BURIED
By: Cheryl W
Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings or anything in conjunction with the Lord of the Rings nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
CHAPTER 4 (((((
For a moment, the merciless darkness seemed to suffocate Aragorn for he could not draw in a breath. Fleetingly, he wondered if one could die of fright. 'Relax and just breathe,' he silently ordered of himself but he could not hold back his own scathing retort to those words. 'Relax?! Relax?! You are lying on a corpse, buried in a tomb and you would have me relax?!?'
However, the internal bantering in itself calmed him and he was able to draw in a ragged breath, then another and yet another until his breathing was almost normal. He would not die of fright...no fate would not be that kind to him.
He tried to force his eyes to adjust to the black void that surrounded him but he gave up after only a few moments. He doubted even an elf's eye could perceive through this darkness. With his eyesight gone, his other senses heightened. Every breath he drew in the fetid smell of decay and death, it's scent causing his stomach to churn. He could feel the bones of the corpse pressing against him. And he tried not to think about the fact that his head rested against the cloth covered skull and that it was a sharp bare rib bone that jabbed against his chest. With his healer knowledge, he knew the bone had been fractured and never set. He could feel a scream building in his chest but he swallowed hard, pushing it down. Suddenly, able to see nothing seemed a blessing.
Trying again to get his body to respond to his wishes, he met with marginal success as he was able to lift his head from the corpse's skull and left it drop gratefully unto the shelf. Some of the terror that clawed at him eased. With another move he was able to slowly drag his left arm off the corpse's leg where it had limply fallen when Barion dumped him on the shelf. The move seemed to require a large amount of energy and he lay there, marshalling his strength. Then he moved his arms under him and found he could lift himself up. But his strength was weakened and he sank back onto the shelf after a moment.
Now that movement had been restored to him, Aragorn contemplated how to get off the shelf. Pinned as he was between the wall and the corpse, pushing the corpse from the shelf was by far the easiest and most logical step. But again honor forced him to choose the harder path. He could not show such disrespect to the remains of the young boy who had died valiantly in the service of the rangers.
Closing that avenue, Aragorn knew he could do but one thing to be freed from the shelf. Crawl over the corpse. Knowing that the task would be arduous, he rested back again down upon the shelf and gathered his strength and the fortitude to endure such intimate contact with the dead. When he was ready in mind and body, he raised himself up by his hands. Then, in the utter darkness of the tomb, he attempted to lift his left hand and left leg completely over the corpse to settle securely on the other side of the corpse. But with the lack of light, he misgauged the distance and though his hand found purchase on the shelf beside the corpse, his leg did not.
Aragorn's boot caught on the corpse's foot, unbalancing the ranger's precarious position and sending him crashing down upon the corpse. A yell of terror tore from Aragorn as his face landed on a cold smooth surface that he knew was the skull, which somehow had been uncovered and bare to his touch. Aragorn's body pressed against the length of the corpse and he felt as if the bones had morphed with his own.
Terror alone drove his actions. Frantically, he rolled off the corpse, landed harshly on the ground and scurried backward in the darkness until his back slammed into the opposite wall, abruptly halting his horrified retreat. His heaving breaths were loud in the dark small tomb. His body trembled in disgust and terror and shock. Feeling as if he could still feel the touch of the skull upon his cheek, he raised a shaking hand and wiped brutally at his cheek to remove the imagined remnants of the corpse.
He began to fear that which he could not see, namely everything. What dwelt in this tomb with him? Amarth's restless soul? Or the soul of the man that Urdil buried in here? As crazy as it was, Aragorn feared that something in the void would reach out and touch him, something filled with malice and death.
Pulling his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his legs and bowed his head. "Do not falter," he spoke aloud, hoping the sound of his voice would quiet some of his terror. "You can escape this fate." And then his mind wandered where it always did when death seemed to have him in it's sight. He thought of the ones he loved: Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen and Legolas. Thinking of them had always given him comfort in his time of need and the strength to see him through whatever hardship he faced. But no longer.
Now his relationship with each of the elves was tainted. If Elrond had only taken him into his home for duty sake, then was it also duty that drove the actions of the others? Elladan and Elrohir..had he mistakenly saw their obligation to keep the Hope of Middle Earth safe as brotherly protection? Would Legolas have befriended him if he were just another man? Would Arwen have even lowered herself to look upon his face if they had met on grounds not belonging to the elves?
With an anguished yell, Aragorn pounded his fist upon the ground. If only Barion had never shown him those letters?! If only he had never read them!? If only he could deny the handwriting as Elrond's?! Or believe that Elrond's words had not been in earnest?! "But they were in earnest," he said aloud, his head still bowed with his eyes tightly shut as if to block out the darkness that clung to not only the tomb but his soul. Softly he cursed himself, "I have been a fool, believing what I most wanted to be truth."
Raising his clenched fist from the ground, he ran his hand through his hair and let it rest on the base of his neck. For a few moments, he did not stir but drew in even steadying breaths. He had but two choices: sit here and wait for death to claim him or fight with every ounce of his soul to try to escape this fate.
With resolve, Aragorn raised his head, opened his eyes to the void around him and started to struggle to his feet. He was not one to accept defeat and he would not start now. With a steadying hand on the wall behind him, Aragorn willed himself to his feet, stamping down the agony that was reawakening in the wounds Barion had inflicted upon him. Keeping one hand on the wall, Aragorn reached forward with the other. Feeling nothing in front of him, he took a step forward. Having still not encountered any barrier, he placed another foot in front of another.
