Author's note: I'm very upset about the lack of reviews for chapter three.
If this happens again I may decide to sulk and not write any more.
***
"Our deal was over once you received your payment," Vaylith said, "what I do with my prisoners is my own concern."
"No!" Bergil yelled again, moving suddenly. He snapped out of the hands holding him and charged at Vaylith. Sal saw the man come behind him, and yelled a warning. . . too late. The man grabbed Bergil, and Sal watched as he fell heavily to the ground, head crashing against the bare rock. Sal winced in sympathy.
Bergil was his friend, and until he had proof of his treachery, Sal would continue to think of him as such. His friend lay limp on the floor, unconscious. Sal struggled, but was helpless to resist as Bergil was bound and hauled out, a deep gash on his forehead.
Sal himself was pulled up into a kneeling position, and Vaylith bent down so his face was close to Sal's.
"Think about what I have said. If you do not tell the king you betrayed him, you will be responsible for all the pain he will feel. And you will be forced to watch every moment of it." Then Sal was hauled out after Bergil.
***
Sal was worried that the blow to Bergil's head might have done more damage than just the cut. He had been still for a long time, lying where he had been dumped on the cell's floor. Sal thought he was still breathing, but the cell was only dimly lit.
Sal sat and thought. His thoughts kept drifting back to Elessar, and the sight of him bleeding on the grass. Sal had feared he was dead then, and it was the most terrible thing he could ever have felt. A world without Elessar, his kind words and his friendly smile, was something Sal didn't want to think about. But it seemed that death would be the only option, and if Sal could ensure Elessar didn't suffer then wouldn't it be worth?
Sal couldn't help but wonder about the possibility of rescue. The rangers might find out where they were, and then surely it would be better for the king to live as long as possible. He might suffer, but that was better than death, wasn't it? But if Sal refused to do as Vaylith asked, and then no rescue came, Elessar would suffer dreadfully. Sal couldn't allow that.
Bergil stirred, and Sal emerged from his thoughts.
"Bergil?" he asked.
"Sal?" came the faint reply. Sal sighed. He gave his friend a moment to come fully to his senses before he began questioning him. But he needed to know the answers to the questions that were plaguing him.
"What did you mean about an arrangement?" Sal asked.
Bergil looked away. "I'm sorry, Sal."
"What did you mean?"
"He. . ." Bergil broke off. "I never meant for this to happen." He was refusing to look Sal in the eye, and Sal thought he was genuinely ashamed. "They told me. . . they told me that there was a traitor in Minas Tirith. Someone very close to the king. They said that they knew who the traitor was, but that the king wouldn't believe them if they told him. They said they wanted to show him who the traitor was, in a way that he couldn't deny. They paid me to give them some information. I thought that I was helping the king."
"You trusted them?" Sal couldn't image Bergil could be such a fool.
"They came me reasons to trust them. They way they spoke, the things they said, I really believed they were being truthful."
"So you became a traitor trying to stop one?" It seemed rather ironic.
"Traitor," Bergil muttered. Sal didn't think he had considered that before. There was silence for a while. The things Bergil had said were shocking, but at least Sal could trust that Bergil had only good intentions at heart, even if he did behave very stupidly. Sal knew him well enough to believe him.
"Why did you think I was a traitor?" Sal asked.
"Because of what they'd said. They said it was someone the king would never doubt. You fit that description. And when I heard what Ralisay said about you, I believed that you were they one they had warned me about. I'm sorry I doubted you." Sal heard a sob, and realised Bergil was crying. Sal wanted to go and put his arms round his friend. He could only imagine what Bergil was going through, the guilt he must be feeling.
How long they sat there, Sal didn't know. Eventually, Bergil's tears ran dry, but the silence that followed was as bad as the sobs had been.
"Who are they really?" Bergil asked once he had recovered enough.
"A few years ago, a group of thieves were going through villages. They weren't just stealing, they were destroying things pointlessly. Houses, crops, supplies. Elessar, myself, and the rangers went after them. We managed to capture most of the group, including their leader. They were put to death in Minas Tirith, but there were a few of the group who escaped. Vaylith was one who escaped. His brother, was the leader of the group."
