~Chapter Four: Inquiries

(Aragorn's POV)

Almost more as a reaction, than as a thought, I drew my sword and pointed it at the White wizard.

Saruman cackled and the air dissolved, then it formed again showing me someone else. It was Legolas. His face was coated in blood, and his arm hung loosely at his side.

"Legolas!" I cried running forward, but I ran straight through him. There was nothing there.

"Surely you are older than to play silly games with me," I growled to the air.

He laughed again. "Surely you are older than to play along with me," Saruman said mockingly. "Aragorn son of Arathorn, I would get out while you still can. I do not need you."

Need me? "Why do you 'need' Legolas?" I called.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the elusive voice asked.

"Yes I would. I would also like to see who I am addressing." Immediately, my wish was granted and surrounding me was six Sarumans. All garbed identically, all with the same black streaks running through his white beard, and all with the same sneering and disdainful smile.

"You wish to see the elf," the Sarumans said in unison. "I will take you to see him."

"How can I trust you?" I asked. "I am many things, but not a fool. You will imprison me and use me for whatever devilish scheme you are concocting."

"You have no choice," a silky whisper said. The Saruman's disappeared and by the time I felt the cold breath on my neck of the real Saruman saying: "You will come with me" I had already hit the floor unconscious.

~ (Legolas POV)

I woke up, but yet again I was somewhere different. "There are many magics in this world, Legolas Greenleaf," Saruman told me.

No longer was the bed beneath me, but I was on the floor and chained. I could feel the manacles around my ankles and wrists. They were loose, I had a fairly long chain, but it was nailed into the ground.

"Most are magics of the mind. Spells that can either be thought, said out loud, or used with certain gestures. But then there are materialistic magics. Take the Ring of Power for example. The magic, although coming from Sauron, is inside the Ring. Without the Ring, there would be no magic floating around. It needs a conductor. The spell I am conjuring is exactly that. The magic needs a form, and this takes the shape of a mask."

I heard a sniff from somewhere in the room, and spun around, looking for it, then realized I would never see it. "What was that?" I asked.

"What that noise. That is one of my creations." Saruman's voice was that of a proud parent.

"An Uruk-hai then," I said.

"No."

"What?"

"You will see soon enough," was the reply.

"But I won't."

"Oh yes," Saruman said. "You will have your sight back, once the spell is restored. And now, I need another thing from you."

Saruman started mumbling something in a low, guttural form of elvish then silence.

Strange silence. I couldn't hear the pot bubbling any more, as Saruman put herbs in it. I couldn't hear the low groans of the creature any more.

"Why is it silent?"

I stopped. I had lost my voice. I had mouthed my lips, the words in my mind, but no sound had come out.

Then Saruman pinned me to the floor. I instantly tried to wriggle away from him, but some force was pinning me to the floor. Then I opened my mouth to scream as excruciating pain throbbed through my body.

Something had been plunged deep into my arm, deep into the bone. And then I felt the instrument retracting, and another wave of pain as it was pulled out.

Saruman tied a bandage around my arm swiftly and tightly. I shut my eyes as I felt the world swirling around me, even though I was on the floor. And then... darkness enveloped me in its arms.

~ (Aragorn POV)

My eyelids fluttered open and I looked around the damp room. It was an underground cell. The floor was no longer black marble, but quickly laid slabs of some nondescript stone. The walls were made of black bricks, and they were lined with green from mould.

The room was a square, about three meters squared, and on the side facing me were a couple of steps up to a sturdy looking metal door. Off that hung some kind of torch. It was not a flame, just a glowing globe shaped thing. Saruman's magic no doubt.

I heard footsteps, and my hand instantly went to my waist where normally Narsil sat. But it was gone. As was the chain mail I had been wearing. All I was left with was my leggings, boots and shirt. I had never realized how warm the armour had been, with the leather underneath, for now I was cold.

The door swung open and in the doorframe, outlined by the ghostly light of Orthanc made purely from candles, was Saruman. "Come," was all he said and then turning left.

I unconsciously stepped forward. "No," I said stubbornly, but my feet carried on walking.