When the fingers of his left hand touched something, he recoiled, still plagued by the thought of the spirits of the dead coming to seize him. 'Dirt,' he chided himself, 'you touched dirt, fool.' Tentatively he reached his hand forward and again felt a substance under his fingertips. Dirt. He had found the front wall of the tomb.
Cautiously stepping forward, Aragorn drew closer to the wall in front of him. Firmly anchored to the feel of the wall before him, he withdrew his right hand from the side wall and placed it palm down upon the front wall. Then he groped blindly with his left hand for the contours of the wooden door. Feeling only dirt under his touch, Aragorn side stepped to the left.
With a sense of relief, his fingers slid onto wood. He had found the door. Taking a few steps, Aragorn found himself directly in front of the door, both hands resting against the wood, reassured by the grain his fingers caressed. He may have not been a wood elf, but he still felt a connection with the trees, as if he were somehow more alive walking under their protection, touching their rough bark.
Systematically he measured the door with his hands and determined that there was definitely no handle. "As if you thought there would be one," he scoffed aloud. "The dead have no need of such devices." He drew his hands to the center of the door again but his fingers encountered a roughness in the wood that was not present naturally. Denied sight as he was, he had to depend on his touch alone to solve this mystery. Tracing the rough texture, his fingers contacted yet another line of uneven wood. He froze when the four fingers of his right hand seemed to fall into ruts in the wood.
Before he could stop his reaction, Aragorn skittered back from the door. The markings in the door...he knew what they were. Scars from desperate fingers clawing at the door...clawing to be released from the tomb. The story was fact. A man had been left to die in here.
And now so have you, Aragorn thought. Swallowing hard, he forced down the shiver of terror that was again shooting down his spine. He would not suffer that man's fate. Without further thought, he ran forward, certain of his destination even in this abyss. His shoulder impacted painfully with the wooden door but though the door shook, it did not give way. But that could not be said of Aragorn's body.
A choked cry of agony erupted from him and he slid down the door unto the floor. Gasping for breath, he clutched his wounded right side and felt warm blood trace down his hand. Barion's potion may have the ability to slow blood loss but not under the abuse Aragorn had just delivered to the wound.
Stubbornly, Aragorn drew his legs under him and forced himself from the ground, his shoulder solidly supported by the wooden door. He came to his feet and rested his head wearily against the door. But a moment later he pushed himself from the door and took slightly unsteady steps backward, his left hand out behind him to alert him when he neared the back wall. After five steps, his hand came into contact with the back wall. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn positioned his right shoulder forward and with a yell of determination, ran again for the door.
When his shoulder hit the wood, Aragorn's body shut down in agony overload. Immediately the man collapsed to the ground, barely conscious. Aragorn fought off the comforting presence of unconsciousness. If he gave into his body's weakness now, he feared that he would awake to the gates of the Halls of Mandos. Putting his hands under his chest, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Disheartened, he knew what his back rested against. The door. The still firmly closed door.
Defeat was starting to settle on him and it angered him. He turned his unseeing eyes heavenward and growled, "Father if you can help me, help me to live, not to die a quick death!" Then his head dropped to rest against his chest and he pleaded brokenly, "Help me." But his pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears ...if they fell on any ears at all.
'I must do this alone...as I have done most things in my life,' he bitterly realized.
Leaning over to his left side, he braced himself up with his left arm and slid himself back a ways from the door. Then he reached his right hand forward until it touched the door where it met the ground and began to dig. If he could dig under the door, maybe he didn't even need to try and squeeze under the door, maybe if he could just make enough of a space for his hand to slip under it he could use the new leverage to somehow get the door open.
But the ground would not give way to his efforts. His fingers could only scrape a fine layer of powdery dirt off the ground no matter where he tried under the length of the door. With a dwarven curse, he abandoned his efforts. Maneuvering his back to once again rest upon the door, he forced his feet under him and by leaning on the door, managed to again stand up. For a moment he leaned heavily against the door, breathing hard and unable to shut out his pessimistic thoughts.
'Will anyone ever know what became of me?! Will anyone mourn me? The real me? Or was Barion right? Do none love me for myself?'
"Stop!" he yelled aloud, furious that his weak emotions were hampering him in his quest for survival. "Get out of this blasted tomb and ask them yourself!" that thought was like a revelation and he stood up straighter. Yes, he wanted more than to survive. He wanted answers! And the truth for a change!
Clenching his jaw in new determination, he stood away from the door and began to slowly walk to the left, his hand tracing against the wall. After a few steps he tried to claw away at the wall but it was the same consistency as the ground, only earning him dirt under his nails. Struggling to be undeterred at his continued failure, he walked forward a few paces and tried again to find a weakness in the walls now before him. Time after time, he performed the same task until he had encompassed the entire four walls of the tomb, even the wall behind the shelf where the body lay, though he made certain his blind reach was high and would not chance touching the corpse. But through all his searching he met with no success. The dirt was as unyielding as rock.