"He wants to hurt you for his brother's death?"
"Yes." Again there was a silence.
"I'm sorry," Bergil said.
***
When the door opened again, they cut the cords around Sal's legs and he was taken out. He considered fighting, but there was no way he could win with his arms tied. He was taken back to the room he had been taken to before.
"Have you decided?" Vaylith asked. Sal didn't answer. In truth, he still didn't know which option was the better one. "I see we shall have to persuade you." There was a cruel smile on his face, as he gestured to a man, who shoved a gag in Sal's mouth. He made sure he was unable to make even the slightest sound.
When everything was secure, Vaylith led the way to another room. A cell. Elessar was in the centre of the room, his hands in chains that hung from the ceiling. A blindfold covered his eyes so he couldn't see Sal. His shirt had been torn off, revealing a mess of blood and dirt on his side. The wound Sal had seen him receive must be infected under all that.
"Who's there?" he demanded. Sal wanted to go to him, but strong hands held him tightly. He wished he could say something, let him know he wasn't alone, but the gag did its job. Sal was forced to watch as Vaylith went up to Elessar, and punched him in the stomach.
Elessar moved as though to curl up, but his arms were suspended above him so all he did was yank on his wrists. Sal watched the expression of pain on his face, and then watched as Vaylith hit him again, as soon as he had recovered slightly from the first blow.
Sal looked away, unable to bear the expression of pain on his king's face. He didn't look, but still he could hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh. Throughout, Elessar made no sound, and Sal's respect for his courage grew. But how long could he hold out? How long could even the great King Elessar bear this torment? Sal knew that Vaylith could keep this up for years if he decided to.
He looked back at Elessar, his stomach being to turn purple from bruises, teeth gritted against the pain. Then Vaylith struck him on the wound itself, and the mouth opened in a cry of pain. Sal felt tears fill his eyes. He couldn't let this continue any more. He had been given the option to stop this, and he would.
***
Author's note: I was only joking earlier. I couldn't stop writing any more than I could stop breathing. I think it's called addiction.
Anyway, I decided to be nice and explain some of what's going on. It might make up for my lack of niceness in what I'm doing to Aragorn. Please don't hate me.
***
"Our deal was over once you received your payment," Vaylith said, "what I do with my prisoners is my own concern."
"No!" Bergil yelled again, moving suddenly. He snapped out of the hands holding him and charged at Vaylith. Sal saw the man come behind him, and yelled a warning. . . too late. The man grabbed Bergil, and Sal watched as he fell heavily to the ground, head crashing against the bare rock. Sal winced in sympathy.
Bergil was his friend, and until he had proof of his treachery, Sal would continue to think of him as such. His friend lay limp on the floor, unconscious. Sal struggled, but was helpless to resist as Bergil was bound and hauled out, a deep gash on his forehead.
Sal himself was pulled up into a kneeling position, and Vaylith bent down so his face was close to Sal's.
"Think about what I have said. If you do not tell the king you betrayed him, you will be responsible for all the pain he will feel. And you will be forced to watch every moment of it." Then Sal was hauled out after Bergil.
***
Sal was worried that the blow to Bergil's head might have done more damage than just the cut. He had been still for a long time, lying where he had been dumped on the cell's floor. Sal thought he was still breathing, but the cell was only dimly lit.
Sal sat and thought. His thoughts kept drifting back to Elessar, and the sight of him bleeding on the grass. Sal had feared he was dead then, and it was the most terrible thing he could ever have felt. A world without Elessar, his kind words and his friendly smile, was something Sal didn't want to think about. But it seemed that death would be the only option, and if Sal could ensure Elessar didn't suffer then wouldn't it be worth?
Sal couldn't help but wonder about the possibility of rescue. The rangers might find out where they were, and then surely it would be better for the king to live as long as possible. He might suffer, but that was better than death, wasn't it? But if Sal refused to do as Vaylith asked, and then no rescue came, Elessar would suffer dreadfully. Sal couldn't allow that.
Bergil stirred, and Sal emerged from his thoughts.
"Bergil?" he asked.
"Sal?" came the faint reply. Sal sighed. He gave his friend a moment to come fully to his senses before he began questioning him. But he needed to know the answers to the questions that were plaguing him.
