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15. Aragorn in the Caves

Aragorn stared down at the red-stained snow where Arwen had laid. It wasn't possible; she had just been there. She couldn't merely vanish, and she was injured – badly. Aragorn shook himself in despair, falling down on his knees as if at ground level he would see her. But Arwen was not there.

"My lord; what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Aragorn didn't hear the voices clamouring around him, questioning why he had collapsed there. He was so frustrated, unable to believe that she had gone. It didn't work. Where was she? He hit the firm snow in anger, pressing his face down into it. The warmth from Arwen's blood was still there.

"Aragorn? Aragorn!" Halbarad rushed up behind and jogged his shoulders, finally getting his attention. "Aragorn! What on earth is wrong? We won! You won! Be happy!" He grinned and Calosin came up behind, a cut on his cheek but smiling nonetheless.

"Aragorn…" he said, puzzlement in his voice. His eyes fell on the blood-coloured snow around him. "Have you been hurt? Aragorn!" He knelt down, carefully taking his hand.

"No…" he mumbled, watching the scarlet marks as if it might somehow bring her back. A faint buzzing filled his head, slowing down his thinking and fogging up his eyes. He did not notice Calosin beside him.

"But- NO!" Aragorn glanced up in surprise at finding his friend next to him. There was horror in his eyes as he focused on Aragorn and his pupils shrank in fear. "No… it wasn't, it couldn't be…" He faded away, weakly watching him. Just as Aragorn tried to explain, his throat swelled up and made speaking difficult.

"Ye-es," Aragorn confirmed, his voice suddenly breaking violently. He toppled forward, lying down in the snow, crying hopelessly for his lost Evenstar. Nothing hurt more than this; nothing ever could, for they had taken her, taken her away to murder her in the long hours of screaming torture. It was even worse than seeing her before, to know what they were going to do to her… what they were doing to her now.

Aragorn choked as his fierce tears ran down into the snow beneath him, and he lifted his tormented face up from the distasteful crimson snow, struggling for breath. Suddenly, as his red watering eyes flickered around sadly, he caught sight of something lying in the fresh white snow a few feet away. He leapt forward desperately – he knew it wasn't Arwen but… there was always the hope. Grasping the dark material in his hand, Aragorn himself was not at all sure what it was. Calosin and Halbarad watched him intently, shocked at his sudden movement.

Suddenly Aragorn realised what it was. "Arwen's cloak…" he murmured, gazing at the beautiful rippling effect through the material, glistening like stars and shimmering like water under moonlight. It was so spellbinding, amazing the way it shone in his hands, seeming to hold some elven power even within itself. And in some confusing way to him, extremely like Arwen.

Slowly, very cautiously, he lifted it up to his face, leaning in to the soft silky cloth. Immediately he was filled with a very overpowering sense of Arwen, her deliciously sweet scent, so pure and delightful; and he cried out into her cloak, sobbing his heart out for her. Now she had gonegone neverto come back… AGAIN… his beautiful darling Arwen…

Aragorn whimpered unbearably as if he had been stung by something terrible, and as fiery tears ran down from his eyes he pressed his face into the sleek silken cloak, holding it gently to him, comforted by the essence of her still lingering there. She seemed to be reaching out to him there and then, so near and touching right down to his soul. And she was being tortured, DYING…

Calosin and Halbarad stood there, horrified at the distress of their leader. To see a full grown man crying, one who was always so brave and optimistic, full of calm and happiness, this was unnerving. It wasn't right. The heart-tearing howls cut them worse than the maces and daggers that had just attacked them. It was just plain awful.

Finally when Calosin could bear it no longer, he slowly pulled Aragorn away from the tear-covered cloak. Immediately the pain on Aragorn's face weakened his will, but he sat his friend up, asking him to stop crying. It was not easy for Aragorn, the torment upon him eating up his whole conscience.

"Please, Aragorn," Calosin asked, Halbarad also coming down beside them. "Don't do that, it makes me go funny." He looked up, a little astonished at the choice of words. Calosin watched him worriedly, his eyebrows knitted in concern. Aragorn swallowed his tears, wishing the soreness within him would leave.

