Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

Warnings: Angst, torture, goodbye

Mindless Babble:


Aragorn swayed a bit as he tried to tie the message to the hawk's leg. He succeeded on the third try. He spoke to the bird in a rough sounding voice, a voice that sounded strange even to his own ears.

The man watched the bird fly away, wondering if he was doing the right thing. It had been six months since the last time he had seen his brothers. On the day he had left, the twins had been out hunting and he had not the chance to say his farewells. He regretted that fact terribly.

Taking one last look at the sky, Aragorn started on his way. He tried to walk a straight line even though it seemed the path was rolling like a rough sea. His mind was hazy and it took every effort to just keep moving forward. He swept the sweat from his brow.

So focused on putting one foot in front of the other, Aragorn didn't even realize he was walking into a ambush until was too late. A blinding pain erupted from the back of his skull, taking his consciousness with it. The last thing he heard as he fell to the ground was the cackling laughter of the orcs and an eerie scream that followed him into darkness.


Aragorn awoke some time later, chained to the rock wall of a tiny darkened cell. The manacles had tiny spikes lining the inside that tore into his flesh. His head throbbed as if there were a drum beating in his head and he wanted to throw up but there was nothing in his stomach to come up. He shivered as the cold, dank air touched the bare skin of his upper body. He could feel the blood trickle from the cuts made by the knives they had used to cut away his shirt.

The door creaked open and a wave of cold flooded the small room. Aragorn pressed his back against the rough wall as fear clouded his mind. An orc slinked in, a whip in his clawed hand. The human looked at the creature, confused. A lone orc should not have caused the terror he was feeling.

"He is not well, Master," the orc said, sneering.

He then heard the hissing voice from outside of the room. It spoke in a language that Aragorn had never heard before now. It sounded like some form of harsh elvish. The sound of the voice made the man's head pound even more.

The orc laughed cruelly. "The Master says we cannot use poison. At least not yet!"

The door closed, cutting off the sound of the whip cutting into Aragorn's flesh.


Aragorn hung in the chains that bit into the already torn skin of his wrist. Every nerve in his body was aflame with agony. The techniques they had used to inflict pain, both physical and mental, had been varied so as not to let him build up a resistance to any one type of torture. Between the beatings and the poisonings, the orcs had burned him with sharp metal spikes, whipped him mercilessly, and used a barbed rope to strangle him just short of blacking out. When they tired of seeing his blood, the orcs would literally drag the man to an underground pool of murky water. They would then bind his hands and feet and throw him into the deepest waters, letting him sink for a while before pulling him back to the surface using the rope they would tie around his wrists. He was given little water and even less food.

Aragorn gingerly licked the blood from his split lip. He had long ago lost track of time, his existence becoming nothing more then long periods of pain blessed with an occasional time of nothingness. He could barely even lift his head when the door to his cell creaked open.

Even though only an orc shuffled in, Aragorn knew another stood behind the door. He could feel its cold and terrifying presence. A hissing sound confirmed his suspicions.

The orc stopped in front of the chained human and dropped something at his feet. The nasty creature grinned and scuttled out of the cell. It took Aragorn a few moments to focus on the object. A wave of horror washed over him, as he finally was able to recognize it as a broken bow. A very familiar bow.

"Your elf friend is dead, Ranger," the dark voice hissed. "He died screaming your name naught but an hour ago."

"This cannot be," breathed Aragorn. In that moment, he realized a whole new level of pain- pain of the heart. "It is not true!"

"I would show you his body but the orcs tore it apart."

"No…" Tears streamed down his filthy, bloodied cheeks, burning as they touched open wounds.

The creature disappeared, leaving the man to his agony.

'I failed him.' The thought kept repeating itself in the man's head like a mantra. He had been left alone for the past couple of hours, letting him brood over the fate of his friend. So lost in dark thoughts, he didn't even notice the door open, giving way to the large orc that lumbered in. A squeak of terror penetrated the black fog of thought that had encased Aragorn's mind and he looked up.

The orc carried two beings, one under each arm. The one on the right was a human barely into manhood, light brown hair framing a face that had seen too many horrors for one so young. The other was a fair-haired elf child, bright sapphire eyes full of fear and confusion.

An orc appeared from behind his larger brethren and stalked up to Aragorn. "My lord is disappointed that we have not been able to break you," it sneered. "But this will give us time to find where your loyalties lie."

The shorter orc walked past blond elf, one claw tracing the child's jaw line. Are you more elven, like your 'family' or…?" he stopped in front of the human and cupped the young man's face with both of his leathery hands. "Are you more human like your heritage?"

