Part 5 of a story that still doesn't have a name
Aragorn did another sharp intake of breath. The hunters had reached the town of Frisdan 5 days ago, and had finally given up the search for Taradin, for which the ranger was grateful as Taradin was a good friend of his.
But this had also meant the start of the interrogation for the whereabouts of the hunter in question and it was where Aragorn now found himself after finally awakening from their last 'session'.
Doulgil was ruthless with his captives and not one of them had resisted the temptation of unconsciousness. Aragorn spat the blood that was fast forming in his mouth and lifted his head to glare silver daggers at his tormenter.
"Where...is...he..." Doulgil demanded again, hitting Aragorn with the hefty wooden club between each word. Large, purple-black bruises covered the beaten form of the ranger, lying on top of a least three clearly broken ribs.
As he was hit once more, this time on the head across the still bleeding gash across his face, he felt himself once more falling victim to the dreamless sleep. Aragorn almost sighed in relief. Although he was loath to admit it, he would do any thing to get away from the enraged captor.
"Oh no you don't" Aragorn felt himself being slapped around the face and the icy cold sensation of water being thrown over him which effectively chased away any remaining forms of unconsciousness.
Turning to face Limidon and Neonatal who were looking with glee at the wrecked body of the human, he smiled grimly, but with a certain amount of pleasure and said,
"It seems the little birdie doesn't want to sing. 'haps it's time to be a little more persuasive" Walking over to the table situated in the dark corner, he lifted up the bulky whip and shook it gently, watching as the kinks smoothed out and swayed slightly as he walked back to the heavily breathing ranger.
Aragorn had barely registered the latest weapon before it was brought down on with him such force it was all said human could do not to cry out in pain. Doulgil nodded with satisfaction as he caught the scarcely choked sound that was barely emitted form the tortured soul.
Content with that he carried on like it for the next half hour, never relenting and not even questioning the ranger. He got enough pleasure just seeing how the human arched his back in pain, the quickening of his breathing, and the large pool of blood assembling around the broken body.
The large whip wrapped itself around the prone body of the ranger, biting deep into the skin. Aragorn bit back the cry that was on the tip of his tongue. Instead he opened his eyes (when had he shut them?) and glared darkly at the human in front of him. Doulgil stared fully into the gaze and unconsciously took a small step backwards.
The captive's silver orbs were alight with a burning fury so intense Doulgil wouldn't have been surprised if his clothes had burst into flames. He had expected to see at least a little fear and most certainly pain in those deep eyes but there was only anger.
He adverted his eyes and looked down for a second, humiliated for letting the ranger scare him like that. He was his captive! He wrenched his gaze back up and struck out at the human with his fist, angry at the victim for showing him up in front of his men. He renewed his assault, wiping the ranger's blood of his hand.
At last it was too much for even the strong body of the Dunedan. Doulgil didn't even try to re-wake the unconscious human but set about examining what damage he had inflicted on the tiresome ranger, noting with approval at the gleaming white rib that stuck out vividly against the purple bruises surrounding the torn flesh.
He prodded it interestedly; he had always wondered what a rib felt like. He chuckled gaily as the blinding pain penetrated through the human's dull senses, although it didn't arouse him.
But his mood was turned dark once more as he realised that he was no closer to finding his brothers murderer than before. He smiled harshly; it was time for the blonde elf. He would have fun with this one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord Elrond of Imladris stared blindly out into the vast gardens of Rivendell, leaning lightly on the wooden banister surrounding Estel balcony. It was a trait of the elf lord to stand on this particular balcony when ever his youngest son went missing. As it were with his twins.
He was worried. Any elf could tell that by the rigid way he held him self and the dark bags that were fast forming under his eyes. His sons -yes even Legolas who he counted as much as a son as Estel, due to the numerous times said prince had saved said human's life and had become such a great and true friend of the ranger, and the whole of the edan's family- were almost two weeks overdue from their 2 day hunting trip and try as he might to convince himself that they were fine, that little voice in the back of his head reminded him of all the brainless things the four of them had got themselves into over the past 2 years.
He was brought out of his thoughts by light, almost soundless footsteps from behind him. He sighed, he knew what was coming, it never failed. Whenever he was worried either Glorfindel or Celeboril, -whoever was closest- gave him a speech on how he shouldn't fret and that his sons and Legolas were fine, this wasn't his fault, and that they would be home before he knew it with some crazy story and each supporting the other.
"Lord Elrond, you shouldn't fret, we're sure your sons and Legolas are fine. Believe us, this isn't your fault. They will be home before you know it with some crazy story and each one supporting the other."
Elrond smiled, he'd known it, he had just known it was coming. Although he had been slightly surprised to hear two voices. Obviously Glorfindel and Celeboril had joined forces.
Turning round he raised a hand,
"Peace my friends, do not trouble yourselves over me. I know you are trying to help but you will not be able to calm my fears however hard you try. Only another father would know of what I'm going thorough, so please, say no more."
He watched in satisfaction as the elf lord and servant in front of him both bit back whatever comment was on their tongue. Instead Glorfindel just bowed his head in acknowledgement and Celeboril held forward the large cup of herbal tea he had brewed for the troubled elf.
Elrond took it with a smile, taking a sip and missing the own secret grin shared between his two friends as they left his room. As they walked out of hearing shot the Balrog-slayer muttered to the elf lord's servant,
"How long until the sleeping potion works."
Celeboril's grin widened as he replied,
"In a matter of seconds. I just hope he reaches Estel's bed before he falls asleep."
At that moment a large crash sounded from behind them.
"I take that as he didn't" Glorfindel murmured as he turned back up the hall to make sure his lord was alright.
"I didn't know an elf could make that much noise" Celeboril muttered at the same time, also going to check on his friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas could barely move his numb fingers as he wrestled with the ropes binding them together. Aragorn had been taken an hour ago and Legolas almost wept with fury, knowing what kind of torture his friend was suffering, yet remaining powerless to help.
As his sharp elven ears caught the sounds of heavy footsteps he relented and vowed to continue to free himself once the visitors were gone. As the doors were thrown open Doulgil stepped in, dropping a motionless object to the floor and kicking it none too gently to the side.
Legolas gasped as he saw the marks that decorated his best friend's body.
"What did they do to you" The prince whispered, moving as swiftly as he could to the ranger's side, not caring if his captors were watching or not.
His long, thin fingers ran over the bruised, torn body, taking in the numerous hurts. As his hands found the bone sticking out from the flesh he felt himself pale. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him.
//This is all my fault. I should have paid closer attention that night. I could, I should have prevented this. I am so sorry my friend please forgive me.\\
He began to talk out loud, begging that his friend would not fault him, although not blaming him if he did.