Leaning his head against the last portion of the wall that he had checked he tried to not let defeat grip his soul. It was pathetic to think he would die so close to home...to Rivendell. Had Barion known that Rivendell had been Aragorn's destination when he joined his camp last night? Or had that been just good fortune on the part of Barion's to have his prey so close to the tomb? It felt like fate itself were conspiring against Aragorn.
Unbidden, Aragorn thought of his plans he had last night, before Barion had waylaid him...maybe permanently. He was going home... to spend time with his father and brothers, whom he had missed desperately, and even Legolas was going to be there. It was going to be a great time, full of happiness and laughter and pranks. Now all that was gone, even if he managed to crawl from this abyss he would never be certain in their company again. Elrond's letters had changed everything.
He forced himself to think of the possibilities that he would be rescued but they died a quick death. Legolas, if he was not already in Rivendell, would go the higher path as was his wont when coming from his home. And the Rivendell hunting parties knew by long experience that even a light snow could prove treacherous, even for elves, on the rocky paths that ran beside this tomb. No, none would travel this path, not now that winter was about to set in.
His survival was in his own hands alone. "Think!" he barked and tried to remember the way the tomb looked from the outside, to see if he could perceive any weakness from that view. The tomb had been hewed right from a hill, a hill that's width exceeded it's height. Suddenly, Aragorn raised his hand overhead. It did not connect with the ceiling of the tomb. Hope sprang inside him. The ceiling could not be that thick...he had just discovered the weakest section of the tomb.
Hastily, with the help of his tethered touch on the wall, he guided himself over to the shelf. He needed to reach the ceiling. Steeling himself, he searched in the void for the shelf's ledge. As fate would have it, he touched the corpse but forced himself to not jerk back. Instead he slid his hands from the corpse until they touched the coolness of the shelf. He found only a small edge of the shelf was not used by the corpse. With dread he knew what he had to do: move the corpse back further against the wall and thereby allowing him room to stand on the shelf.
Now that he had a plan for escape, he could not let his terror hamper him. Firmly but with respectable reverence, he pushed the corpse away from the edge of the shelf until it he felt it came to rest against the wall of the tomb. Testing the results of his efforts, he placed his hands again on the shelf and was relieved when he realized that he now had enough space on the shelf to stand.
Unable to see, Aragorn used his handhold on the shelf as a guide indicating where to put his foot. Once he had the first foot settled on the shelf, he put his right hand to the wall to steady himself and brought his other foot onto the shelf but remained squatted down. Slowly he stood up on the shelf, his right hand sliding up the wall while his left hand was raised overhead, seeking the ceiling. He had barely begun to raise when his left hand came into contact with the ceiling.
A smile sprang to Aragorn's face in the darkness as he felt the texture of the dirt. It was moist! Fervently he thanked the Valar for the rainstorms the prior day. As he clawed at the dirt, it crumbled under his hand to drop unto his face. A laugh broke from him. "This tomb will not hold me long now!" But caution stayed his hand a moment. Though the hill this tomb resided in was not of a great height it still was a distance from the ceiling Aragorn now touched. The risk for a cave in was great with the moist dirt and the layers of dirt overhead.
Taking that into calculation, Aragorn ran his hand out toward more of the center of the tomb and set that as the spot he would dig. If a cave in occurred he planned to not be in the plummeting dirt's path. Instead he would simply climb on the downed dirt and tunnel his way out. No matter what, he was getting free of the clutches of this suffocating darkness, of this unholy fate. Yes, he would get free first and then he would seek out the elves he had come to love and force them to speak the truth.
With those two goals in mind, Aragorn began to dig at the ceiling, now with both hands. Dirt hit his clawing hands and fell to the ground in increasing clumps. Leaning further toward the spot he dug, he found his progress steadily allowing his hands to raise further and further into the dirt overhead. His wounds pained him fiercely, protesting his actions but he did not falter even as time seemed to stretch on and on. With his tunnel progressing further toward the surface, Aragorn had to step further to the edge of the shelf so that he could reach his hands higher. Suddenly, his hand broke through the surface layer of dirt and a slice of light pierced the darkness that had cloaked Aragorn for so long. Blinking and squinting against the light that hit his face, Aragorn laughed. He was going to live!
Without warning, the ceiling collapsed.
With elven-like reflexes, Aragorn threw himself backward but even as he moved, dirt slammed into him. Tripping over the corpse, he lost his balance and fell heavily against the wall, knocking the breath from him. For a long moment, dirt rained in the room with a loud crash. Then the tomb fell deathly silent again. Darkness again consumed Aragorn but somehow this darkness was more suffocating. Reaching his hands forward tentatively, he soon touched a newly created wall of dirt. The cave in had pinned him against the wall with mere feet of open space.
Moments prior, he had tasted freedom but now it seemed an unachievable dream. Pushing off the wall, he leaned closer to the dirt of the new wall. With a feathery touch, his fingers brushed the settling dirt. The wall was unstable at best but that also told him it would move under his touch. He had told himself he would crawl out on the top of any cave in and now he would have to do it. 'Why do I even think those thoughts?! It seems to ensure they will occur!' he tried to joke with himself.