"Leave them be! They have nothing to do with this!" Aragorn growled. The fear that they knew who was he and why they threatened these two beings gave his weary and battered body a bit of strength.

"Oh, but they do," the orc grinned, looking over his shoulder at the man. "You decide their fate."

Aragorn managed to glare at the foul creature. "What do you mean?"

"You choose which one dies first!'

A look of absolute horror crossed over the man's bruised face. "You cannot truly believe that I would do such a thing!"

"You may refuse," the orc said turning to face the human. "But both will still die. If you choose, it will be quick and relatively painless. However, if you do not, their deaths will be slow and excruciating.

Aragorn sagged in his chains, ignoring the tearing of his skin as the tiny spikes dug in. "I cannot choose, for both are my kin."

Both of the younger captives looked at him strangely. The elf's eyes open wide as he realized who the man might be. Hailing from Mirkwood, the elf child had heard tales of his brave prince and the young human Ranger that accompanied him on their adventures. He could not believe that this near broken shell of a human was the same reckless man!

"Strider?" the child asked softly, a bit surprised when the human raised his head. Switching to the gray tongue, he continued. "I am not afraid of death, my friend."

The orc stormed over to the fair-haired child and backhanded him. "Just for that, you will die slow!"

The younger human had been silent since he had first been brought into the small cell, watching. He had seen the anger melt into despair in the man chained to the wall and it angered him. The man had obviously been a proud man once, but it appeared that he had been here a long time. This place alone could break a person's spirit. But when the orc hit the beautiful creature, a red haze dropped over his vision. He twisted out of the larger orc's grasp and lunged at the smaller one. Moving faster then anyone thought it could, the orc sidestepped the charge and grabbed the boy's head. A quick twist, a sickening 'crack' and it was over. The orc dropped the body, scowling.

"I wanted to hear this one scream."

"Brenen…" The elf whispered the name with such sorrow, Aragorn felt as if his heart would break. He could sympathize with him, now.

Their tormentor grabbed the elf, determined to have some fun with the two remaining captives. He dragged the elf and stood him so that bright azure eyes were only inches away from dull silver ones. Placing a knife under the fair one's neck and pressing it against the pale skin, the orc taunted Aragorn.

"You couldn't save the human and now you are powerless to rescue this one. Some savior you are!"

"Let him go! I beg you!" Tears traced new paths down his cheeks.

The elf child managed to whisper a single word, hopping the Ranger would understand, before the orc ripped open his throat. Warm blood splattered across Aragorn's face and he watched, helplessly, as the life drained from the young body. The lifeless husk dropped to the ground, taking the last of the human's resistance with it. He retreated into himself trying to find a way to escape the pain.

The orc grinned in triumph as he watched the man go completely limp. He took a key from his pocket and released the man from his bloody shackles. Aragorn crumpled into a heap like a marionette with its strings cut. The orc seized the man's jaw and forced the Ranger to look up. Glazed, unseeing eyes confirmed what the orc already knew. The spirit of the man had fled. He let go of the human, letting him fall face down and turned to the person standing in the open doorway.

"It is done, my lord. He is broken."

The bearded man smiled as he reached into his white robes. He chuckled as he withdrew his hand. In it he held a ring. Taking one last look at the twin serpents with emerald eyes, he dropped it.

"The last threat to Lord Sauron is no more. I will leave for Isengard in the morning."


Aragorn glanced over his shoulder to look at the three that were trying to catch up to him. Elrohir had the lead but his twin and Legolas were not that far behind. The human laughed, urging his horse even faster. He slowed as he left the open fields and entered the darkened woods. After a few moments of riding, he stopped and turned around in the saddle to look for his brothers and friend. They were nowhere to be found. A mild sense of panic set in as Aragorn realized he was alone and lost.

Something tugged at his senses. He let his gaze wander as he tried to figure out what called to him. His eyes fell upon a cave a short distance away. He nudged his horse towards the cavern but the animal would not go. When Aragorn tried to force him to go the stallion reared, throwing his rider. He then turned and ran, heading back the way they had come.

Aragorn stood, dusted himself off and started to walk towards the cave. As he neared it, the pull on his senses became even stronger. He entered and walked to the center of the small cave. There was hardly any light here but the man was sure this was the spot his heart had led him to. He closed his eyes and let his hearing take over. A steady dripping of water caught his attention.

Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip.

