Author's note: Never write a story when in the library with a bored and
rather insane friend. I now have an alternative ending to the previous
chapter.
The man was not Boromir. It was Angus Deyton in disguise. He needed a job after being sacked to pay for the coke and prostitutes as Arwen had just increased her fee.
***
The climb up to the road was exhausting. It wasn't that far, but Sal's chest was burning with pain. He sank down behind a rock, just below the level of the road to catch his breath. He dared not rest long. He was too exposed, besides, he needed to find out what had happened to the rest of the company.
After a few moments, he raised his head slightly to look over the road edge. There were many orc bodies lying dead, and Merry's pony had fallen with an arrow buried in its side. Sal couldn't see any sign of the company, neither bodies nor living beings. He looked at the orc remains. There were a lot of them, but he was certain there had been more attacking them. Either he had been mistaken through fear, or there were a lot of surviving orcs, which could only mean that the company were prisoners.
He didn't know for sure though. They might have escaped, which would mean searching for them as prisoners would be pointless and stupid. But if they were prisoners, he had to rescue them. Somehow. For a moment, Sal despaired, wondering what good he could possibly do the company, but he pushed the despair aside. He looked around the site of the battle to see if he could discover which way they had gone.
It wasn't hard, since the orcs hadn't taken any effort to disguise their tracks. They had followed the road, which Sal was glad about since he didn't think he was able to cope with any more scrambling up slopes. He set off along the road as fast as he could manage, rather exposed, but there was nothing he could do about that.
He had to rest several times, he chest hurting and his legs feeling as though they were about to collapse under him. He had lost a lot of blood, and wasn't yet recovered. His stomach growled in hunger, and he wished he'd eaten that bread while he'd had the chance. He wondered where it was, no doubt lying in the dirt somewhere covered in filth. He desperately wanted a drink too, but he hadn't any water either, and it didn't look like there was any in this lifeless land.
Continuing on, he approached a bend in the road and cautiously peered round the edge. What he saw sent despair running straight to his heart. He saw a great door of iron set in the slope. Before it stood twenty orcs. There were thin cracks above the door, which Sal guessed were for archers to shoot through. Their stronghold must be underground, and there was no way Sal would be able to get in through that door.
He sank down onto the ground and wept. He remembered the kindness in the king's face as he tended to Sal's arm. He remembered the mercy he had shown, offering to allow him to return home, despite what he had done. The great king of Gondor was a prisoner behind those doors and Sal could not get to him. What hope had he? What hope had any of them?
***
Aragorn could not hold back the cry of pain as the whip struck his back again. He heard the laugh, and looked into the face, once fair, that was now filled with cruelty and malice.
"Do you not remember who you were?" he asked.
The man who was not Boromir laughed again. "Your friend is dead." The whip struck again, laying fire across his back, and Aragorn screamed. He didn't know which was the greater torture, the pain, or seeing Boromir possessed by this thing.
"He had a weak mind," the man said, "and gave in easily to my leadership. Now his mind is utterly destroyed. You can never get him back."
"Then at least he cannot see what you are using his body for," Aragorn said, defiant as ever. He didn't know how much of what the man had said was true, but he did hope that Boromir was dead, and not just a slave to the will of another.
The whip struck again, but this time Aragorn managed to hold back his cry. The fire in the man's eyes blazed with anger, and the orc brandishing the whip struck again, harder. His back burned, and the whip seemed to be cutting into his nerves. Each strike of the whip made the fire blaze brighter and there seemed to sign of it stopping. He gritted his teeth and stared at the floor, knowing it could not continue forever. Knowing that it must stop at some point. Red dots swam before his eyes and darkness seemed to be closing in around him. He would collapse soon, the next blow pushing him into unconsciousness.
Then the whip stopped falling.
"Do you think I would let you escape that easily?" The voice seemed to be coming from very far away. "I'll not have you lose consciousness and ruin my amusement."
Cold water hit Aragorn, and his back stung. He came to full consciousness again, but he could not cope with much more of this. Fortunately, there was no more whip, for now at least, but the pain still burned in his back.