Knowing that getting through the layer of dirt to the surface may be more like swimming than tunneling, Aragorn took a deep breath of air, pulling in more than half the air the small section he stood in now could boast and put this hands against the dirt to the upper left, near where he had been digging. With a thought of 'father help me' he closed his eyes and plunged his hands into the dirt. His touch initiated a wave of dirt to wash over him. Utilizing the dirt that now pooled under him, Aragorn pressed forward, clawing desperate at the dirt overhead all the while holding his breath. More dirt pressed against him but he dug more frantically and fought to climb up the dirt around him. Panic began to seize him as his lungs screamed for breath and his progress to the surface seemed non existent.
Anger spurned him to dig more feverously. Escape was too close now. He could not fail! But his body was starting to shut down at the lack of oxygen. In despair, Aragorn began to accept his fate, he would die this day.
It was then that his hand broke through the dirt. Immediately, Aragorn put his other hand on the same path and it too broke through the dirt. Setting both his arms to the task of pushing the dirt away from him, he began to erect a small tunnel to the surface.
Unable to hold his breath any longer, Aragorn opened his mouth and choked on the dirt that filled it. But his next ragged breath drew in a healthy supply of life sustaining air. His tunnel to the surface held and light again entered his world, causing him to squint as the light pained him after his prolonged time in the dark.
Pushing against the dirt under his feet, Aragorn inched himself higher and higher, always trying to climb the dirt that surrounded him. Inch by inch, sometimes with dirt again closing the tunnel, he made his way closer and closer to the surface. Finally, he clawed free of the dirt, crawled a few paces from the unstable ground and promptly collapsed face down on the ground, dragging in breath after breath, his eyes clamped shut against the light.
TBC ((((((((((
Thanks for reading!! And I'ld love to hear from you all!
Replies to reviews:
Marbienl: See, Aragorn was not fated to become a mummie! Would I do that to the man I love?!?! And yes, I was "inspired" by that other movie...I am Not insane or demented or anything else that requires therapy or medication! (Anyone believing this?!) I'll have to check out your stories because you have great ideas! I'll drop you a review when I do! Well, as usual I can't wait to hear your comments on this chapter!
Elven Kitten: Your review made me laugh out loud! Luckily for both of us, Aragorn rescued himself without the forklift! Thanks for your wonderful words! Keep dropping me reviews!
AM: So you're the quiet one in the back! (That's usually MY spot!) I'm really glad you're liking the story! And you can question the author all you want! But will you change her mind about torturing Aragorn ...ah.....nope! Hope to hear from you again!
BabeyRachey: See, no reason to faint again! No cliffie even. (I know, I'm kinda disappointed in that fact too) Sorry, I couldn't let the twins rescue Aragorn, this was something he needed to do on his own. But never fear, the twins are in this story! Drop me a review!
Bill the Pony2: As for your "olden day" story, I'm a little worried that no one would be around to hear me ringing the bell! How about an airhorn? That should be enough to wake the dea...nope I'm not going there. So how'd I do this chapter!
Linuvial Greenleaf: You caught me!! I DID watch Kill Bill Volume 2 and I LOVED that scene! I've always has a sick fascination with burying a character or having them chained to a corpse but after seeing that movie, I was determined to put it in a story. POOR ARAGORN! I figured if anyone could escape that fate, he could! Thank you so much for what you said about Touch of the Palantir and your compliments!!! It's so nice being able to share my writing after hiding the talent in a closet for so many years! Love to hear from you again.
Someone Reading: I was SO touched by your review!!! THANK YOU!!And I got a sick sense of satisfaction that you had to turn on your lights!! That's what I was going for! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint! Let me know what you think!!
BM originally: Thanks for your wonderful review!!! And I was touched that you recognized me from Mag7 and STILL wanted to read this story! Thanks for adding this story to your alert list!! Hope to hear from you again!
Tychen: "Wickedly on form" I love that!! And see, he got the "light in dark places, when all other lights have gone out", at the very last of this chapter. As you guessed, I did NOT have our hero rescued by any of the usual suspects. After being defeated in a sword fight, getting paralyzed, and buried in a tomb, I thought he needed a little ego boost by rescuing himself. Please drop me a review!
Luinthien: Thanks for your compliments! And I'm sorry about Arathorn not making an "appearance" but I'll keep that thought in mind. Love to hear from you again!
Aebbook: I'ld love to hear all the ways you came up with to torture Barion! Thanks for reviewing and I hope you drop me a review after this chapter too!
Ymmas Sirron: Aragorn's free of the tomb now so I hope you've given up on your threats to hurt everyone I know?!?! And I did update kinda soon?!? I'll love to lock you and Barion in a room. I know who'd come out alive! (YOU!!) Always love hearing from you!
Grumpy: Yes, he could have used the light of Galadriel in that unholy dark tomb but our ranger did just fine in the dark. (As if we had any doubts!?!) Glad you told me specifics of what you liked! And all will be revealed about Barion's grievance with Arathron in due time. (That translates into: when I have that chapter written). Looking forward to your next review!
WendyRain: I was really touched that you check every day for an update from little old me!! Between the darkness, the hopelessness of escape and the small space, I would have went bonkers in the tomb after say...Barion shut the door! But not our brave Ranger. He is so the man! Can's wait for your next review!
Joey: Thanks so much for your compliments!! It really means a lot to me that someone likes what I write. As for Aragorn's reunion with his elven family, that's actually coming up in the next chapter! Hope you drop me another review!
Thanks again for reading and for those wonderful people who reviewed!
Cheryl W.
