Sam didn't think there was a single part of his body that wasn't in agony.
He was hauled from his cell and taken back to the hall. He stumbled along
between two of his captors, half-dragged.
They didn't chain him between the posts this time. Instead, he was just held in the middle of the room, while Lady Reyalla stood in front of him.
"So you will not yield when you are the one in pain, perhaps there is another you will yield for." She gave a signal, and three more entered the room. Two of them held Frodo between them, the third just held a whip. Sam started at seeing his master, bare to the waist. Frodo fixed him with a steady gaze, and Sam was sure he was trying to tell him something, but a cloth gag prevented him from speaking.
"Let him go!" Sam shouted, struggling against the hands that held him.
"You must yield," Lady Reyalla said. Sam hesitated. Then the whip was raised. Again Frodo stared intently at Sam, and Sam tried to work out what he was trying to say. The whip fell, and Sam could see nothing more than the expression of pain on his dear master's face.
"Let him go!" he shouted, "I yield!" A moment later Frodo was free and by his side. He pulled the gag from his mouth and hugged Sam.
"I'm alright," he said, "I'm alright."
"I couldn't let you get hurt again," Sam said.
"You must come with me," a voice said, surprisingly gentle. The two went with the woman, Frodo with only a single line of red across his back.
***
"You said you'd be here for my birthday," a boy said grumpily as an old man robed in grey dismounted from his horse.
"I'm sorry, Estel," the man said, "I did intend to, but unfortunately some important business came up."
"So I'm not important," the boy said, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe.
"I never said that, Estel. There was just something pressing that required my attention."
"More important than me?"
"Who said you weren't important, Estel?" Gandalf asked kindly.
"Elladan," the boy replied, "He said it to Elrohir when he thought I wasn't listening."
"Your brother called you unimportant?"
"I'm not his brother. He said that too."
"Was he upset with you for any reason?"
"I borrowed his bow."
"Borrowing in the sense that you forgot to ask his permission?"
Estel nodded. "He said I couldn't go hunting with him. He said I was still a child but I'm grown up now. I'm seven."
"Estel, people often say things they don't mean when they're angry. Your brother thinks you're important."
"But you don't," Estel said, "or you would have been here on my birthday."
"I meant to be. I just stopped to help a friend on the way, thinking it would take less than a day. If I'd known that Reyalla's business would last so long I would have told her it could wait, because I had to be at the birthday of a very important young man."
"Really?" Estel grinned.
"Really," Gandalf replied.
"Will you show me some magic to make up for being late?"
"Of course," the wizard smiled.
Aragorn was lying on his front when he woke. He wondered why for a moment, then realised his front was the part of him that hurt least. The fact that his front was in agony just showed how bad the rest of his wounds were. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but his arms didn't want to support him and the attempt just caused the pain to soar.
He lay for a while, each rasping breath tearing at his dry throat, the rough stone pressing against his skin. Thinking. The answer to the question that had been plaguing him since he hear Reyalla's name just gave him more questions. How could Gandalf call this woman a friend? He remembered the old man he had seen through a haze of pain. It might have been Gandalf, but he couldn't be sure either way.
His thoughts returned to the empty void in his memory where his capture should be. There was no way he could have been taken through any of the city gates, no matter how skilled his captors may be. There was only one other way into the city. A secret passage from the centre of the citadel to a point outside the wall. A tunnel once known to only the royal family, the knowledge of which had faded along with the royal line.
Aragorn himself wouldn't have known, if Gandalf hadn't told him of it.
He banished that thought instantly. The old man he'd seen wasn't Gandalf, and he'd been speaking of a different Reyalla. Besides, he was probably mistaken about the name Gandalf had said, he'd only been seven at the time, and not paying much attention to the person who had delayed his friend's arrival. Gandalf wouldn't betray them.
After a time the door opened and Rasarl entered, holding a bowl and a flask. She knelt down by Aragorn's side and, though he tried to pull away from her, she helped him into a sitting position.