"Please mellonamin, forgive me, I am sorry, amin hiraetha." (I am sorry)
As their leader motioned them forward, Limidon and Neonatal grasped Legolas's arms and drug him out of his dark cell, almost releasing him as the elf struggled violently to stay with his friend.
The commotion the prince made woke the final two occupants of the dank prison. As Elrohir raised his head from his pillow in the form of Elladan's stomach, he scarcely caught the retreating form of his golden haired friend.
As this thought registered he realised that he must have fallen asleep whilst waiting for his brother to be returned. This was an occurrence that was hardly known to happen to the Nolder elves who rarely fell asleep with out meaning to.
As he moved his older brother also woke and was as equally surprised to find that he had fallen asleep. As his eyes travelled quickly round the tiny chamber he spied the small form of his little brother.
With a cry of angst he reached his side, joined rapidly by Elrohir. Like Legolas they checked his body, soon coming to rest on the broken ribs, and one in particular that protruded from the human's body.
Elrohir gasped as he saw the gleaming bone, now tinged a pale red from the warm, sticky blood that flowed freely from the gaping wound. Hurriedly tearing a strip of cloth from his already ripped and tattered tunic, he pressed it against the hole in his adopted brother's side. Elrohir tore another piece of material from his own shirt to bind the fabric to his youngest brother's midsection.
They then set about tending to Aragorn's other cuts and bruises with whatever limited supplies they had. Dougil's men had thankfully not taken their packs which contained all their herbs, although they had, naturally, taken their weapons.
As Elrohir coated the final bruise with a generous layer of the cream he had prepared from the herbs, Elladan began the tedious job of cleaning the ranger's 'cut' on his chest.
Removing the makeshift bandage from earlier, Elladan got his twin to hold on to Estel tightly. He knew this would be painful, and he wished with all his heart that he didn't have to do it. But he also knew that if he left it, it would become a lot more painful and most likely in infected.
As predicted Aragorn let out a low moan, trying in vain to get away from the firm hands that held, keeping him from escaping this new pain.
"I am sorry Estel, but we have to do this. Please calm down, it will be over soon" Elladan begged his brother to relax and not make this any harder than it was. Closing his eyes he took a shuddering breath, vowing to get revenge on the man that had caused his brother this pain, and was with no doubt doing the same thing to one of his best friends.
Thinking of Legolas would not help Estel get better and he once more bent down to clean the wounds. He hated to think of what shape the prince would be in when he returned. They had done this to Estel, what would they do to the elf that could keep his consciousness for a lot longer than the human, and therefore could endure the beating for much longer.
Elladan sent a silent prayer to the Valor, pleading that they would keep his friend from too much harm at the hands of their captor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the blonde elf was dragged struggling into the small room, Doulgil picked up the whip from where it lay forgotten on the floor, fingering the weapon he had used on his last victim, still stained with the Dunedan's blood.
He decided to start simply with the defiant elf, and work his way up. As he was chained, kneeling, to the floor, Legolas glared up at the human in front of him, quickly taking in the table of weapons and the pool of blood he was being forced to sit in. His friend's blood to be exact.
"You will die for this. I swear to you that you will pay for all the pain you have inflicted on my friends, and believe me, I never break my promises."
And Doulgil did believe him. Something in the icy blue orbs that stared deep into his held the pledge of death. He shuddered. But he still wasn't put off. If only they would tell him what he wanted to know, then they wouldn't have to go through all this pain.
He sighed. He should have know they would be stubborn. //Oh well\\ he thought //as long as I get the information need, I will go on for ever.\\ So thinking he brought the whip down, watching as it curled round the elf's chest, tearing through the rags that were once a tunic and leaving scorching red strips of burning flesh as it released it hold and uncurled, only to strike at the elf again. And again.
But eventually he grew bored of the whip and returned it once more to the table. He had been working on his weapons for a little over a month, ever since his younger brother's death.
At last his hand rested on one of his favourite devices. It was an oil like substance, kept in a waterskin flask. At a glance it appeared perfectly harmless. Even at a closer look it showed no intention of harm. But when you touched it... As Doulgil lifted it up he was careful not to let any spill on his hand, knowing the effect it would have.
He and his brother had discovered this thick liquid in one of the many caves surrounding their childhood home. When Souldil had been alive.
*Flashback*
Doulgil chased his brother into the cave. They had been planning to explore this particular cave for weeks now and the older brother was not about to let his little brother go in there heedlessly.
Their father had warned them of the dangers lying in the cave. As they wandered through the vast passages they heard the sound of tinkling water dripping down the rocks into a small pool. Deciding to see how it came to be there, they followed the sound, walking through even more stone passageways.
At last they came to an almost hall like cave and there they found the source of the sound. Souldil ran forward and knelt by the pool. He dipped both hands into the water, planning to collect the water in his cupped palms so he could drink it.
But as his fingers entered the puddle, he drew them back with a yell. His hands were bright red, and already there were white blisters forming. As soon as Souldil had touched it, the liquid had reacted, the substance burning as though it were fire.
*End flashback*
Doulgil had gone back to the cave and had re-found the water, prepared for when he found his brother's murderer. He smiled sadly at the memory, remembering how he had hurried his brother home, who in turn complained that his brother was 'mothering' him too much and that he was fine. But that claim was ruined by the pain shed tears that rolled down his little brother's pale face.
Dougil's face turned steely again as he realised that he would never be able to hear Souldil's voice or see his face again. He pulled gloves over his rough, calloused hands for precaution as he soaked a rag with the oily substance.
He grinned as he approached the panting elf whose own blood had swiftly joined that of his friend's on the floor. So far he had not been able to get a sound out of the elf; he was much more resilient than the human. But that wouldn't last for long. His smile grew wider.
He stopped in front of the prince and spoke, once more trying to get the information he so dearly desired.
"Tell me, where is he. You could prevent all this pain if only you would tell me where this murderer is. I do not like inflicting pain on others, believe me, but if it is the only way to avenge the death of my brother, I would do it gladly. This is your final warning elf, tell me what I want to hear and you can go free."
Legolas severely doubted this. The man obviously enjoyed every moment of pain he brought on his prisoners, whether he really did want to avenge his brother, or if he was just bored. Taking a deep breath, Legolas lifted his head and spoke through bruised, swollen lips, his voice rough.
"I will never betray my friend. Your brother's life was only taken due to the fact that he was stupid enough to try and take the life of another" Now, this was probably the most foolish thing Legolas could have said in his current situation.
"Your brother deserved death for the greedy, selfish way he was prepared to trade the freedom of another living being for useless pieces of gold." Then again, maybe it was only the second stupidest thing he could have said.
Doulgil stepped forwards, eyes blazing. How dare he, how dare he. He rubbed the cloth fiercely into the elf's numerous cuts that could be found on any part of the prince's back. He laughed mirthlessly as the elf stiffened, the fiery pain spreading through his body, robbing him of all breath.