By: Cheryl W
Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings or anything in conjunction with the Lord of the Rings nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
CHAPTER 4 (((((
For a moment, the merciless darkness seemed to suffocate Aragorn for he could not draw in a breath. Fleetingly, he wondered if one could die of fright. 'Relax and just breathe,' he silently ordered of himself but he could not hold back his own scathing retort to those words. 'Relax?! Relax?! You are lying on a corpse, buried in a tomb and you would have me relax?!?'
However, the internal bantering in itself calmed him and he was able to draw in a ragged breath, then another and yet another until his breathing was almost normal. He would not die of fright...no fate would not be that kind to him.
He tried to force his eyes to adjust to the black void that surrounded him but he gave up after only a few moments. He doubted even an elf's eye could perceive through this darkness. With his eyesight gone, his other senses heightened. Every breath he drew in the fetid smell of decay and death, it's scent causing his stomach to churn. He could feel the bones of the corpse pressing against him. And he tried not to think about the fact that his head rested against the cloth covered skull and that it was a sharp bare rib bone that jabbed against his chest. With his healer knowledge, he knew the bone had been fractured and never set. He could feel a scream building in his chest but he swallowed hard, pushing it down. Suddenly, able to see nothing seemed a blessing.
Trying again to get his body to respond to his wishes, he met with marginal success as he was able to lift his head from the corpse's skull and left it drop gratefully unto the shelf. Some of the terror that clawed at him eased. With another move he was able to slowly drag his left arm off the corpse's leg where it had limply fallen when Barion dumped him on the shelf. The move seemed to require a large amount of energy and he lay there, marshalling his strength. Then he moved his arms under him and found he could lift himself up. But his strength was weakened and he sank back onto the shelf after a moment.
Now that movement had been restored to him, Aragorn contemplated how to get off the shelf. Pinned as he was between the wall and the corpse, pushing the corpse from the shelf was by far the easiest and most logical step. But again honor forced him to choose the harder path. He could not show such disrespect to the remains of the young boy who had died valiantly in the service of the rangers.
Closing that avenue, Aragorn knew he could do but one thing to be freed from the shelf. Crawl over the corpse. Knowing that the task would be arduous, he rested back again down upon the shelf and gathered his strength and the fortitude to endure such intimate contact with the dead. When he was ready in mind and body, he raised himself up by his hands. Then, in the utter darkness of the tomb, he attempted to lift his left hand and left leg completely over the corpse to settle securely on the other side of the corpse. But with the lack of light, he misgauged the distance and though his hand found purchase on the shelf beside the corpse, his leg did not.
Aragorn's boot caught on the corpse's foot, unbalancing the ranger's precarious position and sending him crashing down upon the corpse. A yell of terror tore from Aragorn as his face landed on a cold smooth surface that he knew was the skull, which somehow had been uncovered and bare to his touch. Aragorn's body pressed against the length of the corpse and he felt as if the bones had morphed with his own.
Terror alone drove his actions. Frantically, he rolled off the corpse, landed harshly on the ground and scurried backward in the darkness until his back slammed into the opposite wall, abruptly halting his horrified retreat. His heaving breaths were loud in the dark small tomb. His body trembled in disgust and terror and shock. Feeling as if he could still feel the touch of the skull upon his cheek, he raised a shaking hand and wiped brutally at his cheek to remove the imagined remnants of the corpse.
He began to fear that which he could not see, namely everything. What dwelt in this tomb with him? Amarth's restless soul? Or the soul of the man that Urdil buried in here? As crazy as it was, Aragorn feared that something in the void would reach out and touch him, something filled with malice and death.
Pulling his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his legs and bowed his head. "Do not falter," he spoke aloud, hoping the sound of his voice would quiet some of his terror. "You can escape this fate." And then his mind wandered where it always did when death seemed to have him in it's sight. He thought of the ones he loved: Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen and Legolas. Thinking of them had always given him comfort in his time of need and the strength to see him through whatever hardship he faced. But no longer.
Now his relationship with each of the elves was tainted. If Elrond had only taken him into his home for duty sake, then was it also duty that drove the actions of the others? Elladan and Elrohir..had he mistakenly saw their obligation to keep the Hope of Middle Earth safe as brotherly protection? Would Legolas have befriended him if he were just another man? Would Arwen have even lowered herself to look upon his face if they had met on grounds not belonging to the elves?
With an anguished yell, Aragorn pounded his fist upon the ground. If only Barion had never shown him those letters?! If only he had never read them!? If only he could deny the handwriting as Elrond's?! Or believe that Elrond's words had not been in earnest?! "But they were in earnest," he said aloud, his head still bowed with his eyes tightly shut as if to block out the darkness that clung to not only the tomb but his soul. Softly he cursed himself, "I have been a fool, believing what I most wanted to be truth."
Raising his clenched fist from the ground, he ran his hand through his hair and let it rest on the base of his neck. For a few moments, he did not stir but drew in even steadying breaths. He had but two choices: sit here and wait for death to claim him or fight with every ounce of his soul to try to escape this fate.
With resolve, Aragorn raised his head, opened his eyes to the void around him and started to struggle to his feet. He was not one to accept defeat and he would not start now. With a steadying hand on the wall behind him, Aragorn willed himself to his feet, stamping down the agony that was reawakening in the wounds Barion had inflicted upon him. Keeping one hand on the wall, Aragorn reached forward with the other. Feeling nothing in front of him, he took a step forward. Having still not encountered any barrier, he placed another foot in front of another.