"Listen…" Halbarad suddenly said. "Aragorn, we have to go in there after them. You told us so yourself. We can't let them regroup and multiply again, before they re-attack us as we go back down. We must chase after them. Aragorn," Halbarad put his hand on his shoulder, "go into the tunnels. Run after them. Take Arwen back."

Aragorn gazed down at the misty cloak in despair. "No… I can't do it. I can't fight the number of orcs in there all by myself. I'm exhausted as it is, but… no, not even if I was well could I do that."

Calosin spoke up. "You don't need to kill them. We will come after you to the caves. Sneak in and capture her, and then as you escape back to the tunnel we will come out and ambush them. You can do it, Aragorn." He fixed him under his stare and Aragorn looked away. He couldn't see how it would ever work out. So many orcs, all surrounding the maiden he loved so much – it would kill him just to see her there, inescapable from the torture.

But then, as he watched the silvery swirls in the dark material glide along and then vanish, he remembered something. Frowning, he opened up the cloak and held it out in front. When Arwen had worn it, hadn't she always seemed a little … difficult to see in the dark? At night when they had been travelling, she had almost disappeared into the black darkness around them, even though there was the contrasting white snow. Maybe, maybe she had done something to the cloak…

Aragorn shook it gently and it wavered in the air innocently. And why had he not immediately seen it when Arwen had vanished? That was odd. And – his hands shot back to his chest – shouldn't it be wet? It had lain in the snow, of course, and his tears had not been mild to say the least. But… it was dry.

He bit his lip. Arwen had made this cloak to do this, or something very extraordinary and magical. Why? And what was it meant to do? It was unearthly beautiful, yet so plain and simple to the unknowing eye. He chuckled quietly to himself, a window of hope flying out to him very fast. Arwen was so clever; she seemed to know his every need. Or was it her need, and his just happened to be the same? Or were theirs exactly the same?

Anyway, with this, he could do it. With her cloak he could rescue her, hidden by her Eldar powers and safe from evil eyes. He would save her; Arwen would live! She would be alive!

"Halbarad; where's the cave entrance? Quickly!"

His friend grinned at his ecstatic agreement. "Over there, just follow the trail. It's easy to see the opening. Go!" He pulled Aragorn up with his hand.

Aragorn inclined his head a little in thanks and began to run off after dark trail through the snow. After a moment he heard the movements of someone behind him.

"Calosin!"

"Aragorn; you must hurry." He whispered breathlessly to him. "They move fast. They are heartless. Aragorn; don't be too late." Calosin smiled grimly and firmly placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him onwards.

"We'll be after you soon, Aragorn!" Halbarad called from way back, Aragorn shooting off as fast as he possibly could. Suddenly all his weariness and heavy weight had fallen away. He was ready, ready for anything, and he would not stop, never, not until he had Arwen in his arms…

A big black hole opened up out of the rocky peak ahead of him. It was unmistakable. And un-missable – orcs were so stupid, he thought, anyone could enter it. He rushed in, looking down in the process. Just as the darkness swallowed him greedily up, he saw a flashing image. Maybe it was his imagination, maybe it wasn't. But he thought that he had seen red blood amid the grey trampled snow. Arwen's blood. She was in here.

Aragorn knocked it away. No use considering it, he had other, more important things. The way along the tunnel was not as easy as he had first assumed. The pitch black colour swallowing up the last daylight from the opening made it impossible to see ahead, so he had to trail his hands along one wall. He could not risk slamming into one and losing consciousness. It would be fatal; to Arwen.

The passageway sloped downwards, going down steadily but the floor beneath him was rough and uneven, as if even it had something against him. Aragorn scowled at it as he stumbled in his quick steps, thinking that Arwen must have found this especially difficult to walk over. In fact, he couldn't stop thinking about her. There she was, waiting for him, fighting for her life, and he must reach her. It was everything he wanted, the thing he wanted to do so badly more than anything else he had ever desired. If she died, what then? Would it be his fault? Could he live with that, always knowing he had been too late, assigning Arwen to her death?