"Why did you come here? Did you think you would find your friend?" The man's voice was filled with scorn and Aragorn did not answer. He had partly guessed the truth, and it was better he thought that was all there was to it.
"You are foolish, Aragorn, as you always were. You walked into my arms once before and you have done so again." Aragorn again said nothing. He didn't want to show how much the man had already revealed to him. He now knew the name of the thing that possessed Boromir's body.
"You will pay for your foolishness with suffering. I hope it gives you some comfort to know that you will live far longer than your companions, though they too must be punished for the foolishness in following you." Aragorn listened carefully as the taunts continued, hoping they would reveal something more of use.
Eventually, the man seemed to realise that he would get no satisfaction out of Aragorn this way, and he could not torture him more without risking his death. So he decided to change his methods. Aragorn heard the door open, and turned his head as the man said, "I'm so glad you could join us."
Merry and Pippin were led in by orcs, tied tightly as Aragorn was. He could see the shock as they saw Boromir, his eyes burning red. The sorrow and fear that showed on their faces was the same that was in Aragorn. They were moved by the orcs to stand in front of Aragorn, so he couldn't help seeing.
The orc used his whip against first one then the other. Pippin fell to his knees after the third blow, unable to stand, and Merry fell soon after. Yet still the whip cracked and struck them. Aragorn closed his eyes, but couldn't close his ears to the screams.
When the hobbits fell silent, the whip still cracked. Aragorn opened his eyes to see the two now unconscious, the orc beating their still forms. His vision blurred with tears, he turned aside.
"Stop," the man called, "they must not die yet." The whip stopped. "There are other's who we can use while these two recover." He laughed again, and Aragorn despaired. This would continue with each member of the company, until their bodies could take no more and they died.
But hope didn't die in him completely. There was still Salafir to consider. He had escaped the jaws of this trap, and Aragorn remembered the words Galadrial had spoken to him before she went west across the sea.
"Fortune will cling to him as a cloak," she had said, "and he shall wield it as a sword." He knew those words spoke of Salafir, and so he had hope, even as Legolas was brought in and the torture began again.
***
Author's note: I thought it was about time I gave some reason why Aragorn let Sal be part of the quest. You'll have to wait for the rest of the reason though.
The man was not Boromir. It was Angus Deyton in disguise. He needed a job after being sacked to pay for the coke and prostitutes as Arwen had just increased her fee.
***
The climb up to the road was exhausting. It wasn't that far, but Sal's chest was burning with pain. He sank down behind a rock, just below the level of the road to catch his breath. He dared not rest long. He was too exposed, besides, he needed to find out what had happened to the rest of the company.
After a few moments, he raised his head slightly to look over the road edge. There were many orc bodies lying dead, and Merry's pony had fallen with an arrow buried in its side. Sal couldn't see any sign of the company, neither bodies nor living beings. He looked at the orc remains. There were a lot of them, but he was certain there had been more attacking them. Either he had been mistaken through fear, or there were a lot of surviving orcs, which could only mean that the company were prisoners.
He didn't know for sure though. They might have escaped, which would mean searching for them as prisoners would be pointless and stupid. But if they were prisoners, he had to rescue them. Somehow. For a moment, Sal despaired, wondering what good he could possibly do the company, but he pushed the despair aside. He looked around the site of the battle to see if he could discover which way they had gone.
It wasn't hard, since the orcs hadn't taken any effort to disguise their tracks. They had followed the road, which Sal was glad about since he didn't think he was able to cope with any more scrambling up slopes. He set off along the road as fast as he could manage, rather exposed, but there was nothing he could do about that.
He had to rest several times, he chest hurting and his legs feeling as though they were about to collapse under him. He had lost a lot of blood, and wasn't yet recovered. His stomach growled in hunger, and he wished he'd eaten that bread while he'd had the chance. He wondered where it was, no doubt lying in the dirt somewhere covered in filth. He desperately wanted a drink too, but he hadn't any water either, and it didn't look like there was any in this lifeless land.
Continuing on, he approached a bend in the road and cautiously peered round the edge. What he saw sent despair running straight to his heart. He saw a great door of iron set in the slope. Before it stood twenty orcs. There were thin cracks above the door, which Sal guessed were for archers to shoot through. Their stronghold must be underground, and there was no way Sal would be able to get in through that door.
