Chapter Twelve
The Unfortunate Game
Part 1
"Unfortunately, this is no game? Are you sure those were his exact words?" Legolas asked the stricken guard for the fourth time.
"Positive, right Adry?" the guard said, glancing at his comrade.
The other nodded vigorously.
Alflocksom frowned. "Why? What does it mean?"
Legolas' gaze cut back to the palace. "A hint from a childhood prank gone awry," he said quietly as though thinking out loud, but said nothing more. The rest was private. And painful. And many years ago when they had found a labyrinth of secret passageways hidden throughout Elrond's home in Rivendell. One led to the meeting chamber, though neither had known it was the meeting chamber nor who was meeting there until it was too late. Lines of light marked the hidden doorway's edges. Silently, holding their hands over their mouths to contain their nervous giggles, both pressed their faces against the crack but could make out no more than an oaken bookstand against the far wall and a leg of what both guessed was a table. They were about to move on when they glimpsed a swirl of deep blue fabric and knew that Elrond had just walked through their narrow field of vision. Both grinned and readied to pounce from the doorway in hopes of giving him the fright of his life...when suddenly Thranduil's voice shook the room. A terrible argument ensued between their two fathers, one which would become old, familiar, and much quieter as the years past. But this one was the first either of them had overheard. Elrond had staunchly and loudly defended Aragorn and Legolas' friendship. Thranduil demanded he put an end to it now, reminding Elrond of two insurmountable differences between elves and humans: one being human weaknesses and fragility compared to elves; the second being the differences in their life spans and how badly Legolas would be hurt by Aragorn's passing if their friendship were allowed to continue. Then Thranduil said the unthinkable: "Just because the human is your pet..." Elrond had been stunned into utter silence, and in that moment Aragorn had taken his silence to mean concurrence, and upset, he ran. Furious, Legolas had hung back to confront them. But before his hand had touched the panel to open the door, he heard Elrond explode. The elf lord not only staunchly defended Aragorn at the top of his voice but claimed full guardianship of him as well, and then proceeded to tear a verbal strip off Thranduil the likes of which Legolas had never heard before. It had taken many hours of searching before he had found Aragorn and told him of the ending, but the damage was done. It had taken many years for Aragorn to let it go. At least he thought Aragorn had let it go...until now. Obviously he hadn't. But that's not what he was hinting at now. Later, when they could bring themselves to talk about it (which was years later), they had referred to it as 'The Unfortunate Game.'
"Legolas?" Alflocksom asked.
Legolas didn't look at him when he asked: "Do you know if there are any hidden passageways?"
"Leagues of them." Alflocksom grinned as though he already knew where this was going. "And I know all of them. I used to play in them when I was a boy."
"Is there one that leads to the meeting chamber?"
Part 2
Aragorn was first whirled and then shoved forward though the throne room. The two of them walked down the middle, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. For Aragorn, it was déjà vu all over again. The echoing hallway in Rivendell had been replaced by the echoing throne room, but somehow everything else was the same as the dream. Oh, there was one other relevant difference: now it was the meeting chamber's doors he was being forced toward, not the door in the mine tunnel. Aragorn had a feeling Ridley would pick that particular room. It was heavily fortified and was the only room in the palace with only one obvious way in or out – much like the room in the mine.
Ridley walked Aragorn through the doorway between two small cubicles which served as greeting booths, once upon a time. Beyond them, the massive meeting chamber loomed like a gallows. In a sense it was a gallows. His gallows. Aragorn had a hunch that this would be the last time he would ever see this side of the great doors again. After all, Ridley wasn't dragging him in here for his health. He meant to kill him in there and likely switch clothes and trinkets, making it appear as though once again the king had miraculously cheated death.
"Now Aragorn," Ridley said in his ear, "I'm going to let go of your neck, but I'll be holding your arm, and if you move so much as one inch more than I want you to, I'll bury this knife in your side. Do we understand each other?"