He couldn't remember when he had suffered pain as bad as this. His back felt as if it was on fire. Fire that ran through his veins, consuming his whole body. Legolas clenched his teeth. Why was he doing this? He must know by now that they wouldn't betray Taradin.
The pain hadn't even gone when the oil was once more rubbed into his system. The elf couldn't bare it any longer. He finally let out a choked cry that was quickly followed by many others.
Doulgil smiled in satisfaction. It was working perfectly. At last the flask was empted of all its contents. Doulgil was openly surprised that the elf had even lasted this long.
Legolas could hardly breathe. It felt like all the skin on his back had been burned. He didn't know how he could hurt in so many different places at the same time. For Eru's sake he didn't know if it was possible to hurt this much on just one part of his back. What had been in that flask?
He tried to re-gather his strength but knew that he was failing miserably. So much for elven endurance. He just wanted to sleep for the next hundred years; he couldn't bare the thought of any more pain.
Rocking back on his heels Doulgil raised an amused eyebrow as his captive slumped against his bonds, unable to do anything apart from breathing. And even that was becoming difficult.
Shaking his head, Doulgil reached forward and grasped the elf by the chin. He forced Legolas's head upwards until he was looking straight at his captor. And yet, even though he was barely conscious, Legolas met the gaze fully, never once adverting his eyes.
Eyes that were, yes, filled with pain, but also an almost calm sense of anger. An emotion that showed that the elf wanted nothing more than to rip the man in front of him into a million pieces, and yet was patient enough to wait until he was perfectly ready too. Ready to inflict on the man a death so raw and well deserved that he would gladly wait 1000 years to bring it upon him.
Doulgil dropped his own gaze in disgust, letting loose his hold on the elf. He stood up, then in one swift movement bent down and backhanded the elf roughly across the face, once more sending the prince into the blissful world of unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Taradin re-read the letter in his hands before passing it over to Aneol who read it as well, a look of puzzlement flittering across his face.
"What do you think he means, 'a stranger clothed in black'?"
"I don't know" Taradin sighed, running a rough hand over his face.
"But I suppose we should go and check it out."
The letter the two hunters were now discussing had arrived at their camp not 5 minutes before in the hands of a messenger from the town of Frisdan. Said messenger was standing to the side, obviously waiting for a reply. The note had been written by the mayor of the town, Eon Claster, who Taradin knew fairly well.
The letter had contained news of a mysteries stranger that had come to their town not six days previous, searching for someone, though no one knew who. He had now taken up refuge in one of the half ruined watch towers, whose only room's that were still intact were a few small quarters and the dungeons.
The mayor had written asking, no begging, them to come and investigate as apparently this man had been hassling the townsfolk and scaring the women and children. Taradin had snorted at this. He knew Eon and his ways, and no doubt he was feeling just as intimidated by this man as he had said the women were. He was just trying to find an easy way out of making decisions. What better way to get rid of the problem than to dump it on some unsuspecting hunters who had absolutely no training in this area of work.
Taradin scribbled a hasty reply on the back of the note saying that they were on their way, before handing it to the envoy and walking off to help break up their camp.
As he bent down to clear away ant ash left from the fire, his adopted son, Garith, came over to him.
"Are we leaving again father? I thought you said we were to stay here for a while"
"I know my son but something has come up. We are to leave for the town of Frisdan at once to sort out some business".
"And I am coming too aren't I." Garith crossed his arms, prepared to argue if his father disagreed.
"To Frisdan, yes. But depending on what it is that so troubles the mayor, you may not be able to accompany me everywhere."
Garith squinted at his father, trying to work out if he had got his way or not. Upon deciding that he had, he joined his father in trying to cover all traces that there had actually been a camp here. Although it would never fool an elf or even a ranger, to the common mans eyes there were no visible tracks to indicate their short stay.
Taradin wasn't to sure why the mayor had even called on him, it was custom for the ranger's to take an interest in problems that may result in the harming of innocent people. Although, he supposed, that one man didn't really pose that much of a threat, and therefore was too small a worry to risk involving the ranger's, who, despite the many ways they helped and protected the little towns, were still regarded as 'dangerous folk.' And he had the most un-nerving feeling that the mayor was keeping something from him.
At last the small group of hunters were ready for departure. Taradin shouldered his pack, watching put for his quiver and bow, and lead the march to Frisdan where they would find out what this menace was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Neonatal and Tongil entered the damp, shadowy cell to find their two elven prisoners that still remand there tending to the human's cuts. But the two hunters chose to ignore this as they each walked over to one of the twins and tried to pull them to their feet.
Elladan hadn't even registered the two men until they had both suddenly latched on to him and his brother and attempted to remove them from their brother's side. The older twin wrenched his arm free of Tongil's grip and shoved the man away from him. Even in his weakened state he still had plenty of strength in him.
He turned round to find that Elrohir had done the same thing before he dropped to his knees again and resumed cleaning Aragorn's arm as if nothing had happened. Tongil just stared at his prisoner before he rushed forward and aimed a kick at the elf.
Even with his elven reflexes Elladan didn't move in time to dodge the blow which caught him square in the ribs. Elrohir jumped forward to help his older brother when Neonatal joined his friend and began attacking the elves as well. He took a moment to yell up the corridor before aiming a punch at Elrohir's face who had barely enough time to dodge.
It was worrying, Elladan thought, at how much enjoyment they got out of harming them. They just loved the sense of power and took advantage of it at the slightest chance, no matter who it hurt. Literally. He suppressed another groan.
Unfortunately Neonatal's shout had attracted attention as planned and the two hunters were quickly joined by Fidelio, Piscean and Hindemith. Limidon was still with his leader with Legolas.
With the new help Elladan and Elrohir were soon on the floor, gasping for breathe as they were punched repeatedly in the stomach and kicked on head. Elladan knew that at least half of his finally healing cuts that he had sustained from the sadistic leader had been re-opened again, and with no little amount of pain.
They were dragged, only half conscious, out of the dungeon that they had spent the last few nights in, and hauled down the corridor. Hindemith kicked open the door to a room about ten meters from the original room and heaved Elrohir over to the far corner before him dropping none to gently and walked over to the door, stepping on Elladan who was in the way.
Neonatal stood in the doorway, about to close the door when he caught the youngest twin's eye, something he later regretted. In those eyes was such fury the human has never seen before. The icy blue eyes burned into his containing, smouldering with fiercely heated rage. The hunter dropped his gaze in a matter of seconds. He began to question whether keeping these elves locked up and harming their brother and friend was such a wise idea. With these doubts forming in his mind he slammed the heavy oak door behind him and pulled the rusty bolts across it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taradin blinked, trying to see past the heavy sheets of rain that was currently descending on them. He would have loved nothing better than to stop and put up camp, but if he were to make it to Frisdan by tomorrow, as he had said in the note, than they would have to carry on, however uncomfortable it was.