Up the steps I walked and into the corridor, there Saruman was waiting. "There are many ways to make a mortal talk, Aragorn," he said with a sardonic smile. "Come."

Again, I walked forward against my will and followed him into a large room, lined with cages, tables, and chains. It was a veritable torture chamber.

Saruman stopped and with his hand, he directed my traitorous feet to the wall. "Paralyze," he murmured and I felt my back stiffen. All I could move was my neck, side to side as he threaded my hands into the manacles.

"Aragorn, where is the Ringbearer?" Saruman asked, in a tone that was friendly and sociable. The kind of tone that you would use while asking a friend where you could find another friend.

"I will never tell you," I said between gritted teeth, my body was tensed, awaiting pain.

Saruman lifted up a poker and twirled it in between his fingers skillfully. "I will leave physical pain as a last resort, relax." He made it sound trivial. Oh, its only physical pain. It won't hurt much.

He clicked his fingers and again the air blurred, it formed a shape. An Arwen shaped illusion.

Tears marred her fair face as she sobbed brokenly. Then coming into the picture was Elrond, he placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of his daughter as they looked at something. There were tears in my foster father's harsh blue eyes.

Then the view swiveled around and I was staring at a marble tomb. Then we were above it and looking down I could see inscribe in elvish: Here lies Aragorn son of Arathorn and Gilraen, the last of Isildur's descendants. May he find eternal peace.

A bitter taste rose in my mouth as I looked down on my grave.

"That could be your fate," Saruman said. "Tell me where the Ringbearer is."

"Never."

The White Wizard sighed. "I will keep to my promise and show you Legolas in the person then. Tiax!" he called in that voice that was so soft, yet could be heard throughout the whole Tower.

A tall Uruk-hai stepped in the door, giving what could only be considered, as a lopsided grin towards me. "The mortal who killed Lurtz," he observed. "I would like to fight him."

"You may yet," Saruman said quietly. "Bring me the elf. Unharmed. Be gentle with him, for he is in a frail state of mind. To while away the time, maybe you should remember what my happen."

He put his hand, palm facing me, up. Then closed it, and then opened it again. As he did so, my mind was filled with crying. Arwen weeping. Gondorians dying as they were ambushed by orcs, and they fought leaderless. They were slaughtered.

Finally the images left and slumped on the floor a couple of meters away from me, was Legolas.

His hair had fallen out of it's neat braids and hung over his shoulders, cloaking his face from me. His shoulders shook as he crouched into a small ball, burying his head in his knees. A bloodstained bandage was on his arm. It was so messy, Saruman had taken no precautions in case of infection.

It made my blood boil when I thought of Saruman pulling his magic tricks on the fair prince. But at least he was still alive.

And then Legolas finally looked up, his eyes were milky and they rolled around trying to look for something that wasn't there.

"Legolas!" I cried.

There was no response, in fact the elf hadn't even turned to face me as I spoke, yet had made no move as if ignoring me.

"Pleash," he mumbled in common tongue, his words being uncommonly slurred. "Shharuman, pleassh."

It made my heart ache, and I tugged at my chains, but they were magical bonds and would not budge.

Saruman smirked smugly. "His torment will continue unless you tell me where the Ringbearer is."

My mind raced. This was my oldest, and dearest friend, obviously blind and deaf by Saruman's magic. That is no way for one of the fairest race to live. But on the other hand I am comparing my friend's welfare, with that of the freedom of all that is good in Middle-earth. If I was a good friend, the comparison would seem balanced and I would risk everything on saving my friend.

But I am not a good friend, I am a mortal with morals. I could not gamble Middle-earth's freedom.

"Never," I repeated stubbornly.

"Then I must do what is necessary," Saruman said, a look of unhappiness washing across his face for a moment. "Tiax take the elf back to his chambers, I need one more thing before we dispose of them both."

~

Thanks to all my reviewers as normal. I'll respond to you. Promise. I only have limited time on the internet *groan.* Yeah, review and you'll get the next chapter. Luv Anna.