Aragorn nodded, and suddenly the terrible pressure was gone from his throat. Then Ridley seized his right bicep with fingers like steel daggers and yanked him forward. Aragorn gasped. His forehead instantly broke out in a cold sweat and he almost howled aloud with pain; what few stitches hadn't already popped open, tore open. His mind dropped into a foggy world where the only thing real was where Ridley's fingers dug into the deep slash with a white-hot, sickening burn.
/Don't react,/ he told himself. /Just do exactly what he says and wait for an opportunity. Keep thinking two steps ahead. Keep your mind clear...and for the Lords sake keep your mouth shut./
Still, what else did he have to think about? The screaming pain shot straight up to his temple and crowded most other thoughts out.
Aragorn's daze was broken by relief just inside the meeting chamber's doors when Ridley let go of his bicep, grabbed him by his collar, and yanked him to a stop so fiercely that he grunted a strangled squawk. Ridley brought his elbow down in the centre of Aragorn's back, almost hard enough to send him sprawling into the stone floor. Then he grabbed a fist full of his tunic, yanked him up, and wheeled him around to face the open doors again.
"Close them and bar them," he ordered.
Aragorn did, using his numb right arm as little as possible, though it was no easy task. Still, he did such a decent enough job of concealing that fact that Ridley didn't seem to take any notice. As soon as the task was done Ridley stuck one leg out and at the same time yanked Aragorn's collar with just enough force to send him crashing sideways over it. His head struck the stone floor and for a moment all the lights went out. Ridley, not one for showing mercy to anyone or anything, brought him around quickly by seizing his bicep again. The king smothered a gasp, half-crawling and half-stumbling forward, unable to stop Ridley from dragging him. He was beyond protest now, almost beyond consciousness. All he knew for sure was that his arm was on fire and he was bleeding again. Badly.
Ridley had dragged him to the far corner of the room and with a mighty yank had half-thrown him against the stone wall. Now he gathered a handful of Aragorn's shirt into one fist and pulled him up. Still disoriented, Aragorn made a fumbling, feeble attempt to lock his hands over Ridley's and pull it away from his shirt. Angered, Ridley smashed him across the face.
"Down. Stay," Ridley ordered loudly, like he was commanding a dog, and a stupid one at that. Aragorn complied. He had to. His knees had turned to water. Ridley hunkered down in front of him. Feeling the stickiness on his hand, he raised it to look at it then frowning at his dark crimson fingers, his eyes cut back to Aragorn. He inclined his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. "You're bleeding?" he asked.
No longer able to deny it, Aragorn winced and clapped his hand to his bicep to stem the flow. He was wrong about the observations of before. He was bleeding – definitely – but it was far worse than badly - it was streaming through his fingers. He felt weak and dizzy and shaky all at once, as though he had caught a vicious flu. He let his bicep go just long enough to swipe his forearm across his eyes, brushing away beaded sweat, and felt warm blood running down his arm, the gush soaking his shirtsleeve in moments.
"Let me guess," Ridley said, his lips spreading into a smile, grey eyes sparkling. "Greenleaf's handiwork, right? My he did a nice job. Looks like he might have nicked an artery."
/An artery?/ Aragorn thought, then thought he understood why and almost clapped his hand to his forehead for his own stupidity. /Damn, I didn't think to check the blade's tip! I was too preoccupied with stitching it and keeping Legolas back to even think about it. If the tip broke off and it hadn't nicked before, then the way Ridley had dragged me around... /
/So that's why it's so painful./ He remembered his thoughts in the mine and thought: /Lords, I am bleeding to death!/ and surprised himself by suddenly snorting a chuckle.
Ridley had set himself down on his heels. Now he raised his eyebrows. "Something funny?"
"Very. Tell me – when are you going to kill me?"
Ridley thought it over. "Soon," he said at last. "Any time now."
Aragorn snorted a chuckle again. "What are you waiting for? Legolas?"