At his side Garith was also battling on, muttering curses that sounded an awful lot like...Dwarvish. When he got his hands on that dreadful ranger and his elf friends. Teaching his son swearwords, and dwarvish ones at that.
Aneol stared at his leader and son who were walking side by side both muttering curses in It seemed some strange language. Although whereas Garith was grumbling about the weather, Taradin appeared to be swearing at Strider, the twins, and prince Legolas. It seemed that Taradin wasn't past using Dwarvish himself. It was only his family that couldn't.
Aneol shook his head. It was at times like this when he questioned his leader's sanity. And it seemed that Taradin was rubbing off on his son. He shook his head again, oblivious to the stares he was also garnering.
Eventually though the sodden group reached the gates to Frisdan and Taradin looked up in surprise. He was so concentrated with his swearing that he hadn't realised how close they were. He quickly redirected his gaze to the guard who was peering out of a spy hole half way up the wooden gate.
The guard peered out suspiciously, not used to opening the gates past sun set. And he said so,
"'Ere, it ain't normal like for folks to be out this late. What's your business then eh, an' no lies mister. Come on, I 'aven't got all day to stan' aroun'."
"Peace, we have come on request of your mayor, and I have with me a letter from Eon to show to anyone that I may cross who is has reason to believe that I am a threat. I will get it for you if you wish"
"No, no, ain't no need for that now, you just come o' in."
With a slight smile Taradin stepped through he now open gates, followed closely with the rest of his group who were eager to get into the warmth. Due to his numerous visits to the town Taradin knew where all the best inns were so set off straight down one of the many roads, heading for the 'Headless Orc'.
Taradin was almost sure that he had heard a sigh of relief as he pushed open the inn doors and stepped into the gratefully warm tavern that was filled with all ready rowdy customers and the overwhelming scent of ale, cheese and men.
Walking up to the bar he requested the use of six of the barman's rooms and 7 ales. As an after thought he asked that one of those ales to be only a half pint, to which Garith protested loudly.
Taradin just smiled fondly at his son before ignoring him completely and walking over to the table his men had quickly occupied. Garith turned back as if making to change the order when he stopped, as if he were recalling a sudden memory, before wincing, rubbing the back of his neck as if remembering pain there and quickly joining his father at the table.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taradin lay on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, not used to the comfort of pillows and a soft mattress beneath him. He thought over his plans for the next day, namely which consisted of seeing the mayor.
He was still troubled over the secrecy of the letter. What wasn't Eon telling him? He knew all his questions answered tomorrow but that didn't stop him worrying. He was no good at waiting. Strider was much better at that. He wondered how the ranger was. The last he had seen of him had been in the house of Elrond where he had just risen from collapsing despite his claims that he was perfectly healed from the Morgul poisoning.
He smiled at the thought. Perhaps Strider wasn't very patient after all. On the bed next to him he could here his son murmuring in his sleep. He frowned as he tried to make sense of the words.
"Where...goose...need egg...ahhhhhhhh...out...milk...how...have breakfast...no cheese...damn."
Taradin was seriously considering getting the boy some psychological help. He couldn't help grinning though as he listened to more of his son's mumblings. He sighed; he was never going to get to sleep.
He rolled over, trying to get comfortable, before finally giving up and jumping off his bed, leaving all but his blanket, and finally curling up on the nice hard floor, able to rest at last.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My heads full of thoughts
Thoughts of you
And I'm distracted so easily
Thinking what to do
So unsure so unfamiliar
~~~~Delta Goodram~~~~~
As Aragorn lay in what he supposed was darkness, he began to experience the pain of waking up after being beaten into unconsciousness. An experience in fact that he was very familiar with.
He couldn't help but groan as all his aches and pains made them selves clear. After a moment or two he began to struggle to open his eyes, but they didn't seem to want to. The last time his eyes refused to listen to him was, as far as Aragorn could remember, the last time his father had drugged him.
As he tried to loosen the glue that was apparently keeping his eyes closed, he heard the unwelcome sound of heavy footsteps. Heavy footsteps that appeared to be carrying, no dragging, an object along with them.
Aragorn lay as still as he could when the men entered his cell and dropped the article they held next to the ranger. Giving a hoarse laugh one of the men kicked Aragorn to the side to make room for the elf they had just deposited.
As they left Aragorn caught parts of their conversation.
"Won't last...night...surprised...ranger did..."
But what he heard was enough. He sat up straight, ignoring the pain that erupted all over his body and was at Legolas's side in a matter of seconds. He couldn't believe what was happening to them. He tried to check Legolas's pulse but his hand felt cold, so cold.
He took a shuddery breath and rested two fingers on the prince's wrist. He almost cried in relief when he felt the faint throbbing of a pulse. He was alive. He gently pulled away the elf's ruined tunic so he could see to the wounds better. He knew the prince would be in a lot of pain when he woke. If he woke.
"Legolas mellonamin, please be all right. Please, I will help you. Don't leave me."
Aragorn reached out blindly for his pack, his gaze never once leaving the sight of his best friend. As he empted the contents he was dismayed at the lack of herbs. He realised that his brothers must have used them on him. No wonder he managed to sit up with minimum difficulty.
At that thought he realised that his brother's weren't there. Dread flooded through his body. If they weren't here than they must be with...Doulgil. This was all his fault. It really was. This had all started because he had wanted to play a trick on his friend. His friend that may not even live to see another day, another summer. Legolas would be gone and he would be on his own with only his guilt for company. Thranduil would loose his only son and would have to go across to Valinor alone to tell his wife that their child was dead. Dead because of him, a mere mortal.
With a shaking hand he set out what little supply's he had to make a poultice to place on Legolas's burns. Yet, he wasn't sure if it would be as effective as it should be, as on a closer inspection Aragorn had realised that these weren't normal burns caused by fire. They were something much different.
As he rubbed the soothing gel into the red marks he suppressed the worry and panic he felt for his friend. He knelt in front of Legolas and tried to get him to wake. He should of by now. He was going to make it, whatever those men said.
As he looked over the prone elf's body he could find the marks of the same whip that had been used on him, although they were barely visible under the inflamed skin. Despite his efforts, Aragorn knew that an infection had set in, and he was angry at his disability to help his best friend when he needed him most.
He attempted once more to rouse his friend. At long last he felt some movement under his finger tips, other than the erratically beating heart. Legolas was moving. He was alive, he was going to make...he was alive...alive.
He rocked back and forward gently, Legolas's head rested in lap. He had done all he could for the beaten elf and now all he could do was wait. Time would tell whether or not he would breathe the air again.
At last exhaustion settled over the weary human, and never once moving his best friend from where he lay, the ranger fell into a deep sleep; nothing short of Legolas moving would wake him.