No he said firmly to himself, this was not the thing to be musing over. He ran on even faster, his chest heaving full of cool air and his heart hammering a touch painfully. But he knew it was nothing compared to Arwen's pain. Hurry hurry hurry, that was all he could do, now holding his hands straight out in front of his chest, ready to stop himself from going into a brutal wall. He had to chase them, track them all the way to the cave. Cave, or caves? He had no idea. He hoped there was not a labyrinth of them in here, or he was sure to be doomed. He would just have to wait and see.

Aragorn kept going, ignoring his body's protests to slow down. If it was possible he went even faster, always knowing what Arwen was feeling was more than his aching throbs. He must put an end to this infinite gloom, reach the light and do what his heart wanted to more than anything. Well, more than stopping anyway, and this was plenty enough.

And as if in answer to his sudden strong willpower, Aragorn noticed a faint haze appearing ahead in the rocky path. Immediately he slowed, afraid of being heard, but not scared. This is what he wanted, and here he was; finally. After a few more paces it was obvious that this was indeed the end, and the way into a brightly lit cave. About fifteen metres away Aragorn stopped altogether, hiding in the last thick shadows. He then focused his attention on the cloak in his hand, which he could only sense was there if he rubbed his fingers over it.

Silently Aragorn held it out in front of him, letting it fall out into a very recognizable elf-like shape. Reassured at its familiarity, he gracefully pulled it over himself, the material slipping over his body so elegantly he would have thought it had been made to fit him. Then as it rested draped over his hidden form he searched for the smooth cords inside which he knew tied together round the waist. He made a secure knot there, the one he had seen Arwen do on his shoulder merely hours ago. But how distant it seemed, like a story long gone in the past.

To finish it off Aragorn delicately brought the hood over his face. He had thought it would press irritatingly against his brow and nose, distracting his vision, but instead it hung lightly in front, and he could see… better? Was that right? It did not even look, or feel, as if anything was there at all. But that was Arwen's magic for you… and he smiled.

Aragorn now moved forward quietly, his hands grazing over the coarse wall as he leant into it, trying to blend in with the muddy foul-coloured stains scraped all over. For some reason he felt assured that he would be hidden, safe with Arwen's cloak, and no one would see him. There was a single sentry orc on guard at the doorway just steps away, but he wasn't doing a very good job, Aragorn thought. Instinctively his hand fell to his sword hilt, but a few moments later he realised he was not to slay him. Otherwise his presence would be found out. He would not risk that.

As soon as the orange torch light fell on him, Aragorn cringed and stayed close against the wall, unsure whether he would be seen. Did the cloak work in full light, or only in shade? He could not remember now. And there was no time to think. It was time to act.

There was a great body of orcs ahead of him, all wriggling and shuffling in their thuggish manner. This was a massive cavern under the mountain, all hacked out as if in some insane frenzy and left for, for who to finish off? Certainly not themselves. And the sparse furniture in here was not at all pleasurable. Crude and ugly, there were odd chairs and uneven tables, blood-congealed maces and hooks all strewn on top.

Wrinkling his nose up in disgust, Aragorn became aware of a repulsive smell reaching his senses. Most probably it was the orcs, or the mustiness of the cave not having any fresh air for long black years. How depressing to just have red smoky fires for light, no windows or natural white light. And of course there were lots of shadows.

These shadows were good for Aragorn to hide in. He crept forward past the guard, stealthily stepping against the zigzagging wall and passing along in the gloomy edge without trouble. He placed each foot down carefully, not wanting any hint to be let out to the orcs. His years as a Ranger were now aiding more than they had ever done, and the cloak was undoubtedly helpful.

Aragorn looked around himself warily. He was making his way along with the wall, but soon his path would converge with the orc band. There were so many orcs that all the halls here must have been emptied to fill this one. Something was happening over there near the middle, but he couldn't see what. By the sounds of the orc yells they were enjoying themselves. But where was Arwen in all this?

Black orcs began to close in near Aragorn's side as he walked towards the centre of attention. He had to wiggle between their bulky bodies in order to not brush against them, and he could see soon it was going to get very difficult. The need to find out what was happening was on his mind, for maybe he would get an idea of where Arwen was, and how to rescue her. All without going into direct firelight.