Ridley grinned. "How'd you guess?" He didn't wait for an answer, just went on. "I was surprised to see him...alive. You too, as a matter of fact."
"I'll just bet you were," Aragorn said in a low voice, and the next instant his head struck the wall behind him, snapped backwards by a heavy-handed blow across his temple. He shook his head groggily, looked around, and found himself face to face with Ridley. The man's lips – his lips – were pressed together in a hard line, his cheeks flagged with colour, and there was hate in his eyes.
"Shut up!" Ridley hissed. He gathered a handful of Aragorn's tunic into one fist, pulled him up, and smashed him across the face again, this time succeeding in bloodying his lip. "I'm sick of looking at you and seeing my face. How about we change that?"
It began raining blows, none of which Aragorn could dodge...and all thoughts were lost in a red sea of pain.
Part 3
"Go back and stay by the entrance in case he gets by us," Legolas had said. "Have the palace completely locked-down."
Though Alflocksom didn't like it, not one bit, he did as he was asked. Of course, there were three others that hadn't cared for that order any better than he had, and after telling them, and having a heated exchange of words because of it (Oh that had gone over about as well as a bag of manure, he thought ruefully), he'd sent them outside to clear the grounds and place the palace in total lock-down while he tried to clear out the inside.
Now stalking the halls, Alflocksom began muttering under his breath: "Gets by us. It'll be a cold day in the void before Ridley gets by those two."
Alflocksom stopped and glanced out a window at the sun. It was still far from the horizon. And when he had totted up thirty tallied turns from the throne room to the starting of the labyrinth entrance, it was still far from the horizon, hanging in exactly the same place, shining with idiot radiance, while time marched on.
Meanwhile, he was still finding frantic guards in his travels, most running about and looking for orders, and looking to him to give them. The only one he had given them twenty minutes ago: "Clear out," hadn't satisfied them. At the mark as Alflocksom was on his thirty-something turn around, one young guard – Caspian, or some-such-odd-name – met him with a long face and said, "Captain, what is the plan, sir?" He spoke a little hesitantly, since Alflocksom's jaw was set: and his eyes fixed beyond Alflocksom's face at the sealed meeting-chamber's doors.
"I told you to get out," the captain growled. "Now do it!"
Caspian, or some-such-odd-name, gazed at him for a moment and then said, "Yes sir." He hurried away, boots clicking on the marble floor, then disappeared out the doorway. Everyone else around him listened with concern, remaining motionless. They stayed that way, glancing at one another, until he growled louder. Then they too vanished.
Now finally alone, Alflocksom stalked the Throne Room. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides as he continued to pace, ready to grab and throw the nearest thing not bolted down, because the young guard – the odd-named lad – had hit the nail square on the head. He had no plan. The great captain – veteran of many battles, captain of the guards of Gondor, the one everyone looked to for answers – had no answers. Panic and failure. He'd heard several remarks of that type, all driven by the same reason: he was utterly stumped. As for him, he had never felt more frustrated and useless in his entire life than he did at this moment.
Hesitantly, the warden peeked in through the palace's doors. Spotting the captain, he rushed toward him with a long bundle tight under his arm.
"Alflocksom," he whispered, his eyes flittering nervously around. "Is it too late? Where's the elf? I have his weapons that the dwarf brought in."
Alflocksom pointed across the Throne Room to the closed doors of the meeting chamber. "They're already inside, I think."
"Here," the warden said, passing him the bundle. "In case the elf has need of them." His voice was still little more than a whisper, and he kept looking past Alflocksom's shoulder toward the meeting chamber.
"You best go," Alflocksom said.
The warden nodded. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder as he hurried away.
As Alflocksom watched the warden depart, a voice came to him; not one spoken by mouth but more carried on the wind and whispered to his mind: What are you willing to sacrifice for Gondor?
Alflocksom's eyes lowered to the bundle in his hands. "Give me a chance and I'll show you," he murmured. "Just one chance. That's all I ask."
