the gray, shaggy coats of wolves as they snarled around his flame.

Aragorn was beginning to feel strength surge through him as the orcs tried again and again to defeat him. But in all this Aragorn had forgotten he wasn't dealing with normal orcs — these orcs had tactics, they had plans, and most threatening of all, they learned from their mistakes. When the orc dropped down from the ceiling onto his back and dug it's sharp dagger into the young man's shoulder, Aragorn never even heard it coming. Instantly the torch dropped from his hand as his injured shoulder sent jolts of pain down through his finger tips. He let out a cry and tried to throw the creature off, but it did not intend for the ranger get the upper hand again. The orcs were angry at Aragorn's stand, even amidst their delight in the sport, and they would not be through with him until he knew their displeasure.

Moving unexpectedly, the creature shoved him hard across the room, removing it's dagger from the ranger's shoulder with the same painful thrust. Aragorn had to choke back a scream as he slammed into the rock wall. The orcs snarled angrily at him and Aragorn knew that he was in deep trouble now.

An especially disfigured looking orc sneered something in the black tongue at the one next to him, clearly something of a challenge, and the creature loosed a long dagger that caught Aragorn's tunic sleeve, nailing it firmly to the wall. A second orc let out a raucous cheer and loosed it's blade towards Aragorn's other arm. The ranger dodged the blow and the dagger lodged in the rock where his arm had been. Angrily the orc moved over to the helpless prisoner and slammed his arm forcefully against the rock, and Aragorn watched as another dagger was thrown at him, this one also pinning him firmly on the other side, and grazing his arm as it passed. Held now beyond all movement, there was no way to evade the third knife, which sank into his leg, sending a ringing pain up through all his body, and causing him at last to cry out without restraint.

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Legolas gripped the corroded metal of the vent with all his might as the scream tore through his heart.

When they had taken Aragorn away from him he had felt the danger intended for his young friend, and now, as the orcs tortured him ruthlessly for their own sport, Legolas could hear every echo, every snarl, and every cry. Each reverberated through to the elf's ears: clearly, as if he were himself standing in the room, and he hated it… because he was not.

//Again//

He shut his eyes against the hopelessness that longed to overtake him.

//Again I must listen. Again I can do nothing...//

Legolas shut his eyes and this time he couldn't hold back the tears in them. He was so helpless — he couldn't change what had been, he couldn't alter what was going to happen and worst of all, he couldn't stop what was happening now, just beyond his reach.

The slaves around him watched and listened in silence, but Legolas was not ashamed of his emotions, he was only ashamed of his own helplessness.

TBC…