Aragorn did another sharp intake of breath. The hunters had reached the town of Frisdan 5 days ago, and had finally given up the search for Taradin, for which the ranger was grateful as Taradin was a good friend of his.
But this had also meant the start of the interrogation for the whereabouts of the hunter in question and it was where Aragorn now found himself after finally awakening from their last 'session'.
Doulgil was ruthless with his captives and not one of them had resisted the temptation of unconsciousness. Aragorn spat the blood that was fast forming in his mouth and lifted his head to glare silver daggers at his tormenter.
"Where...is...he..." Doulgil demanded again, hitting Aragorn with the hefty wooden club between each word. Large, purple-black bruises covered the beaten form of the ranger, lying on top of a least three clearly broken ribs.
As he was hit once more, this time on the head across the still bleeding gash across his face, he felt himself once more falling victim to the dreamless sleep. Aragorn almost sighed in relief. Although he was loath to admit it, he would do any thing to get away from the enraged captor.
"Oh no you don't" Aragorn felt himself being slapped around the face and the icy cold sensation of water being thrown over him which effectively chased away any remaining forms of unconsciousness.
Turning to face Limidon and Neonatal who were looking with glee at the wrecked body of the human, he smiled grimly, but with a certain amount of pleasure and said,
"It seems the little birdie doesn't want to sing. 'haps it's time to be a little more persuasive" Walking over to the table situated in the dark corner, he lifted up the bulky whip and shook it gently, watching as the kinks smoothed out and swayed slightly as he walked back to the heavily breathing ranger.
Aragorn had barely registered the latest weapon before it was brought down on with him such force it was all said human could do not to cry out in pain. Doulgil nodded with satisfaction as he caught the scarcely choked sound that was barely emitted form the tortured soul.
Content with that he carried on like it for the next half hour, never relenting and not even questioning the ranger. He got enough pleasure just seeing how the human arched his back in pain, the quickening of his breathing, and the large pool of blood assembling around the broken body.
The large whip wrapped itself around the prone body of the ranger, biting deep into the skin. Aragorn bit back the cry that was on the tip of his tongue. Instead he opened his eyes (when had he shut them?) and glared darkly at the human in front of him. Doulgil stared fully into the gaze and unconsciously took a small step backwards.
The captive's silver orbs were alight with a burning fury so intense Doulgil wouldn't have been surprised if his clothes had burst into flames. He had expected to see at least a little fear and most certainly pain in those deep eyes but there was only anger.
He adverted his eyes and looked down for a second, humiliated for letting the ranger scare him like that. He was his captive! He wrenched his gaze back up and struck out at the human with his fist, angry at the victim for showing him up in front of his men. He renewed his assault, wiping the ranger's blood of his hand.
At last it was too much for even the strong body of the Dunedan. Doulgil didn't even try to re-wake the unconscious human but set about examining what damage he had inflicted on the tiresome ranger, noting with approval at the gleaming white rib that stuck out vividly against the purple bruises surrounding the torn flesh.
He prodded it interestedly; he had always wondered what a rib felt like. He chuckled gaily as the blinding pain penetrated through the human's dull senses, although it didn't arouse him.
But his mood was turned dark once more as he realised that he was no closer to finding his brothers murderer than before. He smiled harshly; it was time for the blonde elf. He would have fun with this one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord Elrond of Imladris stared blindly out into the vast gardens of Rivendell, leaning lightly on the wooden banister surrounding Estel balcony. It was a trait of the elf lord to stand on this particular balcony when ever his youngest son went missing. As it were with his twins.
He was worried. Any elf could tell that by the rigid way he held him self and the dark bags that were fast forming under his eyes. His sons -yes even Legolas who he counted as much as a son as Estel, due to the numerous times said prince had saved said human's life and had become such a great and true friend of the ranger, and the whole of the edan's family- were almost two weeks overdue from their 2 day hunting trip and try as he might to convince himself that they were fine, that little voice in the back of his head reminded him of all the brainless things the four of them had got themselves into over the past 2 years.
He was brought out of his thoughts by light, almost soundless footsteps from behind him. He sighed, he knew what was coming, it never failed. Whenever he was worried either Glorfindel or Celeboril, -whoever was closest- gave him a speech on how he shouldn't fret and that his sons and Legolas were fine, this wasn't his fault, and that they would be home before he knew it with some crazy story and each supporting the other.
"Lord Elrond, you shouldn't fret, we're sure your sons and Legolas are fine. Believe us, this isn't your fault. They will be home before you know it with some crazy story and each one supporting the other."
Elrond smiled, he'd known it, he had just known it was coming. Although he had been slightly surprised to hear two voices. Obviously Glorfindel and Celeboril had joined forces.
Turning round he raised a hand,
"Peace my friends, do not trouble yourselves over me. I know you are trying to help but you will not be able to calm my fears however hard you try. Only another father would know of what I'm going thorough, so please, say no more."
He watched in satisfaction as the elf lord and servant in front of him both bit back whatever comment was on their tongue. Instead Glorfindel just bowed his head in acknowledgement and Celeboril held forward the large cup of herbal tea he had brewed for the troubled elf.
Elrond took it with a smile, taking a sip and missing the own secret grin shared between his two friends as they left his room. As they walked out of hearing shot the Balrog-slayer muttered to the elf lord's servant,
"How long until the sleeping potion works."
Celeboril's grin widened as he replied,
"In a matter of seconds. I just hope he reaches Estel's bed before he falls asleep."
At that moment a large crash sounded from behind them.
"I take that as he didn't" Glorfindel murmured as he turned back up the hall to make sure his lord was alright.
"I didn't know an elf could make that much noise" Celeboril muttered at the same time, also going to check on his friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas could barely move his numb fingers as he wrestled with the ropes binding them together. Aragorn had been taken an hour ago and Legolas almost wept with fury, knowing what kind of torture his friend was suffering, yet remaining powerless to help.
As his sharp elven ears caught the sounds of heavy footsteps he relented and vowed to continue to free himself once the visitors were gone. As the doors were thrown open Doulgil stepped in, dropping a motionless object to the floor and kicking it none too gently to the side.
Legolas gasped as he saw the marks that decorated his best friend's body.
"What did they do to you" The prince whispered, moving as swiftly as he could to the ranger's side, not caring if his captors were watching or not.
His long, thin fingers ran over the bruised, torn body, taking in the numerous hurts. As his hands found the bone sticking out from the flesh he felt himself pale. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him.
//This is all my fault. I should have paid closer attention that night. I could, I should have prevented this. I am so sorry my friend please forgive me.\\
He began to talk out loud, begging that his friend would not fault him, although not blaming him if he did.
