Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just those I think up of in that imagination of lack thereof of mine.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil. My apologies for any discrepancies, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

–The Eagle of the Star –
Chapter 5

The sun was shining brightly high up in the sky, yet the Rider was still unconscious. Eothir was already sick with worry about the fates of the other men and pacing unceasingly around the Rider, whose wounds were heavily bandaged. He had seemed to be the only one who had escaped from the slaughter, for no one returned after him, and if Eothir had interpreted him properly.

A scared voice soon roused most of the men from their thoughts and they quickly gathered around him, their eyes filled with expectancy and relief that perhaps he had finally come to.

"No, please! Get away from me! No!"

The Rider's arms came up as if to protect him from an unknown assailant, his eyes open, yet it did not seem to registered the concerned looks of his fellow comrades. Shaking his head, Eothir slowly crouched beside him, and started shaking him as vigorously as possible so as not to further injure him.

"Alignir! Awake! Alignir!"

With a gasp the Rider sprang upright, beads of sweat forming on his face, his fair hair messy. His eyes unclouded as he surveyed his surroundings, even as his chest heaved as he tried to calm down. A hacking cough soon followed and the Rider was bent double as the weight of his injuries caught up with him. Eothir helped in tilting his head up to have some water. It was only after a while that the cough died down, and the Rider relaxed.

"What happened to the others?"

Alignir lowered his head in solitary mourning before raising his head again, eyes shining his unshed tears for the men he knew for a long time. It was a while before he started to talk, his voice clearly indicating that if he had a choice, he would rather not recount the horror.

"We killed the orcs had took the girl away, and Thorongil was carrying her off, and telling us to go, before reinforcement came. But we were too late" –Alignir swallowed –"the warg-riders came, and they surrounded us. It was a trap, and we were outnumbered one to three. We could easily defeat the orcs, but their steeds had seemed to have a mind of their own, and for them, though their riders were killed, they still attacked us. We tried to withstand them, but it was impossible. Our swords were rendered useless against their claws and ferocity. We watched, aghast as Disehal was ripped apart alive, screaming as one hungry warg devoured him, bones crunching under its razor teeth." –the Rider visibly shuddered before continuing –"Thorongil tried to help all of us escape, and distracted the wargs to him and we ran away. But they noticed us, and gave chase. I ran as fast as I could, not looking back for fear of coming face to face with one." Alignir stopped talking.

The Riders all turned and looked expectantly as Eothir made his decisions.

"The least we can do is return their bodies to their families for a decent burial. And find the orcs who killed them. Eight will tarry here, including Alignir, lest any stray orc wander in. The rest will follow me to claim their bodies, and hunt some orc."

The arrangements were quickly made and Eothir set off, with but little over two dozen Riders with him, compared to their numbers when they had left Meduseld.

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Aragorn awoke with a groan, shaking his head in an effort to get rid of the drowsiness that still rested on his lids and mind. He tried to move arms, only to discover that they were chained to shackles above his head, their edges cutting into his exposed wrists. His feet were too, pinned to the wall in another set of shackles near the bottom. A mild shake of them proved that they were held tight against the wall, as were his hands. It seemed pointless to even try to escape, and he decided to save his strength for later.

Looking around, he saw another Rider chained nearby; the interior of the cave too dark for him to make out his face. But it seemed as if someone was missing, and he rummaged through his half-conscious mind for that elusive name.

Brianne! Where are you?

Straining his eyes against the dim light, he tried to search for her, yet finding no sign that she was around. Perhaps the orcs had killed her after knocking him cold, perhaps after using her for their own pleasures.

He tried to push away that nagging guilty conscience that rested heavily upon his thoughts. He should have known better than to bring her with them! Sure, she could fight and fend for herself, but still, she was a female, and that alone was a danger for her. He had foolishly thought it was just a raid-and-plunder that the orcs usually did, but it seemed that this company was cleverer than the rest, though they seemed to have no superior to report too. If he had left Brianne at Meduseld, she would be safe and well. Giving himself a swift mental kick to the head, he chastised himself for that fatal mistake. In his haste to help the girl, he had forgotten everything he learned at Rivendell and with the Rangers!

And now another innocent was lost thanks to him.

His self-depreciating thoughts stopped the moment he heard an angry scream that resounded in the cave, bursting into a chorus of echoes. The voice sounded familiar and rather near…

Brianne!

A sigh of relief escaped him as realization came to him that she was alive, though he highly doubted her being 'well'. Unable to look beyond the nook to where he was shackled, yet not wanting to hear any more of the screams, he shouted,

"Leave her alone!"

All was suddenly silent, and too quiet for his comfort. Slowly, the 'thud' of iron shod feet was heard on the rock floor of the cave, and an orc face came into view, its feature seemed forever cemented into that of a leering sneer. The orc's beady eyes surveyed him and his shackles, looking rather pleased that he could do anything to the captive and the latter could not.

A backhanded blow struck Aragorn all of a sudden and his head was whipped to the side; his cheekbone connecting none too gently with solid stone. Red spots appeared in front of his eyes from the hit, and for a brief moment he was rendered unmoving, while his disorientated mind sorted out the events that occurred in that single split second.

The chill of cold metal hit him on the chest, and he dared himself to look at the orc-blade that was poised for the plunge to his heart. It seemed that while he was still recovering from the blow, the orc had found the time to cut open half of his tunic, and decided to finish of his rowdy captive.

The Ranger stared defiantly at the orc; challenge evident in his eyes as he waited for the death blow, trying his best to conquer and conceal the gnawing fear that was growing within him.

The blow never came.

The orc changed his mind, and apparently decided that a quick death was not suitable for someone who spoilt his fun and made him leave his 'treasure'. The blade changed course and proceeded to cut away what was left of his ruined tunic, till it lay in tatters upon the cave floor, and inch below his feet.

He 'stood' bare torso-ed in front of the orc, while the latter received a whip from another. He caught the eye of the Rider, and saw sympathy and concern evident in the Rider's gaze, and gave the Rider a grim smile. It was, to some extent, his will. He had decided to protect Brianne, and thus chosen this.

The pencil-thin whip cracked, and flashed across his skin, its tiny barbs quickly tearing away bits of flesh. At first he had felt nothing, and the pain came a second later, like fire burning under his skin, and smothering every nerve he had. He felt blood ooze from the wound, and looked down, only to see an ugly line of angry red.

The orc brought his face to Aragorn, and Aragorn had to fight from gagging from the foul air he was taking in.

"You don't like it, do you, Rider?" he sneered contemptuously, hatred evident in each word. "I'll teach you what happens to captives who do not cooperate."

The whip was raised again, and slapped repetitively into his body, as Aragorn bit his lip to stop from crying out, drawing more blood.

The loss of the life giving liquid, coupled with the pain that was bursting in his head with each stroke soon made him pass out, his whole body going limp.

Yet the orc did not seem to notice, and the whip cracked on, making Brianne and the other Rider wince in pain each time they heard it.

Tbc…

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And flames would be welcome to.