When the fingers of his left hand touched something, he recoiled, still plagued by the thought of the spirits of the dead coming to seize him. 'Dirt,' he chided himself, 'you touched dirt, fool.' Tentatively he reached his hand forward and again felt a substance under his fingertips. Dirt. He had found the front wall of the tomb.
Cautiously stepping forward, Aragorn drew closer to the wall in front of him. Firmly anchored to the feel of the wall before him, he withdrew his right hand from the side wall and placed it palm down upon the front wall. Then he groped blindly with his left hand for the contours of the wooden door. Feeling only dirt under his touch, Aragorn side stepped to the left.
With a sense of relief, his fingers slid onto wood. He had found the door. Taking a few steps, Aragorn found himself directly in front of the door, both hands resting against the wood, reassured by the grain his fingers caressed. He may have not been a wood elf, but he still felt a connection with the trees, as if he were somehow more alive walking under their protection, touching their rough bark.
Systematically he measured the door with his hands and determined that there was definitely no handle. "As if you thought there would be one," he scoffed aloud. "The dead have no need of such devices." He drew his hands to the center of the door again but his fingers encountered a roughness in the wood that was not present naturally. Denied sight as he was, he had to depend on his touch alone to solve this mystery. Tracing the rough texture, his fingers contacted yet another line of uneven wood. He froze when the four fingers of his right hand seemed to fall into ruts in the wood.
Before he could stop his reaction, Aragorn skittered back from the door. The markings in the door...he knew what they were. Scars from desperate fingers clawing at the door...clawing to be released from the tomb. The story was fact. A man had been left to die in here.
And now so have you, Aragorn thought. Swallowing hard, he forced down the shiver of terror that was again shooting down his spine. He would not suffer that man's fate. Without further thought, he ran forward, certain of his destination even in this abyss. His shoulder impacted painfully with the wooden door but though the door shook, it did not give way. But that could not be said of Aragorn's body.
A choked cry of agony erupted from him and he slid down the door unto the floor. Gasping for breath, he clutched his wounded right side and felt warm blood trace down his hand. Barion's potion may have the ability to slow blood loss but not under the abuse Aragorn had just delivered to the wound.
Stubbornly, Aragorn drew his legs under him and forced himself from the ground, his shoulder solidly supported by the wooden door. He came to his feet and rested his head wearily against the door. But a moment later he pushed himself from the door and took slightly unsteady steps backward, his left hand out behind him to alert him when he neared the back wall. After five steps, his hand came into contact with the back wall. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn positioned his right shoulder forward and with a yell of determination, ran again for the door.
When his shoulder hit the wood, Aragorn's body shut down in agony overload. Immediately the man collapsed to the ground, barely conscious. Aragorn fought off the comforting presence of unconsciousness. If he gave into his body's weakness now, he feared that he would awake to the gates of the Halls of Mandos. Putting his hands under his chest, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Disheartened, he knew what his back rested against. The door. The still firmly closed door.
Defeat was starting to settle on him and it angered him. He turned his unseeing eyes heavenward and growled, "Father if you can help me, help me to live, not to die a quick death!" Then his head dropped to rest against his chest and he pleaded brokenly, "Help me." But his pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears ...if they fell on any ears at all.
'I must do this alone...as I have done most things in my life,' he bitterly realized.
Leaning over to his left side, he braced himself up with his left arm and slid himself back a ways from the door. Then he reached his right hand forward until it touched the door where it met the ground and began to dig. If he could dig under the door, maybe he didn't even need to try and squeeze under the door, maybe if he could just make enough of a space for his hand to slip under it he could use the new leverage to somehow get the door open.
But the ground would not give way to his efforts. His fingers could only scrape a fine layer of powdery dirt off the ground no matter where he tried under the length of the door. With a dwarven curse, he abandoned his efforts. Maneuvering his back to once again rest upon the door, he forced his feet under him and by leaning on the door, managed to again stand up. For a moment he leaned heavily against the door, breathing hard and unable to shut out his pessimistic thoughts.
'Will anyone ever know what became of me?! Will anyone mourn me? The real me? Or was Barion right? Do none love me for myself?'
"Stop!" he yelled aloud, furious that his weak emotions were hampering him in his quest for survival. "Get out of this blasted tomb and ask them yourself!" that thought was like a revelation and he stood up straighter. Yes, he wanted more than to survive. He wanted answers! And the truth for a change!
Clenching his jaw in new determination, he stood away from the door and began to slowly walk to the left, his hand tracing against the wall. After a few steps he tried to claw away at the wall but it was the same consistency as the ground, only earning him dirt under his nails. Struggling to be undeterred at his continued failure, he walked forward a few paces and tried again to find a weakness in the walls now before him. Time after time, he performed the same task until he had encompassed the entire four walls of the tomb, even the wall behind the shelf where the body lay, though he made certain his blind reach was high and would not chance touching the corpse. But through all his searching he met with no success. The dirt was as unyielding as rock.