Tbc...
The Unfortunate Game
Part 1
"Unfortunately, this is no game? Are you sure those were his exact words?" Legolas asked the stricken guard for the fourth time.
"Positive, right Adry?" the guard said, glancing at his comrade.
The other nodded vigorously.
Alflocksom frowned. "Why? What does it mean?"
Legolas' gaze cut back to the palace. "A hint from a childhood prank gone awry," he said quietly as though thinking out loud, but said nothing more. The rest was private. And painful. And many years ago when they had found a labyrinth of secret passageways hidden throughout Elrond's home in Rivendell. One led to the meeting chamber, though neither had known it was the meeting chamber nor who was meeting there until it was too late. Lines of light marked the hidden doorway's edges. Silently, holding their hands over their mouths to contain their nervous giggles, both pressed their faces against the crack but could make out no more than an oaken bookstand against the far wall and a leg of what both guessed was a table. They were about to move on when they glimpsed a swirl of deep blue fabric and knew that Elrond had just walked through their narrow field of vision. Both grinned and readied to pounce from the doorway in hopes of giving him the fright of his life...when suddenly Thranduil's voice shook the room. A terrible argument ensued between their two fathers, one which would become old, familiar, and much quieter as the years past. But this one was the first either of them had overheard. Elrond had staunchly and loudly defended Aragorn and Legolas' friendship. Thranduil demanded he put an end to it now, reminding Elrond of two insurmountable differences between elves and humans: one being human weaknesses and fragility compared to elves; the second being the differences in their life spans and how badly Legolas would be hurt by Aragorn's passing if their friendship were allowed to continue. Then Thranduil said the unthinkable: "Just because the human is your pet..." Elrond had been stunned into utter silence, and in that moment Aragorn had taken his silence to mean concurrence, and upset, he ran. Furious, Legolas had hung back to confront them. But before his hand had touched the panel to open the door, he heard Elrond explode. The elf lord not only staunchly defended Aragorn at the top of his voice but claimed full guardianship of him as well, and then proceeded to tear a verbal strip off Thranduil the likes of which Legolas had never heard before. It had taken many hours of searching before he had found Aragorn and told him of the ending, but the damage was done. It had taken many years for Aragorn to let it go. At least he thought Aragorn had let it go...until now. Obviously he hadn't. But that's not what he was hinting at now. Later, when they could bring themselves to talk about it (which was years later), they had referred to it as 'The Unfortunate Game.'
"Legolas?" Alflocksom asked.
Legolas didn't look at him when he asked: "Do you know if there are any hidden passageways?"
"Leagues of them." Alflocksom grinned as though he already knew where this was going. "And I know all of them. I used to play in them when I was a boy."
"Is there one that leads to the meeting chamber?"
Part 2
Aragorn was first whirled and then shoved forward though the throne room. The two of them walked down the middle, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. For Aragorn, it was déjà vu all over again. The echoing hallway in Rivendell had been replaced by the echoing throne room, but somehow everything else was the same as the dream. Oh, there was one other relevant difference: now it was the meeting chamber's doors he was being forced toward, not the door in the mine tunnel. Aragorn had a feeling Ridley would pick that particular room. It was heavily fortified and was the only room in the palace with only one obvious way in or out – much like the room in the mine.
Ridley walked Aragorn through the doorway between two small cubicles which served as greeting booths, once upon a time. Beyond them, the massive meeting chamber loomed like a gallows. In a sense it was a gallows. His gallows. Aragorn had a hunch that this would be the last time he would ever see this side of the great doors again. After all, Ridley wasn't dragging him in here for his health. He meant to kill him in there and likely switch clothes and trinkets, making it appear as though once again the king had miraculously cheated death.
"Now Aragorn," Ridley said in his ear, "I'm going to let go of your neck, but I'll be holding your arm, and if you move so much as one inch more than I want you to, I'll bury this knife in your side. Do we understand each other?"