Suddenly a loud savage shout jeered out above the others, and fixing his eyes ahead, Aragorn could see it had come from what must be the leader of the orcs. He shuddered. What an absolutely revolting creature it was. He was standing on a long platform, but how he managed to walk there Aragorn had no idea. The size of his mind-blowingly fat bulbous body was gigantic, far too overweight to be real. He had to blink in shock before he could take it all in, and still it was no easy task. The orc's layers of disgusting flab were just hanging over the frame of his body, pouring out because he could not hold it all in. There was just so much! And his face: what a horrible snub nose, and a hairy grey head like the mould which grows on far too out-of-date bread. The mouth leered in an avaricious curl as the glinting red eyes, just like someone else's who Aragorn preferred to never think about, surveying the hollering orcs beneath it. No, that was one orc not to be messed with.

Aragorn pulled his eyes away, deciding not to watch that repulsive fat orc any longer. He dodged under thick arms and between bulky bodies, squeezing through the ever thickening group. It became apparent that the platform that the leader orc was on stretched out quite a long way on both sides, but one end was quite near Aragorn. The only problem was trying to see through all the jolting orc bodies. Apart from being ugly they were also very annoying.

Straining to see what was taking place on the high platform, suddenly Aragorn saw Arwen. He almost cried out in surprise but stopped himself just in time, feeling his heart pump heavily in his chest. She was standing opposite the hideous orc but with no obvious expression on her white face. He noticed immediately in the way she stood that she was finding the wound in her stomach very hard to cope with, and her body seemed rather tense, especially in that area. Obviously she could walk, but with how much pain, he wondered?

All he concentrated on now was reaching the platform edge. It was not too bright in this area, so he did not have to worry about the direct light shining on the cloak. Aragorn found it increasingly hard to move past the orcs without making them grunt in irritation or glance at where they thought somebody had brushed past them. He had to try to frame them on each other, knocking against their elbow as he pressed against another's chest, just having to hope they would believe it was the other one doing it.

As Aragorn was halfway there, he heard a superior voice speaking over the others from the platform. A hush fell over the normally noisy orcs and all eyes were fixed on the repulsive leader. One measly herald-orc called out to them.

"It is time to commence." Aragorn saw the leader orc smile maliciously and his red eyes came to lay on Arwen. Discontentment filled his heart as he watched this happen, and he was moved to pity as a look of fear flew over Arwen's meek face. He felt so sorry for her, so heart-breakingly remorseful and he wished he could let her know he was there.

"Klein is presented to you. Bow before him." There was a shuffling noise as all the hundreds of orcs bent forward under the forceful gaze of their selfish leader. Aragorn did not bow. "…And his bride."

Aragorn's mouth dropped open and something prevented his lungs from sucking in the air his head really needed. After a long moment realisation dawned on him. Arwen was being made to marry that orc. That repulsive obese black ugly self-centred orc. No way! Arwen could not do that… could she?

He intently focused on Arwen's face as she was forced to take the hand of the Klein orc. Tears filled her usually cool blue eyes whilst the orc's expression was one of great arrogance. He waddled along the platform slowly, this clearly being an unusual effort for him. But his smugness stayed just as plentiful and he was over-obviously squishing Arwen's poor hand in his muck-ridden one. This was just horrible.

The two stopped near the end of the platform, very close to Aragorn. He could now see the soreness she had received from the walking, and already fresh blood was seeping out of her tummy. He so desperately wanted to embrace her in his arms right now, but he couldn't, he couldn't and it was tearing at his heart.

Klein the orc turned gradually to face Arwen, his gigantic swelling stomach leaving her no choice but to step back out of the way. The odd cheer or catcall rang out from some of the watching orcs, finding it hilarious to see the elf-maiden in such a position as this. Aragorn instead gazed at her in sorrow, seeing her body fearfully tremble as she was pressed to the orc's fat one. The orc haughtily indicated for everyone to pay attention to them, to him and his 'prize'.

"Come," he sneered at Arwen, with a look on his face which was clearly meant to be nice. It definitely wasn't. "Will you take my hand in marriage?"