Leaning his head against the last portion of the wall that he had checked he tried to not let defeat grip his soul. It was pathetic to think he would die so close to home...to Rivendell. Had Barion known that Rivendell had been Aragorn's destination when he joined his camp last night? Or had that been just good fortune on the part of Barion's to have his prey so close to the tomb? It felt like fate itself were conspiring against Aragorn.
Unbidden, Aragorn thought of his plans he had last night, before Barion had waylaid him...maybe permanently. He was going home... to spend time with his father and brothers, whom he had missed desperately, and even Legolas was going to be there. It was going to be a great time, full of happiness and laughter and pranks. Now all that was gone, even if he managed to crawl from this abyss he would never be certain in their company again. Elrond's letters had changed everything.
He forced himself to think of the possibilities that he would be rescued but they died a quick death. Legolas, if he was not already in Rivendell, would go the higher path as was his wont when coming from his home. And the Rivendell hunting parties knew by long experience that even a light snow could prove treacherous, even for elves, on the rocky paths that ran beside this tomb. No, none would travel this path, not now that winter was about to set in.
His survival was in his own hands alone. "Think!" he barked and tried to remember the way the tomb looked from the outside, to see if he could perceive any weakness from that view. The tomb had been hewed right from a hill, a hill that's width exceeded it's height. Suddenly, Aragorn raised his hand overhead. It did not connect with the ceiling of the tomb. Hope sprang inside him. The ceiling could not be that thick...he had just discovered the weakest section of the tomb.
Hastily, with the help of his tethered touch on the wall, he guided himself over to the shelf. He needed to reach the ceiling. Steeling himself, he searched in the void for the shelf's ledge. As fate would have it, he touched the corpse but forced himself to not jerk back. Instead he slid his hands from the corpse until they touched the coolness of the shelf. He found only a small edge of the shelf was not used by the corpse. With dread he knew what he had to do: move the corpse back further against the wall and thereby allowing him room to stand on the shelf.
Now that he had a plan for escape, he could not let his terror hamper him. Firmly but with respectable reverence, he pushed the corpse away from the edge of the shelf until it he felt it came to rest against the wall of the tomb. Testing the results of his efforts, he placed his hands again on the shelf and was relieved when he realized that he now had enough space on the shelf to stand.
Unable to see, Aragorn used his handhold on the shelf as a guide indicating where to put his foot. Once he had the first foot settled on the shelf, he put his right hand to the wall to steady himself and brought his other foot onto the shelf but remained squatted down. Slowly he stood up on the shelf, his right hand sliding up the wall while his left hand was raised overhead, seeking the ceiling. He had barely begun to raise when his left hand came into contact with the ceiling.
A smile sprang to Aragorn's face in the darkness as he felt the texture of the dirt. It was moist! Fervently he thanked the Valar for the rainstorms the prior day. As he clawed at the dirt, it crumbled under his hand to drop unto his face. A laugh broke from him. "This tomb will not hold me long now!" But caution stayed his hand a moment. Though the hill this tomb resided in was not of a great height it still was a distance from the ceiling Aragorn now touched. The risk for a cave in was great with the moist dirt and the layers of dirt overhead.
Taking that into calculation, Aragorn ran his hand out toward more of the center of the tomb and set that as the spot he would dig. If a cave in occurred he planned to not be in the plummeting dirt's path. Instead he would simply climb on the downed dirt and tunnel his way out. No matter what, he was getting free of the clutches of this suffocating darkness, of this unholy fate. Yes, he would get free first and then he would seek out the elves he had come to love and force them to speak the truth.
With those two goals in mind, Aragorn began to dig at the ceiling, now with both hands. Dirt hit his clawing hands and fell to the ground in increasing clumps. Leaning further toward the spot he dug, he found his progress steadily allowing his hands to raise further and further into the dirt overhead. His wounds pained him fiercely, protesting his actions but he did not falter even as time seemed to stretch on and on. With his tunnel progressing further toward the surface, Aragorn had to step further to the edge of the shelf so that he could reach his hands higher. Suddenly, his hand broke through the surface layer of dirt and a slice of light pierced the darkness that had cloaked Aragorn for so long. Blinking and squinting against the light that hit his face, Aragorn laughed. He was going to live!
Without warning, the ceiling collapsed.
With elven-like reflexes, Aragorn threw himself backward but even as he moved, dirt slammed into him. Tripping over the corpse, he lost his balance and fell heavily against the wall, knocking the breath from him. For a long moment, dirt rained in the room with a loud crash. Then the tomb fell deathly silent again. Darkness again consumed Aragorn but somehow this darkness was more suffocating. Reaching his hands forward tentatively, he soon touched a newly created wall of dirt. The cave in had pinned him against the wall with mere feet of open space.
Moments prior, he had tasted freedom but now it seemed an unachievable dream. Pushing off the wall, he leaned closer to the dirt of the new wall. With a feathery touch, his fingers brushed the settling dirt. The wall was unstable at best but that also told him it would move under his touch. He had told himself he would crawl out on the top of any cave in and now he would have to do it. 'Why do I even think those thoughts?! It seems to ensure they will occur!' he tried to joke with himself.