"Please mellonamin, forgive me, I am sorry, amin hiraetha." (I am sorry)
As their leader motioned them forward, Limidon and Neonatal grasped Legolas's arms and drug him out of his dark cell, almost releasing him as the elf struggled violently to stay with his friend.
The commotion the prince made woke the final two occupants of the dank prison. As Elrohir raised his head from his pillow in the form of Elladan's stomach, he scarcely caught the retreating form of his golden haired friend.
As this thought registered he realised that he must have fallen asleep whilst waiting for his brother to be returned. This was an occurrence that was hardly known to happen to the Nolder elves who rarely fell asleep with out meaning to.
As he moved his older brother also woke and was as equally surprised to find that he had fallen asleep. As his eyes travelled quickly round the tiny chamber he spied the small form of his little brother.
With a cry of angst he reached his side, joined rapidly by Elrohir. Like Legolas they checked his body, soon coming to rest on the broken ribs, and one in particular that protruded from the human's body.
Elrohir gasped as he saw the gleaming bone, now tinged a pale red from the warm, sticky blood that flowed freely from the gaping wound. Hurriedly tearing a strip of cloth from his already ripped and tattered tunic, he pressed it against the hole in his adopted brother's side. Elrohir tore another piece of material from his own shirt to bind the fabric to his youngest brother's midsection.
They then set about tending to Aragorn's other cuts and bruises with whatever limited supplies they had. Dougil's men had thankfully not taken their packs which contained all their herbs, although they had, naturally, taken their weapons.
As Elrohir coated the final bruise with a generous layer of the cream he had prepared from the herbs, Elladan began the tedious job of cleaning the ranger's 'cut' on his chest.
Removing the makeshift bandage from earlier, Elladan got his twin to hold on to Estel tightly. He knew this would be painful, and he wished with all his heart that he didn't have to do it. But he also knew that if he left it, it would become a lot more painful and most likely in infected.
As predicted Aragorn let out a low moan, trying in vain to get away from the firm hands that held, keeping him from escaping this new pain.
"I am sorry Estel, but we have to do this. Please calm down, it will be over soon" Elladan begged his brother to relax and not make this any harder than it was. Closing his eyes he took a shuddering breath, vowing to get revenge on the man that had caused his brother this pain, and was with no doubt doing the same thing to one of his best friends.
Thinking of Legolas would not help Estel get better and he once more bent down to clean the wounds. He hated to think of what shape the prince would be in when he returned. They had done this to Estel, what would they do to the elf that could keep his consciousness for a lot longer than the human, and therefore could endure the beating for much longer.
Elladan sent a silent prayer to the Valor, pleading that they would keep his friend from too much harm at the hands of their captor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the blonde elf was dragged struggling into the small room, Doulgil picked up the whip from where it lay forgotten on the floor, fingering the weapon he had used on his last victim, still stained with the Dunedan's blood.
He decided to start simply with the defiant elf, and work his way up. As he was chained, kneeling, to the floor, Legolas glared up at the human in front of him, quickly taking in the table of weapons and the pool of blood he was being forced to sit in. His friend's blood to be exact.
"You will die for this. I swear to you that you will pay for all the pain you have inflicted on my friends, and believe me, I never break my promises."
And Doulgil did believe him. Something in the icy blue orbs that stared deep into his held the pledge of death. He shuddered. But he still wasn't put off. If only they would tell him what he wanted to know, then they wouldn't have to go through all this pain.
He sighed. He should have know they would be stubborn. //Oh well\\ he thought //as long as I get the information need, I will go on for ever.\\ So thinking he brought the whip down, watching as it curled round the elf's chest, tearing through the rags that were once a tunic and leaving scorching red strips of burning flesh as it released it hold and uncurled, only to strike at the elf again. And again.
But eventually he grew bored of the whip and returned it once more to the table. He had been working on his weapons for a little over a month, ever since his younger brother's death.
At last his hand rested on one of his favourite devices. It was an oil like substance, kept in a waterskin flask. At a glance it appeared perfectly harmless. Even at a closer look it showed no intention of harm. But when you touched it... As Doulgil lifted it up he was careful not to let any spill on his hand, knowing the effect it would have.
He and his brother had discovered this thick liquid in one of the many caves surrounding their childhood home. When Souldil had been alive.
*Flashback*
Doulgil chased his brother into the cave. They had been planning to explore this particular cave for weeks now and the older brother was not about to let his little brother go in there heedlessly.
Their father had warned them of the dangers lying in the cave. As they wandered through the vast passages they heard the sound of tinkling water dripping down the rocks into a small pool. Deciding to see how it came to be there, they followed the sound, walking through even more stone passageways.
At last they came to an almost hall like cave and there they found the source of the sound. Souldil ran forward and knelt by the pool. He dipped both hands into the water, planning to collect the water in his cupped palms so he could drink it.
But as his fingers entered the puddle, he drew them back with a yell. His hands were bright red, and already there were white blisters forming. As soon as Souldil had touched it, the liquid had reacted, the substance burning as though it were fire.
*End flashback*
Doulgil had gone back to the cave and had re-found the water, prepared for when he found his brother's murderer. He smiled sadly at the memory, remembering how he had hurried his brother home, who in turn complained that his brother was 'mothering' him too much and that he was fine. But that claim was ruined by the pain shed tears that rolled down his little brother's pale face.
Dougil's face turned steely again as he realised that he would never be able to hear Souldil's voice or see his face again. He pulled gloves over his rough, calloused hands for precaution as he soaked a rag with the oily substance.
He grinned as he approached the panting elf whose own blood had swiftly joined that of his friend's on the floor. So far he had not been able to get a sound out of the elf; he was much more resilient than the human. But that wouldn't last for long. His smile grew wider.
He stopped in front of the prince and spoke, once more trying to get the information he so dearly desired.
"Tell me, where is he. You could prevent all this pain if only you would tell me where this murderer is. I do not like inflicting pain on others, believe me, but if it is the only way to avenge the death of my brother, I would do it gladly. This is your final warning elf, tell me what I want to hear and you can go free."
Legolas severely doubted this. The man obviously enjoyed every moment of pain he brought on his prisoners, whether he really did want to avenge his brother, or if he was just bored. Taking a deep breath, Legolas lifted his head and spoke through bruised, swollen lips, his voice rough.
"I will never betray my friend. Your brother's life was only taken due to the fact that he was stupid enough to try and take the life of another" Now, this was probably the most foolish thing Legolas could have said in his current situation.
"Your brother deserved death for the greedy, selfish way he was prepared to trade the freedom of another living being for useless pieces of gold." Then again, maybe it was only the second stupidest thing he could have said.
Doulgil stepped forwards, eyes blazing. How dare he, how dare he. He rubbed the cloth fiercely into the elf's numerous cuts that could be found on any part of the prince's back. He laughed mirthlessly as the elf stiffened, the fiery pain spreading through his body, robbing him of all breath.