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and softly groaned. The only light came from the torched that hung on the wall outside his cell. At first he could see nothing; only hearing the water drops falling. He blinked a couple of times before he was able to focus on anything. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw clearly was the pool of dried blood that lay only a few inches from his head.

Aragorn moaned as the memories came rushing back, threatening to engulf him once again. A tiny flash of silver gave him something else to focus on, rescuing him from the darkness. He reached out with a shaking hand and grasped the small object. Rolling to his side, Aragorn pulled the object to him.

He opened his hand to find a familiar silver ring. The emotions that rushed into him were foreign to him at this point. They had not been felt by the man in a very long time. These feeling were mostly warm and comfortable. However, they were tainted by sorrow. Aragorn found a sort of strange relief at the familiar emotion and latched on to it. He then found himself remembering things that he did not want to recall. One memory stood out among the others. 'Leave my sight and never darken this home again with your presence!'

Aragorn could feel the despair wrapping around his heart, attempting to undo all the good the ring had done. As he stared at the silver band, an imaged surfaced in his mind. It took him a few moments to work through the fog that clouded his memory to remember who the twin elves were.

"Elladan… Elrohir…" Aragorn closed his eyes, suddenly recalling his dream. There was one other in the dream, a fair-haired elf. The thought of him brought tears to the man's eyes.

"Legolas." Just saying the name tore at Aragorn's already damaged heart. His best friend was dead and it was his fault. Someone had to tell King Thranduil the fate of his only son. And he still had to say goodbye to his brothers. Then he would rest. Aragorn slid Barahir on the forefinger of his left hand.

With his mind made up and his resolve hardened, Strider struggled to his feet. The world swayed and darkened but he fought to stay on his feet. He leaned against the wall until his vision cleared. He moved stiffly towards the door and gave it a gentle pull, a bit surprised when it opened. Upon thinking about it, he shouldn't really be all that amazed; they did think him broken.

Strider slowly opened the door and peeked out. His cell was one of many that surrounded a central chamber, a room he knew well. As he stumbled into the larger room, Strider tried to avoid looking at the table that stood in the middle. He had spent many hours screaming and bleeding on it.

As he glanced around the room, his eyes found something familiar. Leaning against the far wall was his bow and half filled quiver. His leather coat lay in a crumpled ball next to his weapons. As he made his way to his weapon he looked for any sign of the guards, finding none. He heard noises in the hall and realized that the orc were heading his way. From the sound of it, there were only two or three.

Strider snatched up his weapons and readied his bow. He shot the first orc in the chest before it was even in the door. An arrow through the neck took down the next one as it watched its brother fell. The third one fell with an arrow in its back as it tried to run away.

Strider leaned against the wall as his body reacted to the adrenalin rushing in his veins. As soon as the dizziness left him, he strapped his sword to his hip and gathered the rest of his gear. He stepped into the hall and had to pause for a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. When they did, he found himself at the end of a passage lined with many doors like the one he had just stepped through. He heard no sounds from within any of them and realized that he was quite possibly the only living prisoner in this place, wherever 'here' was. He crept forward, listening intently for more guards. He reached a set of stairs that led straight up to a heavy wooden door. Strider slowly ascended the steps, his legs aching from lack of use.

He reached the door and just barely cracked the door open. He had believed that it would just lead to another hall but was pleasantly surprised to find an open courtyard. It was crowded with orcs that seemed to be getting some sort of convoy ready to leave. Horses were being hitched to heavily laden wagons heaped with food and weapons.

A cart near Strider carried a load of oddly shaped shields loosely covered with a tarp. The man looked around, carefully searching for any watchful eyes. Seeing none, he quietly slid under the tarp and pulled a few of the shields over himself for cover. He let out the breath that he had not realized he had been holding and tried to listen for any information that could be useful in his escape. He did not have long to wait.

"Hurry up, you scum! Our boys on the border need these supplies!"

"Why haven't they breached the city yet?"

"The human fools are resisting us! But with these supplies, the White City will fall! In a week's time, it will be ours!"

Strider felt his heart leap into his throat. 'The White City'? Minas Tirith?

"Let's go, men! It's already past noon and we have a long way to go!"

'Noon'? The sky had been dark. How could it be the middle of the day?

Strider shook his head slightly, trying to understand, but the pain-induced fog would not clear. He heard a whip snap and the cart jerked to a rolling start. Moments later a sound like a massive gate slamming shut, echoed around him. Then the only noise was the clopping of the horses and the squeaking of the wheels.

He tried to stay awake and alert, but his body had other ideas. All that had happened in his resent past caught up to Strider and sleep claimed him.