"What did you mean about an arrangement?" Sal asked.
Bergil looked away. "I'm sorry, Sal."
"What did you mean?"
"He. . ." Bergil broke off. "I never meant for this to happen." He was refusing to look Sal in the eye, and Sal thought he was genuinely ashamed. "They told me. . . they told me that there was a traitor in Minas Tirith. Someone very close to the king. They said that they knew who the traitor was, but that the king wouldn't believe them if they told him. They said they wanted to show him who the traitor was, in a way that he couldn't deny. They paid me to give them some information. I thought that I was helping the king."
"You trusted them?" Sal couldn't image Bergil could be such a fool.
"They came me reasons to trust them. They way they spoke, the things they said, I really believed they were being truthful."
"So you became a traitor trying to stop one?" It seemed rather ironic.
"Traitor," Bergil muttered. Sal didn't think he had considered that before. There was silence for a while. The things Bergil had said were shocking, but at least Sal could trust that Bergil had only good intentions at heart, even if he did behave very stupidly. Sal knew him well enough to believe him.
"Why did you think I was a traitor?" Sal asked.
"Because of what they'd said. They said it was someone the king would never doubt. You fit that description. And when I heard what Ralisay said about you, I believed that you were they one they had warned me about. I'm sorry I doubted you." Sal heard a sob, and realised Bergil was crying. Sal wanted to go and put his arms round his friend. He could only imagine what Bergil was going through, the guilt he must be feeling.
How long they sat there, Sal didn't know. Eventually, Bergil's tears ran dry, but the silence that followed was as bad as the sobs had been.
"Who are they really?" Bergil asked once he had recovered enough.
"A few years ago, a group of thieves were going through villages. They weren't just stealing, they were destroying things pointlessly. Houses, crops, supplies. Elessar, myself, and the rangers went after them. We managed to capture most of the group, including their leader. They were put to death in Minas Tirith, but there were a few of the group who escaped. Vaylith was one who escaped. His brother, was the leader of the group."
"He wants to hurt you for his brother's death?"
"Yes." Again there was a silence.
"I'm sorry," Bergil said.
***
When the door opened again, they cut the cords around Sal's legs and he was taken out. He considered fighting, but there was no way he could win with his arms tied. He was taken back to the room he had been taken to before.
"Have you decided?" Vaylith asked. Sal didn't answer. In truth, he still didn't know which option was the better one. "I see we shall have to persuade you." There was a cruel smile on his face, as he gestured to a man, who shoved a gag in Sal's mouth. He made sure he was unable to make even the slightest sound.
When everything was secure, Vaylith led the way to another room. A cell. Elessar was in the centre of the room, his hands in chains that hung from the ceiling. A blindfold covered his eyes so he couldn't see Sal. His shirt had been torn off, revealing a mess of blood and dirt on his side. The wound Sal had seen him receive must be infected under all that.
"Who's there?" he demanded. Sal wanted to go to him, but strong hands held him tightly. He wished he could say something, let him know he wasn't alone, but the gag did its job. Sal was forced to watch as Vaylith went up to Elessar, and punched him in the stomach.
Elessar moved as though to curl up, but his arms were suspended above him so all he did was yank on his wrists. Sal watched the expression of pain on his face, and then watched as Vaylith hit him again, as soon as he had recovered slightly from the first blow.
Sal looked away, unable to bear the expression of pain on his king's face. He didn't look, but still he could hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh. Throughout, Elessar made no sound, and Sal's respect for his courage grew. But how long could he hold out? How long could even the great King Elessar bear this torment? Sal knew that Vaylith could keep this up for years if he decided to.
He looked back at Elessar, his stomach being to turn purple from bruises, teeth gritted against the pain. Then Vaylith struck him on the wound itself, and the mouth opened in a cry of pain. Sal felt tears fill his eyes. He couldn't let this continue any more. He had been given the option to stop this, and he would.
***
Author's note: I was only joking earlier. I couldn't stop writing any more than I could stop breathing. I think it's called addiction.
Anyway, I decided to be nice and explain some of what's going on. It might make up for my lack of niceness in what I'm doing to Aragorn. Please don't hate me.