Crippled Prize
by Mizalaye
Author's Notes: *Mizalaye ducks out of reach* I know, I know! It's been way too long since I updated. I'm really sorry! All I can say is…life is crazy! I promise the next chapter will not take me as long as this one did. Thanks for sticking with me!
Chapter Eight: The Black Knife
To say that Aragorn was completely calm would have been a lie. Though the King of Gondor would never have admitted it, he was decidedly nervous – perhaps even scared.
Of course, it is not merely my life at stake here, the Ranger reminded himself. Dómiel is counting on me. And I shall not fail her.
This thought foremost in his mind, Aragorn brought his attention back to his surroundings. He was being led – none too gently – into a large, open cavern. As he walked, he rotated his wrists unobtrusively, attempting to restore the feeling to them. He had spent the last several hours bound to a chair while several men – all identically cloaked in black – interrogated him. Then, inexplicably, his bonds had been cut and he had been told to follow two of the men. He could only hope that this meant they had bought his cover story, and not that he was being led to his execution.
I will not go down without a fight, he swore mentally. If I must die here, than so be it, but I will not leave my daughter in the hands of these fiends!
Now Aragorn's guards were moving away, leaving him standing alone in the center of the torch-lit cavern.
"So, assassin, you wish to join our ranks?" The voice seemed to come from everywhere as it bounced off the rock walls.
Aragorn couldn't tell which of the shadowy figures surrounding him had spoken, so he simply addressed the air in front of him. "Why else would I be here?"
"Do not dare to insult the Keeper of Life!" the voice bellowed. "Answer the question or answer with your life!"
Aragorn did not allow any reaction to touch his face. "Yes, I wish to join you."
"Then prove your worth!"
Aragorn felt more than saw the blade's descent, and barely managed to avoid losing an arm to the vicious swing. Twisting around, he saw a huge, armor-clad man who was wielding a sword longer than Aragorn's arm as if it were a mere rapier.
And now that sword was flying towards him again. Once again, the massive blade came within inches of Aragorn's body.
The memories and instincts of decades of sword fighting were flowing back through his body now, and the next several swings missed by at least a foot as the Ranger ducked and weaved. However, Aragorn knew full well that his chances of winning were slim as long as his opponent was armed and he was not. So, he began leading the other man toward the edge of the room.
It was a gamble, because Aragorn did not know the customs of these people – the spectators that ringed the room might very well be permitted to simply gut him if he came too close. However, Aragorn was hoping that the codes surrounding this clearly ceremonial fight prevented interference.
Much to his relief, the two men standing in the corner he approached made no move to attack him. Even more to his relief, the closer one had a sword strapped to his back.
Aragorn ducked a swing aimed for his neck, sprang sideways to put himself between the wall and the closer of the two bystanders, and then leapt straight up, grabbing the hilt of the man's sword and whipping it out of its sheath in one fierce motion.
Before the man could react to the theft of his blade – which Aragorn was rather surprised had actually worked – the Ranger sprinted back to the center of the cavern. His opponent, who moved quite quickly for a man of his size, was right behind him.
Now, however, the odds were quite clearly in Aragorn's favor. He had been trained by both Rangers and Elves, and his reflexes were unmatched by any mortal.
A bare two minutes later, the man's massive blade flew from his hands, landing somewhere in the shadows.
Aragorn held his own sword to the man's throat, but made no move to kill him. "Do you concede the match?"
The other man nodded, so Aragorn stepped back, dropping his sword-tip.
The voice came again. "Well done, Stranger." Then, from the shadows stepped an old man. Though his hair was white, he stood erect and walked with no hint of a hobble. It was clear from his build that he had, at one time, been a fighter himself.
Aragorn's opponent nodded respectfully to the old man and retreated back into the shadows.
"I am the Keeper of Life," the old man said solemnly. "You, Stranger, have passed all but the last test." Then, he clapped his hands twice.
A boy of perhaps twelve stepped out of the shadows, a black pillow cradled almost reverently in his hands. Complete silence dropped onto the room when the boy appeared. Aragorn could feel all eyes focused on the three of them – the old man; the boy; and him, the Stranger.
Resting on the pillow, as Aragorn saw when the boy stopped just behind the old man, was a black-hilted dagger. An oily substance covered the ten-inch blade, causing it to glimmer ominously in the flickering torchlight.
"This is the final test. You must now either choose death or bind yourself to the Knife and the Brotherhood for all time."
"My choice has already been made," Aragorn replied without hesitation. "I wish to join your ranks."