He couldn't remember when he had suffered pain as bad as this. His back felt as if it was on fire. Fire that ran through his veins, consuming his whole body. Legolas clenched his teeth. Why was he doing this? He must know by now that they wouldn't betray Taradin.
The pain hadn't even gone when the oil was once more rubbed into his system. The elf couldn't bare it any longer. He finally let out a choked cry that was quickly followed by many others.
Doulgil smiled in satisfaction. It was working perfectly. At last the flask was empted of all its contents. Doulgil was openly surprised that the elf had even lasted this long.
Legolas could hardly breathe. It felt like all the skin on his back had been burned. He didn't know how he could hurt in so many different places at the same time. For Eru's sake he didn't know if it was possible to hurt this much on just one part of his back. What had been in that flask?
He tried to re-gather his strength but knew that he was failing miserably. So much for elven endurance. He just wanted to sleep for the next hundred years; he couldn't bare the thought of any more pain.
Rocking back on his heels Doulgil raised an amused eyebrow as his captive slumped against his bonds, unable to do anything apart from breathing. And even that was becoming difficult.
Shaking his head, Doulgil reached forward and grasped the elf by the chin. He forced Legolas's head upwards until he was looking straight at his captor. And yet, even though he was barely conscious, Legolas met the gaze fully, never once adverting his eyes.
Eyes that were, yes, filled with pain, but also an almost calm sense of anger. An emotion that showed that the elf wanted nothing more than to rip the man in front of him into a million pieces, and yet was patient enough to wait until he was perfectly ready too. Ready to inflict on the man a death so raw and well deserved that he would gladly wait 1000 years to bring it upon him.
Doulgil dropped his own gaze in disgust, letting loose his hold on the elf. He stood up, then in one swift movement bent down and backhanded the elf roughly across the face, once more sending the prince into the blissful world of unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Taradin re-read the letter in his hands before passing it over to Aneol who read it as well, a look of puzzlement flittering across his face.
"What do you think he means, 'a stranger clothed in black'?"
"I don't know" Taradin sighed, running a rough hand over his face.
"But I suppose we should go and check it out."
The letter the two hunters were now discussing had arrived at their camp not 5 minutes before in the hands of a messenger from the town of Frisdan. Said messenger was standing to the side, obviously waiting for a reply. The note had been written by the mayor of the town, Eon Claster, who Taradin knew fairly well.
The letter had contained news of a mysteries stranger that had come to their town not six days previous, searching for someone, though no one knew who. He had now taken up refuge in one of the half ruined watch towers, whose only room's that were still intact were a few small quarters and the dungeons.
The mayor had written asking, no begging, them to come and investigate as apparently this man had been hassling the townsfolk and scaring the women and children. Taradin had snorted at this. He knew Eon and his ways, and no doubt he was feeling just as intimidated by this man as he had said the women were. He was just trying to find an easy way out of making decisions. What better way to get rid of the problem than to dump it on some unsuspecting hunters who had absolutely no training in this area of work.
Taradin scribbled a hasty reply on the back of the note saying that they were on their way, before handing it to the envoy and walking off to help break up their camp.
As he bent down to clear away ant ash left from the fire, his adopted son, Garith, came over to him.
"Are we leaving again father? I thought you said we were to stay here for a while"
"I know my son but something has come up. We are to leave for the town of Frisdan at once to sort out some business".
"And I am coming too aren't I." Garith crossed his arms, prepared to argue if his father disagreed.
"To Frisdan, yes. But depending on what it is that so troubles the mayor, you may not be able to accompany me everywhere."
Garith squinted at his father, trying to work out if he had got his way or not. Upon deciding that he had, he joined his father in trying to cover all traces that there had actually been a camp here. Although it would never fool an elf or even a ranger, to the common mans eyes there were no visible tracks to indicate their short stay.
Taradin wasn't to sure why the mayor had even called on him, it was custom for the ranger's to take an interest in problems that may result in the harming of innocent people. Although, he supposed, that one man didn't really pose that much of a threat, and therefore was too small a worry to risk involving the ranger's, who, despite the many ways they helped and protected the little towns, were still regarded as 'dangerous folk.' And he had the most un-nerving feeling that the mayor was keeping something from him.
At last the small group of hunters were ready for departure. Taradin shouldered his pack, watching put for his quiver and bow, and lead the march to Frisdan where they would find out what this menace was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Neonatal and Tongil entered the damp, shadowy cell to find their two elven prisoners that still remand there tending to the human's cuts. But the two hunters chose to ignore this as they each walked over to one of the twins and tried to pull them to their feet.
Elladan hadn't even registered the two men until they had both suddenly latched on to him and his brother and attempted to remove them from their brother's side. The older twin wrenched his arm free of Tongil's grip and shoved the man away from him. Even in his weakened state he still had plenty of strength in him.
He turned round to find that Elrohir had done the same thing before he dropped to his knees again and resumed cleaning Aragorn's arm as if nothing had happened. Tongil just stared at his prisoner before he rushed forward and aimed a kick at the elf.
Even with his elven reflexes Elladan didn't move in time to dodge the blow which caught him square in the ribs. Elrohir jumped forward to help his older brother when Neonatal joined his friend and began attacking the elves as well. He took a moment to yell up the corridor before aiming a punch at Elrohir's face who had barely enough time to dodge.
It was worrying, Elladan thought, at how much enjoyment they got out of harming them. They just loved the sense of power and took advantage of it at the slightest chance, no matter who it hurt. Literally. He suppressed another groan.
Unfortunately Neonatal's shout had attracted attention as planned and the two hunters were quickly joined by Fidelio, Piscean and Hindemith. Limidon was still with his leader with Legolas.
With the new help Elladan and Elrohir were soon on the floor, gasping for breathe as they were punched repeatedly in the stomach and kicked on head. Elladan knew that at least half of his finally healing cuts that he had sustained from the sadistic leader had been re-opened again, and with no little amount of pain.
They were dragged, only half conscious, out of the dungeon that they had spent the last few nights in, and hauled down the corridor. Hindemith kicked open the door to a room about ten meters from the original room and heaved Elrohir over to the far corner before him dropping none to gently and walked over to the door, stepping on Elladan who was in the way.
Neonatal stood in the doorway, about to close the door when he caught the youngest twin's eye, something he later regretted. In those eyes was such fury the human has never seen before. The icy blue eyes burned into his containing, smouldering with fiercely heated rage. The hunter dropped his gaze in a matter of seconds. He began to question whether keeping these elves locked up and harming their brother and friend was such a wise idea. With these doubts forming in his mind he slammed the heavy oak door behind him and pulled the rusty bolts across it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taradin blinked, trying to see past the heavy sheets of rain that was currently descending on them. He would have loved nothing better than to stop and put up camp, but if he were to make it to Frisdan by tomorrow, as he had said in the note, than they would have to carry on, however uncomfortable it was.