Aragorn nodded, and suddenly the terrible pressure was gone from his throat. Then Ridley seized his right bicep with fingers like steel daggers and yanked him forward. Aragorn gasped. His forehead instantly broke out in a cold sweat and he almost howled aloud with pain; what few stitches hadn't already popped open, tore open. His mind dropped into a foggy world where the only thing real was where Ridley's fingers dug into the deep slash with a white-hot, sickening burn.
/Don't react,/ he told himself. /Just do exactly what he says and wait for an opportunity. Keep thinking two steps ahead. Keep your mind clear...and for the Lords sake keep your mouth shut./
Still, what else did he have to think about? The screaming pain shot straight up to his temple and crowded most other thoughts out.
Aragorn's daze was broken by relief just inside the meeting chamber's doors when Ridley let go of his bicep, grabbed him by his collar, and yanked him to a stop so fiercely that he grunted a strangled squawk. Ridley brought his elbow down in the centre of Aragorn's back, almost hard enough to send him sprawling into the stone floor. Then he grabbed a fist full of his tunic, yanked him up, and wheeled him around to face the open doors again.
"Close them and bar them," he ordered.
Aragorn did, using his numb right arm as little as possible, though it was no easy task. Still, he did such a decent enough job of concealing that fact that Ridley didn't seem to take any notice. As soon as the task was done Ridley stuck one leg out and at the same time yanked Aragorn's collar with just enough force to send him crashing sideways over it. His head struck the stone floor and for a moment all the lights went out. Ridley, not one for showing mercy to anyone or anything, brought him around quickly by seizing his bicep again. The king smothered a gasp, half-crawling and half-stumbling forward, unable to stop Ridley from dragging him. He was beyond protest now, almost beyond consciousness. All he knew for sure was that his arm was on fire and he was bleeding again. Badly.
Ridley had dragged him to the far corner of the room and with a mighty yank had half-thrown him against the stone wall. Now he gathered a handful of Aragorn's shirt into one fist and pulled him up. Still disoriented, Aragorn made a fumbling, feeble attempt to lock his hands over Ridley's and pull it away from his shirt. Angered, Ridley smashed him across the face.
"Down. Stay," Ridley ordered loudly, like he was commanding a dog, and a stupid one at that. Aragorn complied. He had to. His knees had turned to water. Ridley hunkered down in front of him. Feeling the stickiness on his hand, he raised it to look at it then frowning at his dark crimson fingers, his eyes cut back to Aragorn. He inclined his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. "You're bleeding?" he asked.
No longer able to deny it, Aragorn winced and clapped his hand to his bicep to stem the flow. He was wrong about the observations of before. He was bleeding – definitely – but it was far worse than badly - it was streaming through his fingers. He felt weak and dizzy and shaky all at once, as though he had caught a vicious flu. He let his bicep go just long enough to swipe his forearm across his eyes, brushing away beaded sweat, and felt warm blood running down his arm, the gush soaking his shirtsleeve in moments.
"Let me guess," Ridley said, his lips spreading into a smile, grey eyes sparkling. "Greenleaf's handiwork, right? My he did a nice job. Looks like he might have nicked an artery."
/An artery?/ Aragorn thought, then thought he understood why and almost clapped his hand to his forehead for his own stupidity. /Damn, I didn't think to check the blade's tip! I was too preoccupied with stitching it and keeping Legolas back to even think about it. If the tip broke off and it hadn't nicked before, then the way Ridley had dragged me around... /
/So that's why it's so painful./ He remembered his thoughts in the mine and thought: /Lords, I am bleeding to death!/ and surprised himself by suddenly snorting a chuckle.
Ridley had set himself down on his heels. Now he raised his eyebrows. "Something funny?"
"Very. Tell me – when are you going to kill me?"
Ridley thought it over. "Soon," he said at last. "Any time now."
Aragorn snorted a chuckle again. "What are you waiting for? Legolas?"