"What do you want?" Aragorn asked, though the words grated on his throat.
"You need to eat something," Rasarl said. She lifted the flask first. Aragorn considered resisting, but he was too thirsty not to give in. The cool water ran down his throat, and he instantly felt better. Better enough to refuse to be spoonfed by this woman. He pulled his head away from her.
"You need to eat," she said, "you will need your strength for. . ."
"For what?" he asked.
"For the Trial of Fire."
"More torture?"
"The Trial of Fire isn't exactly painful. It's. . . overwhelming. There's no easy way to explain it."
"You've been through it?" Aragorn was surprised.
Rasarl nodded. "It'll be over soon. Eat." Aragorn followed that gentle command. It made sense to retain what little strength he had left so he could continue to resist Lady Reyalla. Besides, he couldn't remember ever being this hungry.
He ate the strange mush Rasarl offered him, surprised at its pleasant taste. He hated the fact that he had to eat it off the spoon she held, but when he tried to hold the spoon himself his hand shook too much. Pain filled his very being and the hunger wasn't allowing him to heal.
When he finished Rasarl left, and he lay down. He found he had to lie on his front since his wounds wouldn't allow any other position. He was getting worried that the wounds would become infected. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the pain kept his mind hopelessly alert.
When the door opened it wasn't Rasarl who entered, but two others. They hauled Aragorn to his feet none too gently. The pain from the movement and the hands pressing against his wounds made his vision swim. He was barely aware of anything but the pain until they reached a dark room.
There were no windows, and the walls were shrouded in shadow. A dim lamp hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room and beneath it was a strange symbol, painted in a dark red substance he hoped fervently wasn't blood. It was a circle, with three flames coming from it to form a rough triangle. Above the tip of each flame hung chains. Aragorn noticed that one set of chains was much lower than the others, but he didn't give it much thought as his arms were pulled above his head, tearing open the wounds in his armpits, and fastened in one of the sets of chains.
He waited, but it wasn't long before more people came into the room, hauling Legolas between them and chaining him up. The elf was naked, and Aragorn could see cuts and burns all over his body, just as there must be over him. Legolas looked Aragorn up and down, and Aragorn knew he was making the same assessment. Then Pippin was brought in. He had clearly been through the same torture as the others, but it seemed worse for him. His small stature made him look childlike.
The servants left, and for a moment it seemed that the three were alone. Then Lady Reyalla stepped out of the shadows. She carried a bowl, which she placed in the centre of the circle. For some minutes she moved about, fetching things from odd corners of the room that they couldn't quite make out in the shadows and putting them in the bowl, muttering something under her breath as she worked.
Finally she walked over to Aragorn carrying a small phial. She held it beside one of the newly opened cuts and let it fill with his blood. Then she repeated the process with the others and disappeared into the shadows again with three phials of crimson liquid.
When she stepped back into the light she was holding a small bowl. She dipped her figure in the contents, and then painted a symbol on Aragorn's chest in a sticky, red liquid. Blood. When she moved on to the other two he could see that the symbol was the same one that was on the floor.
She then tipped the remaining blood into the central bowl and backed away. To the amazement of the three prisoners, the contents of the bowl began to glow a brilliant red. It flickered like firelight, and a ball of brightness rose up above the bowl.
As the ball of fire hung in the air it glowed brighter, until the three were nearly blinded, but something prevented them from looking away. The fire burned onto the back of Aragorn's eyes, and he felt as though he would see it even after it was gone.
Then with shocking suddenness it moved. It struck Pippin in the chest, and the hobbit let out a soul-tearing scream. The symbol on his chest was glowing as though it was burning, and it seemed to Aragorn that there were flames in his eyes. Aragorn tried to pull free from the chains, but could do nothing. It seemed like hours that Pippin stood screaming pain.
Then he slumped forwards. Dead or unconscious, Aragorn couldn't tell.