He sank down onto the ground and wept. He remembered the kindness in the king's face as he tended to Sal's arm. He remembered the mercy he had shown, offering to allow him to return home, despite what he had done. The great king of Gondor was a prisoner behind those doors and Sal could not get to him. What hope had he? What hope had any of them?
***
Aragorn could not hold back the cry of pain as the whip struck his back again. He heard the laugh, and looked into the face, once fair, that was now filled with cruelty and malice.
"Do you not remember who you were?" he asked.
The man who was not Boromir laughed again. "Your friend is dead." The whip struck again, laying fire across his back, and Aragorn screamed. He didn't know which was the greater torture, the pain, or seeing Boromir possessed by this thing.
"He had a weak mind," the man said, "and gave in easily to my leadership. Now his mind is utterly destroyed. You can never get him back."
"Then at least he cannot see what you are using his body for," Aragorn said, defiant as ever. He didn't know how much of what the man had said was true, but he did hope that Boromir was dead, and not just a slave to the will of another.
The whip struck again, but this time Aragorn managed to hold back his cry. The fire in the man's eyes blazed with anger, and the orc brandishing the whip struck again, harder. His back burned, and the whip seemed to be cutting into his nerves. Each strike of the whip made the fire blaze brighter and there seemed to sign of it stopping. He gritted his teeth and stared at the floor, knowing it could not continue forever. Knowing that it must stop at some point. Red dots swam before his eyes and darkness seemed to be closing in around him. He would collapse soon, the next blow pushing him into unconsciousness.
Then the whip stopped falling.
"Do you think I would let you escape that easily?" The voice seemed to be coming from very far away. "I'll not have you lose consciousness and ruin my amusement."
Cold water hit Aragorn, and his back stung. He came to full consciousness again, but he could not cope with much more of this. Fortunately, there was no more whip, for now at least, but the pain still burned in his back.
"Why did you come here? Did you think you would find your friend?" The man's voice was filled with scorn and Aragorn did not answer. He had partly guessed the truth, and it was better he thought that was all there was to it.
"You are foolish, Aragorn, as you always were. You walked into my arms once before and you have done so again." Aragorn again said nothing. He didn't want to show how much the man had already revealed to him. He now knew the name of the thing that possessed Boromir's body.
"You will pay for your foolishness with suffering. I hope it gives you some comfort to know that you will live far longer than your companions, though they too must be punished for the foolishness in following you." Aragorn listened carefully as the taunts continued, hoping they would reveal something more of use.
Eventually, the man seemed to realise that he would get no satisfaction out of Aragorn this way, and he could not torture him more without risking his death. So he decided to change his methods. Aragorn heard the door open, and turned his head as the man said, "I'm so glad you could join us."
Merry and Pippin were led in by orcs, tied tightly as Aragorn was. He could see the shock as they saw Boromir, his eyes burning red. The sorrow and fear that showed on their faces was the same that was in Aragorn. They were moved by the orcs to stand in front of Aragorn, so he couldn't help seeing.
The orc used his whip against first one then the other. Pippin fell to his knees after the third blow, unable to stand, and Merry fell soon after. Yet still the whip cracked and struck them. Aragorn closed his eyes, but couldn't close his ears to the screams.
When the hobbits fell silent, the whip still cracked. Aragorn opened his eyes to see the two now unconscious, the orc beating their still forms. His vision blurred with tears, he turned aside.
"Stop," the man called, "they must not die yet." The whip stopped. "There are other's who we can use while these two recover." He laughed again, and Aragorn despaired. This would continue with each member of the company, until their bodies could take no more and they died.
But hope didn't die in him completely. There was still Salafir to consider. He had escaped the jaws of this trap, and Aragorn remembered the words Galadrial had spoken to him before she went west across the sea.
"Fortune will cling to him as a cloak," she had said, "and he shall wield it as a sword." He knew those words spoke of Salafir, and so he had hope, even as Legolas was brought in and the torture began again.
***
Author's note: I thought it was about time I gave some reason why Aragorn let Sal be part of the quest. You'll have to wait for the rest of the reason though.