The old man gestured for Aragorn to extend his right hand, palm up. Then, slowly and ceremoniously, he rolled Aragorn's sleeve up, placed the tip of the blade just below the joint of Aragorn's elbow, and scored a long, but shallow, cut down the entire length of his forearm.
Aragorn forced his face to remain expressionless as fire seemed to race away from the knife-point, up his arm, and through his entire body.
Seeing that he was not going to react with pain, the old man returned the knife to the pillow and turned to address the room. "He has passed the final test! He is now one of us. Now, we shall drink!"
The boy, who had taken the knife back into some chamber in the shadows, now returned, carrying a large metal goblet. The old man raised the goblet to show the room, then sipped from it. Handing it to Aragorn, he instructed, "Drink, but not deeply."
Obediently, Aragorn sipped from the goblet and handed it back to the old man. One by one, the figures which had lined the walls now came to the center and drank from the goblet before slipping from the chamber.
When all had drank, the old man and the boy vanished into the shadows once more, leaving Aragorn alone with a tall, slender man who, by the scars on his face, had seen many battles. "My name is Rechnet," he said. "You have questions, I am sure. I will answer as many as I can."
"What just happened?" Aragorn asked.
"You were tested. We had to be sure you were sincere in your desire to join us and that you had the skills to survive here. That was the purpose for the questioning and the test of battle, which you passed." Rechnet nodded to the stolen sword still in Aragorn's left hand. "That blade is yours now, Stranger, as is your name, until you earn yourself a new one by your deeds."
"And the knife?"
Rechnet smiled ever so slightly and pushed up his right sleeve. A thin scar ran the entire length of his forearm in the exact position of the cut on Aragorn's arm. "It is our initiation and our proof of loyalty here. The Black Knife is dipped in a special poison."
Aragorn nodded. That had been immediately clear to him.
"Each night, we drink from the goblet," Rechnet went on. "In the goblet is a type of antidote to the Knife's poison. But, if you do not drink from the goblet for forty-eight hours, the poison begins to work. You have only three days in total to drink from the goblet. After that, death is unavoidable…and slow."
Ice crept up from Aragorn's belly, and he had to remind himself to keep breathing. He had heard of such poisons before, and had even heard that they were used as loyalty controls, but he had never expected to be bound by such poison to a band of murderers he had no plans of remaining loyal to. The ice of fear was quickly followed by steely determination. I swore to bring my daughter home, he reminded himself. If I die in the attempt, so be it.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
The walls of the cell seemed to waver in Dómiel's vision. Roughly, she dashed the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. Be patient, she ordered herself. Still, she could not keep despair from creeping back into her heart. He said Father was coming.
Who said?
The elf.
But who was it? You never saw him. What if it was your own imagination?
Dómiel wanted to scream at the inner voice of doubt. Father's coming. He has to be! He just has to be!
Finally, however, the tears came and she couldn't hold them back. Please, Daddy, her mind begged, come soon. Please come soon…
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
As Aragorn was led through the next three days of instruction and "adjustment," he kept his senses alert for any news of his daughter. He loathed even the thought of leaving her alone and still trapped, but he had to wait until the others trusted him enough to let him out of their sight.
And yet, any time he thought of the plan he and Legolas had put together for Dómiel's rescue, Rechnet's words crept back into his mind.
"You have only three days to drink from the goblet. After that, death is unavoidable…and slow."
Three days.
Author's Notes: Yet again, thank you for your patience…and thank you for your reviews!!! Please continue to review! Please? Thank you!=o)
cay – Thank you for the review. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
c_carol – Thank you for reviewing…and you're right…sort of =o) Dómiel is slightly more than three-eighths Elven…so, if you go by strict numbers, she is very close to half-Elven. However, I realized that the term "Half-Elven" refers to those such as Elrond and Elrond's children (such as Arwen) who are allowed to choose whether they are going to be Elven or mortal. So, in that sense, she isn't Half-Elven. I've decided to not give her the title…but I have left the phrase in there if it is referring to, say, her hearing, since she is genetically almost half-elven. I could be way off in this…but there's my opinion. =o)
Jinn – Thank you for your encouraging review. I'm so glad that you like my story! I'm also glad that you like it long…'cause we have a ways to go yet! =o) I hope you liked this chapter, too.
sabercrazy – I'm afraid shouting won't help. *grins* You're just going to have to keep reading and find out what happens. But thank you for reviewing. Did you like this chapter?
SapphireRose - *clears throat* Please rise. I doth thank thee for thy most profuse apology…uhm…er…ok, cutting the Shakespeare. You're better at that than I am. I'm glad you have been liking it so far, and I'm also glad you finally reviewed! Though, you are still my Faithful Reviewer. =o)