At his side Garith was also battling on, muttering curses that sounded an awful lot like...Dwarvish. When he got his hands on that dreadful ranger and his elf friends. Teaching his son swearwords, and dwarvish ones at that.
Aneol stared at his leader and son who were walking side by side both muttering curses in It seemed some strange language. Although whereas Garith was grumbling about the weather, Taradin appeared to be swearing at Strider, the twins, and prince Legolas. It seemed that Taradin wasn't past using Dwarvish himself. It was only his family that couldn't.
Aneol shook his head. It was at times like this when he questioned his leader's sanity. And it seemed that Taradin was rubbing off on his son. He shook his head again, oblivious to the stares he was also garnering.
Eventually though the sodden group reached the gates to Frisdan and Taradin looked up in surprise. He was so concentrated with his swearing that he hadn't realised how close they were. He quickly redirected his gaze to the guard who was peering out of a spy hole half way up the wooden gate.
The guard peered out suspiciously, not used to opening the gates past sun set. And he said so,
"'Ere, it ain't normal like for folks to be out this late. What's your business then eh, an' no lies mister. Come on, I 'aven't got all day to stan' aroun'."
"Peace, we have come on request of your mayor, and I have with me a letter from Eon to show to anyone that I may cross who is has reason to believe that I am a threat. I will get it for you if you wish"
"No, no, ain't no need for that now, you just come o' in."
With a slight smile Taradin stepped through he now open gates, followed closely with the rest of his group who were eager to get into the warmth. Due to his numerous visits to the town Taradin knew where all the best inns were so set off straight down one of the many roads, heading for the 'Headless Orc'.
Taradin was almost sure that he had heard a sigh of relief as he pushed open the inn doors and stepped into the gratefully warm tavern that was filled with all ready rowdy customers and the overwhelming scent of ale, cheese and men.
Walking up to the bar he requested the use of six of the barman's rooms and 7 ales. As an after thought he asked that one of those ales to be only a half pint, to which Garith protested loudly.
Taradin just smiled fondly at his son before ignoring him completely and walking over to the table his men had quickly occupied. Garith turned back as if making to change the order when he stopped, as if he were recalling a sudden memory, before wincing, rubbing the back of his neck as if remembering pain there and quickly joining his father at the table.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taradin lay on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, not used to the comfort of pillows and a soft mattress beneath him. He thought over his plans for the next day, namely which consisted of seeing the mayor.
He was still troubled over the secrecy of the letter. What wasn't Eon telling him? He knew all his questions answered tomorrow but that didn't stop him worrying. He was no good at waiting. Strider was much better at that. He wondered how the ranger was. The last he had seen of him had been in the house of Elrond where he had just risen from collapsing despite his claims that he was perfectly healed from the Morgul poisoning.
He smiled at the thought. Perhaps Strider wasn't very patient after all. On the bed next to him he could here his son murmuring in his sleep. He frowned as he tried to make sense of the words.
"Where...goose...need egg...ahhhhhhhh...out...milk...how...have breakfast...no cheese...damn."
Taradin was seriously considering getting the boy some psychological help. He couldn't help grinning though as he listened to more of his son's mumblings. He sighed; he was never going to get to sleep.
He rolled over, trying to get comfortable, before finally giving up and jumping off his bed, leaving all but his blanket, and finally curling up on the nice hard floor, able to rest at last.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My heads full of thoughts
Thoughts of you
And I'm distracted so easily
Thinking what to do
So unsure so unfamiliar
~~~~Delta Goodram~~~~~
As Aragorn lay in what he supposed was darkness, he began to experience the pain of waking up after being beaten into unconsciousness. An experience in fact that he was very familiar with.
He couldn't help but groan as all his aches and pains made them selves clear. After a moment or two he began to struggle to open his eyes, but they didn't seem to want to. The last time his eyes refused to listen to him was, as far as Aragorn could remember, the last time his father had drugged him.
As he tried to loosen the glue that was apparently keeping his eyes closed, he heard the unwelcome sound of heavy footsteps. Heavy footsteps that appeared to be carrying, no dragging, an object along with them.
Aragorn lay as still as he could when the men entered his cell and dropped the article they held next to the ranger. Giving a hoarse laugh one of the men kicked Aragorn to the side to make room for the elf they had just deposited.
As they left Aragorn caught parts of their conversation.
"Won't last...night...surprised...ranger did..."
But what he heard was enough. He sat up straight, ignoring the pain that erupted all over his body and was at Legolas's side in a matter of seconds. He couldn't believe what was happening to them. He tried to check Legolas's pulse but his hand felt cold, so cold.
He took a shuddery breath and rested two fingers on the prince's wrist. He almost cried in relief when he felt the faint throbbing of a pulse. He was alive. He gently pulled away the elf's ruined tunic so he could see to the wounds better. He knew the prince would be in a lot of pain when he woke. If he woke.
"Legolas mellonamin, please be all right. Please, I will help you. Don't leave me."
Aragorn reached out blindly for his pack, his gaze never once leaving the sight of his best friend. As he empted the contents he was dismayed at the lack of herbs. He realised that his brothers must have used them on him. No wonder he managed to sit up with minimum difficulty.
At that thought he realised that his brother's weren't there. Dread flooded through his body. If they weren't here than they must be with...Doulgil. This was all his fault. It really was. This had all started because he had wanted to play a trick on his friend. His friend that may not even live to see another day, another summer. Legolas would be gone and he would be on his own with only his guilt for company. Thranduil would loose his only son and would have to go across to Valinor alone to tell his wife that their child was dead. Dead because of him, a mere mortal.
With a shaking hand he set out what little supply's he had to make a poultice to place on Legolas's burns. Yet, he wasn't sure if it would be as effective as it should be, as on a closer inspection Aragorn had realised that these weren't normal burns caused by fire. They were something much different.
As he rubbed the soothing gel into the red marks he suppressed the worry and panic he felt for his friend. He knelt in front of Legolas and tried to get him to wake. He should of by now. He was going to make it, whatever those men said.
As he looked over the prone elf's body he could find the marks of the same whip that had been used on him, although they were barely visible under the inflamed skin. Despite his efforts, Aragorn knew that an infection had set in, and he was angry at his disability to help his best friend when he needed him most.
He attempted once more to rouse his friend. At long last he felt some movement under his finger tips, other than the erratically beating heart. Legolas was moving. He was alive, he was going to make...he was alive...alive.
He rocked back and forward gently, Legolas's head rested in lap. He had done all he could for the beaten elf and now all he could do was wait. Time would tell whether or not he would breathe the air again.
At last exhaustion settled over the weary human, and never once moving his best friend from where he lay, the ranger fell into a deep sleep; nothing short of Legolas moving would wake him.