Knowing that getting through the layer of dirt to the surface may be more like swimming than tunneling, Aragorn took a deep breath of air, pulling in more than half the air the small section he stood in now could boast and put this hands against the dirt to the upper left, near where he had been digging. With a thought of 'father help me' he closed his eyes and plunged his hands into the dirt. His touch initiated a wave of dirt to wash over him. Utilizing the dirt that now pooled under him, Aragorn pressed forward, clawing desperate at the dirt overhead all the while holding his breath. More dirt pressed against him but he dug more frantically and fought to climb up the dirt around him. Panic began to seize him as his lungs screamed for breath and his progress to the surface seemed non existent.
Anger spurned him to dig more feverously. Escape was too close now. He could not fail! But his body was starting to shut down at the lack of oxygen. In despair, Aragorn began to accept his fate, he would die this day.
It was then that his hand broke through the dirt. Immediately, Aragorn put his other hand on the same path and it too broke through the dirt. Setting both his arms to the task of pushing the dirt away from him, he began to erect a small tunnel to the surface.
Unable to hold his breath any longer, Aragorn opened his mouth and choked on the dirt that filled it. But his next ragged breath drew in a healthy supply of life sustaining air. His tunnel to the surface held and light again entered his world, causing him to squint as the light pained him after his prolonged time in the dark.
Pushing against the dirt under his feet, Aragorn inched himself higher and higher, always trying to climb the dirt that surrounded him. Inch by inch, sometimes with dirt again closing the tunnel, he made his way closer and closer to the surface. Finally, he clawed free of the dirt, crawled a few paces from the unstable ground and promptly collapsed face down on the ground, dragging in breath after breath, his eyes clamped shut against the light.
TBC ((((((((((
Thanks for reading!! And I'ld love to hear from you all!
Replies to reviews:
Marbienl: See, Aragorn was not fated to become a mummie! Would I do that to the man I love?!?! And yes, I was "inspired" by that other movie...I am Not insane or demented or anything else that requires therapy or medication! (Anyone believing this?!) I'll have to check out your stories because you have great ideas! I'll drop you a review when I do! Well, as usual I can't wait to hear your comments on this chapter!
Elven Kitten: Your review made me laugh out loud! Luckily for both of us, Aragorn rescued himself without the forklift! Thanks for your wonderful words! Keep dropping me reviews!
AM: So you're the quiet one in the back! (That's usually MY spot!) I'm really glad you're liking the story! And you can question the author all you want! But will you change her mind about torturing Aragorn ...ah.....nope! Hope to hear from you again!
BabeyRachey: See, no reason to faint again! No cliffie even. (I know, I'm kinda disappointed in that fact too) Sorry, I couldn't let the twins rescue Aragorn, this was something he needed to do on his own. But never fear, the twins are in this story! Drop me a review!
Bill the Pony2: As for your "olden day" story, I'm a little worried that no one would be around to hear me ringing the bell! How about an airhorn? That should be enough to wake the dea...nope I'm not going there. So how'd I do this chapter!
Linuvial Greenleaf: You caught me!! I DID watch Kill Bill Volume 2 and I LOVED that scene! I've always has a sick fascination with burying a character or having them chained to a corpse but after seeing that movie, I was determined to put it in a story. POOR ARAGORN! I figured if anyone could escape that fate, he could! Thank you so much for what you said about Touch of the Palantir and your compliments!!! It's so nice being able to share my writing after hiding the talent in a closet for so many years! Love to hear from you again.
Someone Reading: I was SO touched by your review!!! THANK YOU!!And I got a sick sense of satisfaction that you had to turn on your lights!! That's what I was going for! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint! Let me know what you think!!
BM originally: Thanks for your wonderful review!!! And I was touched that you recognized me from Mag7 and STILL wanted to read this story! Thanks for adding this story to your alert list!! Hope to hear from you again!
Tychen: "Wickedly on form" I love that!! And see, he got the "light in dark places, when all other lights have gone out", at the very last of this chapter. As you guessed, I did NOT have our hero rescued by any of the usual suspects. After being defeated in a sword fight, getting paralyzed, and buried in a tomb, I thought he needed a little ego boost by rescuing himself. Please drop me a review!
Luinthien: Thanks for your compliments! And I'm sorry about Arathorn not making an "appearance" but I'll keep that thought in mind. Love to hear from you again!
Aebbook: I'ld love to hear all the ways you came up with to torture Barion! Thanks for reviewing and I hope you drop me a review after this chapter too!
Ymmas Sirron: Aragorn's free of the tomb now so I hope you've given up on your threats to hurt everyone I know?!?! And I did update kinda soon?!? I'll love to lock you and Barion in a room. I know who'd come out alive! (YOU!!) Always love hearing from you!
Grumpy: Yes, he could have used the light of Galadriel in that unholy dark tomb but our ranger did just fine in the dark. (As if we had any doubts!?!) Glad you told me specifics of what you liked! And all will be revealed about Barion's grievance with Arathron in due time. (That translates into: when I have that chapter written). Looking forward to your next review!
WendyRain: I was really touched that you check every day for an update from little old me!! Between the darkness, the hopelessness of escape and the small space, I would have went bonkers in the tomb after say...Barion shut the door! But not our brave Ranger. He is so the man! Can's wait for your next review!
Joey: Thanks so much for your compliments!! It really means a lot to me that someone likes what I write. As for Aragorn's reunion with his elven family, that's actually coming up in the next chapter! Hope you drop me another review!
Thanks again for reading and for those wonderful people who reviewed!
Cheryl W.