There was a deadly silence in the orc-filled cavern, much looking like an ants' nest except a million times bigger. All of the greasy unsightly orcs watched Arwen with baited breath, excitement clearly ringing throughout them all. Aragorn himself felt his heart calling out to Arwen, just desperately hoping she would be okay.

Silently Arwen parted her lips and stared the extremely fat Klein orc in the eye.

"NO," she hissed, her breath shivering in the hidden strength of her voice. The cold look on her face, glowing full of hatred, was easily enough to chill a freezing winter's morn. Her eyes were so sharp and fierce this was something that had never ever been aroused from within her before. Arwen's feelings of love clearly ran very deep.

As quick as lightening Klein slapped Arwen hard across the face, sending her screaming as she fell off her weak balance. Fury stormed over the orc's greedy face while he watched Arwen tumble off the platform helplessly and slam her head hard against the cold stone floor. There was a cracking sound. Arwen did not move again after that.

Immediately a huge uproar ran throughout the orc crowd, Aragorn's choke of stinging tears hidden completely. Nosy yells of interest rang about and rude jeers flew towards the livid leader orc, just getting even further under his flabby skin. Instantly a tumult broke out between those on the platform and those swarming below. Orcs started rushing forward and harsh cries ripped through the air as fists pummelled down upon each other. Then hasty weapons were drawn and screeches pierced ears as the befouled creatures began hewing at each other.

Whist Arwen was momentarily forgotten Aragorn took the chance and shot forwards, kneeling quickly down over her small body in the fierce bare light. Trembling, he cast the silky cloak over her hurt form, with only a faint swishing sound to reveal what was happening. As he carefully slipped his arms underneath her legs and her bruised back, Arwen's head tipped towards him and he saw a trickle of blood slowly running down her pale forehead.

More tears filled his eyes and itched his icy throat. Hatred was pulsating violently within him, despising that foul, foul orc. How could he do this to Arwen? One moment about to marry her, the next striking her to the ground, was that the sign of care for her he would claim to have?

Aragorn gently stood up, comfortingly holding Arwen to his chest. He had not liked the look of that blow on her head, he had not liked it at all, and he seriously hoped it had not done too much irreversible damage to her. Many deadly knocks came like that.

Under the dark cloak he gazed down at Arwen in his arms. She was unearthly still, not even the sign of her chest moving softly up and down. Her eyes were shut closed and the red scarlet colour of the blood nearby was in such contrast to her white skin that Aragorn found it difficult to not keep looking back at it. She was so beautiful, fair and gentle, nothing, not even the evil here, could take that away from her. Aragorn's emotions were momentarily stirred as her mild, innocent face began to lull him away into a dream.

A filthy orc cry from a very close proximity quickly roused Aragorn and he furtively stepped away from the sharp orange light, squeezing back into the fidgeting orcs. They were all stimulated by the fighting nearby, and more were joining in. It appeared that if he wasn't careful he would be caught up in a lot of sword-work without much warning.

Maybe Aragorn was a little too keen to make his way over to the cave-wall, but one orc noticed that Arwen was missing. In seconds the skirmish was carried over to where he had just been, the leader orc, belly swinging and chins wobbling, bellowing in outrage. Aragorn did not care anymore about brushing tightly against the orcs; all he needed to do was get out of here right now.

As he came into the thick shadows Aragorn turned back to see searchers being sent out through the messed up crowd to find their captive. If it had not been this situation Aragorn would have found it mildly amusing to see their looks of amazement as they discovered Arwen had vanished when she had been knocked out. But up there on the platform clearly standing out from the others was the leader orc.

Once again anger surged through Aragorn's body, making him subconsciously caress Arwen's silky head even more as he replayed the orc's hit in his mind. Suddenly he drew out a knife, holding Arwen skilfully in one arm and balancing her to his chest. Pulling his arm out of the cloak, he aimed at the orc and then the flashing metal was flying, soaring extremely quickly towards its bulky target. Just as Aragorn hid himself back under the dark cloak a massive cry fled from the orc's lungs as the razor-sharp missile pierced his heart. