Chapter Three

Water splashed across Aragorn's face, and his eyes popped open. His face was dripping with water, and his eyelashes were stuck together. He had to blink rapidly many times before they unstuck themselves from his eyeballs. His already drenched tunic absorbed every drop of water that slid off his chin, his nose and fell off his matted hair. Aragorn lifted a sore arm and wiped his face with the ragged cloth that remained of his sleeve, wincing as he struggled to move.

He was leaning painfully against a mountain wall that had sharp rocks jutting out everywhere, pressing into his back and neck. There was no snow around him, and he knew that they must have carried him to the base of the mountain, probably half a day's march at a fast and steady pace without any rest. Through his blurred vision, he could make out a massive hoard of orcs around a fire. They did not seem to be watching him carefully. In fact, as he cautiously moved his head around, he saw that they had left him completely unwatched. He kept him mouth shut, and quieted his breathing as he tried to push himself off the wall. As hard as tried, he could not muster up the energy to do so. He collapsed back into it, a sharp point jabbing right into the center of his back. He accidentally let out a yelp of pain, and immediately shut his mouth as he had aroused the camping orcs' attentions.

A particularly ugly orc sitting at the edge of the ring walked with heavy strides over to him, and greeted him by kicking his legs. Aragorn could just barely feel the pain as he moved his legs carefully trying hard to avoid any more kicks that the orc would send his way.

"Get up, human." The orc growled at him, baring his sharp yellow teeth. Aragorn could do nothing but obey the orders, and he moved his arms so that the palms of his hands were pressed against the dirt ground. He pushed himself up slowly, trying hard to ignore the impatient orc standing in front of him tapping his foot, one hand playing with his whip, the other gently stroking the hilt of its sword. As soon as Aragorn managed to push himself up onto his feet, his knees gave way and he fell in the crumpled heap on the floor he had been while unconscious. The orc grabbed his wrist and pulled him back onto his feet. Aragorn was shoved into the wall and he winced as more pain was added to the pain he had yet to recover from.

The orc strode toward him, and Aragorn drove himself further back into the wall, his fright making him ignore how much pain he was causing himself. O Eru, take my life now he prayed silently, spare me this pain and take me from Middle Earth. The orc placed a scabby hand under Aragorn's chin and flipped his head back before using its mangled hands to pry open his mouth. Aragorn promptly snapped his jaws shut again, narrowly missing his own tongue. This obviously displeased the orc, for it tried to pry open the jaws a second time, only to have two rows of pearly white teeth gnash at him. The orc raised its knee, sending it straight into Aragorn's stomach.

"Keep it open, human." it growled in his ear, "I've been waiting a long time to test my little toy on someone." It took a step back and motioned to the hilt of a dagger that was hanging form its black bloodstained leathery belt. Aragorn had no other choice but to open his mouth. "Good. Keep it open now." The orc hissed, raising a dirty flask and pressing it to Aragorn's lips.

Aragorn's eyes widened as the orc began to tip the liquid inside the flask down his throat. Aragorn tried to keep it in his mouth, away from his esophagus, but it burnt his tongue and gums and he swallowed it by reflex, sending the burning sensation from his mouth down to his stomach. From there, it spread to his toes, to his fingers, to his ears and the very roots of his hairs. He shuddered, bathing his mouth in spit, trying to get rid of the bitter taste of the liquid that had clung to his taste buds. He was surprised to find that the strange orc liquid gave him strength and dulled the pain that was surging through ever single nerve in his body. It was somewhat similar to the cordial of Imladris, only it did not taste even half as pleasant.

By this time, the orcs had all stood up and were beginning to move forward at a quick pace into a dead plain and out of the mountains. Aragorn hesitantly raised his foot before placing it back on the ground next to his other. The same orc that had given him the orc draught had lost all patience with the young human and pushed Aragorn over roughly, sprawl-legged onto the ground.

"Get up, or we'll be forced to carry you over the bridge." It kicked at Aragorn's legs again and undiluted pain surged through his right leg. It dragged Aragorn back to his feet by his hair, and he couldn't help yelling out in pain. "Now wouldn't it be a pity if you fell of the bridge into the abyss, and it wasn't even your own fault." The orc growled in his ear.

Aragorn had heard tales of the bottomless pit inside Moria while still a child sitting in the Hall of Fire, and remembering them made him shudder. He wasn't going to die falling off the bridge in the arms of a foul orc. He refused to die because his carrier had been caught up in a fight. Aragorn hurried forward and reluctantly joined in with the rest of the orcs and began to march steadily along the side of the mountain.

TBC...

Thank you guys so much! Seven more reviews! :gives hugs to all:

Down side up: I'm sorry to say that I laughed when I read your review. But thank you so much!
Anmras: I'm really enjoying your  reviews. I am positively glowing with happiness to know that you enjoy this story :)
Soledad: haha, I'm really sorry if I gave you nightmares. I hope you didn't. I hate those dreams in which I'm being chased by orcs. :shudders:
WickedFantasies: lahdeedah. Fine. Moopy am I? lol!
anonymus: I'm sorry to read that you don't like the way that I am portraying Aragorn. I know Tolkien has this habit of being very unrealistic, but the way I see it, to become the fearless warrior he is at the age of eighty years, he must have gone through some rather unpleasant and frightening experiences in which he cannot bring himself to (practically commit suicide by) fighting a band of orcs and wargs that he knows he cannot overcome.
Dimathiel: eh heh heh. Thanks jia :). It's nice to know that I can now kind of do descriptive writing. I have Chadwick again. :meep!:
Ben: lol. thanks Ben ;)

Now, if you would be so kind as to review again, I would look like one of the radioactive fish that have adapted to their surroundings in Victoria Harbor (place in Hong Kong) that we're making for art. (no, they are not radioactive, nor are they deformed) Only that I would be glowing with happiness.