***
Author's note: Review, or Pippin gets it. Mwa ha ha ha!
They didn't chain him between the posts this time. Instead, he was just held in the middle of the room, while Lady Reyalla stood in front of him.
"So you will not yield when you are the one in pain, perhaps there is another you will yield for." She gave a signal, and three more entered the room. Two of them held Frodo between them, the third just held a whip. Sam started at seeing his master, bare to the waist. Frodo fixed him with a steady gaze, and Sam was sure he was trying to tell him something, but a cloth gag prevented him from speaking.
"Let him go!" Sam shouted, struggling against the hands that held him.
"You must yield," Lady Reyalla said. Sam hesitated. Then the whip was raised. Again Frodo stared intently at Sam, and Sam tried to work out what he was trying to say. The whip fell, and Sam could see nothing more than the expression of pain on his dear master's face.
"Let him go!" he shouted, "I yield!" A moment later Frodo was free and by his side. He pulled the gag from his mouth and hugged Sam.
"I'm alright," he said, "I'm alright."
"I couldn't let you get hurt again," Sam said.
"You must come with me," a voice said, surprisingly gentle. The two went with the woman, Frodo with only a single line of red across his back.
***
"You said you'd be here for my birthday," a boy said grumpily as an old man robed in grey dismounted from his horse.
"I'm sorry, Estel," the man said, "I did intend to, but unfortunately some important business came up."
"So I'm not important," the boy said, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe.
"I never said that, Estel. There was just something pressing that required my attention."
"More important than me?"
"Who said you weren't important, Estel?" Gandalf asked kindly.
"Elladan," the boy replied, "He said it to Elrohir when he thought I wasn't listening."
"Your brother called you unimportant?"
"I'm not his brother. He said that too."
"Was he upset with you for any reason?"
"I borrowed his bow."
"Borrowing in the sense that you forgot to ask his permission?"
Estel nodded. "He said I couldn't go hunting with him. He said I was still a child but I'm grown up now. I'm seven."
"Estel, people often say things they don't mean when they're angry. Your brother thinks you're important."
"But you don't," Estel said, "or you would have been here on my birthday."
"I meant to be. I just stopped to help a friend on the way, thinking it would take less than a day. If I'd known that Reyalla's business would last so long I would have told her it could wait, because I had to be at the birthday of a very important young man."
"Really?" Estel grinned.
"Really," Gandalf replied.
"Will you show me some magic to make up for being late?"
"Of course," the wizard smiled.
Aragorn was lying on his front when he woke. He wondered why for a moment, then realised his front was the part of him that hurt least. The fact that his front was in agony just showed how bad the rest of his wounds were. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but his arms didn't want to support him and the attempt just caused the pain to soar.
He lay for a while, each rasping breath tearing at his dry throat, the rough stone pressing against his skin. Thinking. The answer to the question that had been plaguing him since he hear Reyalla's name just gave him more questions. How could Gandalf call this woman a friend? He remembered the old man he had seen through a haze of pain. It might have been Gandalf, but he couldn't be sure either way.
His thoughts returned to the empty void in his memory where his capture should be. There was no way he could have been taken through any of the city gates, no matter how skilled his captors may be. There was only one other way into the city. A secret passage from the centre of the citadel to a point outside the wall. A tunnel once known to only the royal family, the knowledge of which had faded along with the royal line.
Aragorn himself wouldn't have known, if Gandalf hadn't told him of it.
He banished that thought instantly. The old man he'd seen wasn't Gandalf, and he'd been speaking of a different Reyalla. Besides, he was probably mistaken about the name Gandalf had said, he'd only been seven at the time, and not paying much attention to the person who had delayed his friend's arrival. Gandalf wouldn't betray them.
After a time the door opened and Rasarl entered, holding a bowl and a flask. She knelt down by Aragorn's side and, though he tried to pull away from her, she helped him into a sitting position.
"What do you want?" Aragorn asked, though the words grated on his throat.
"You need to eat something," Rasarl said. She lifted the flask first. Aragorn considered resisting, but he was too thirsty not to give in. The cool water ran down his throat, and he instantly felt better. Better enough to refuse to be spoonfed by this woman. He pulled his head away from her.
"You need to eat," she said, "you will need your strength for. . ."
"For what?" he asked.
"For the Trial of Fire."
"More torture?"
"The Trial of Fire isn't exactly painful. It's. . . overwhelming. There's no easy way to explain it."
"You've been through it?" Aragorn was surprised.
Rasarl nodded. "It'll be over soon. Eat." Aragorn followed that gentle command. It made sense to retain what little strength he had left so he could continue to resist Lady Reyalla. Besides, he couldn't remember ever being this hungry.
He ate the strange mush Rasarl offered him, surprised at its pleasant taste. He hated the fact that he had to eat it off the spoon she held, but when he tried to hold the spoon himself his hand shook too much. Pain filled his very being and the hunger wasn't allowing him to heal.
When he finished Rasarl left, and he lay down. He found he had to lie on his front since his wounds wouldn't allow any other position. He was getting worried that the wounds would become infected. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the pain kept his mind hopelessly alert.
When the door opened it wasn't Rasarl who entered, but two others. They hauled Aragorn to his feet none too gently. The pain from the movement and the hands pressing against his wounds made his vision swim. He was barely aware of anything but the pain until they reached a dark room.
There were no windows, and the walls were shrouded in shadow. A dim lamp hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room and beneath it was a strange symbol, painted in a dark red substance he hoped fervently wasn't blood. It was a circle, with three flames coming from it to form a rough triangle. Above the tip of each flame hung chains. Aragorn noticed that one set of chains was much lower than the others, but he didn't give it much thought as his arms were pulled above his head, tearing open the wounds in his armpits, and fastened in one of the sets of chains.
He waited, but it wasn't long before more people came into the room, hauling Legolas between them and chaining him up. The elf was naked, and Aragorn could see cuts and burns all over his body, just as there must be over him. Legolas looked Aragorn up and down, and Aragorn knew he was making the same assessment. Then Pippin was brought in. He had clearly been through the same torture as the others, but it seemed worse for him. His small stature made him look childlike.
The servants left, and for a moment it seemed that the three were alone. Then Lady Reyalla stepped out of the shadows. She carried a bowl, which she placed in the centre of the circle. For some minutes she moved about, fetching things from odd corners of the room that they couldn't quite make out in the shadows and putting them in the bowl, muttering something under her breath as she worked.
Finally she walked over to Aragorn carrying a small phial. She held it beside one of the newly opened cuts and let it fill with his blood. Then she repeated the process with the others and disappeared into the shadows again with three phials of crimson liquid.
When she stepped back into the light she was holding a small bowl. She dipped her figure in the contents, and then painted a symbol on Aragorn's chest in a sticky, red liquid. Blood. When she moved on to the other two he could see that the symbol was the same one that was on the floor.
She then tipped the remaining blood into the central bowl and backed away. To the amazement of the three prisoners, the contents of the bowl began to glow a brilliant red. It flickered like firelight, and a ball of brightness rose up above the bowl.
As the ball of fire hung in the air it glowed brighter, until the three were nearly blinded, but something prevented them from looking away. The fire burned onto the back of Aragorn's eyes, and he felt as though he would see it even after it was gone.
Then with shocking suddenness it moved. It struck Pippin in the chest, and the hobbit let out a soul-tearing scream. The symbol on his chest was glowing as though it was burning, and it seemed to Aragorn that there were flames in his eyes. Aragorn tried to pull free from the chains, but could do nothing. It seemed like hours that Pippin stood screaming pain.
Then he slumped forwards. Dead or unconscious, Aragorn couldn't tell.
***
Author's note: Review, or Pippin gets it. Mwa ha ha ha!