Ridley grinned. "How'd you guess?" He didn't wait for an answer, just went on. "I was surprised to see him...alive. You too, as a matter of fact."
"I'll just bet you were," Aragorn said in a low voice, and the next instant his head struck the wall behind him, snapped backwards by a heavy-handed blow across his temple. He shook his head groggily, looked around, and found himself face to face with Ridley. The man's lips – his lips – were pressed together in a hard line, his cheeks flagged with colour, and there was hate in his eyes.
"Shut up!" Ridley hissed. He gathered a handful of Aragorn's tunic into one fist, pulled him up, and smashed him across the face again, this time succeeding in bloodying his lip. "I'm sick of looking at you and seeing my face. How about we change that?"
It began raining blows, none of which Aragorn could dodge...and all thoughts were lost in a red sea of pain.
Part 3
"Go back and stay by the entrance in case he gets by us," Legolas had said. "Have the palace completely locked-down."
Though Alflocksom didn't like it, not one bit, he did as he was asked. Of course, there were three others that hadn't cared for that order any better than he had, and after telling them, and having a heated exchange of words because of it (Oh that had gone over about as well as a bag of manure, he thought ruefully), he'd sent them outside to clear the grounds and place the palace in total lock-down while he tried to clear out the inside.
Now stalking the halls, Alflocksom began muttering under his breath: "Gets by us. It'll be a cold day in the void before Ridley gets by those two."
Alflocksom stopped and glanced out a window at the sun. It was still far from the horizon. And when he had totted up thirty tallied turns from the throne room to the starting of the labyrinth entrance, it was still far from the horizon, hanging in exactly the same place, shining with idiot radiance, while time marched on.
Meanwhile, he was still finding frantic guards in his travels, most running about and looking for orders, and looking to him to give them. The only one he had given them twenty minutes ago: "Clear out," hadn't satisfied them. At the mark as Alflocksom was on his thirty-something turn around, one young guard – Caspian, or some-such-odd-name – met him with a long face and said, "Captain, what is the plan, sir?" He spoke a little hesitantly, since Alflocksom's jaw was set: and his eyes fixed beyond Alflocksom's face at the sealed meeting-chamber's doors.
"I told you to get out," the captain growled. "Now do it!"
Caspian, or some-such-odd-name, gazed at him for a moment and then said, "Yes sir." He hurried away, boots clicking on the marble floor, then disappeared out the doorway. Everyone else around him listened with concern, remaining motionless. They stayed that way, glancing at one another, until he growled louder. Then they too vanished.
Now finally alone, Alflocksom stalked the Throne Room. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides as he continued to pace, ready to grab and throw the nearest thing not bolted down, because the young guard – the odd-named lad – had hit the nail square on the head. He had no plan. The great captain – veteran of many battles, captain of the guards of Gondor, the one everyone looked to for answers – had no answers. Panic and failure. He'd heard several remarks of that type, all driven by the same reason: he was utterly stumped. As for him, he had never felt more frustrated and useless in his entire life than he did at this moment.
Hesitantly, the warden peeked in through the palace's doors. Spotting the captain, he rushed toward him with a long bundle tight under his arm.
"Alflocksom," he whispered, his eyes flittering nervously around. "Is it too late? Where's the elf? I have his weapons that the dwarf brought in."
Alflocksom pointed across the Throne Room to the closed doors of the meeting chamber. "They're already inside, I think."
"Here," the warden said, passing him the bundle. "In case the elf has need of them." His voice was still little more than a whisper, and he kept looking past Alflocksom's shoulder toward the meeting chamber.
"You best go," Alflocksom said.
The warden nodded. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder as he hurried away.
As Alflocksom watched the warden depart, a voice came to him; not one spoken by mouth but more carried on the wind and whispered to his mind: What are you willing to sacrifice for Gondor?
Alflocksom's eyes lowered to the bundle in his hands. "Give me a chance and I'll show you," he murmured. "Just one chance. That's all I ask."
Tbc...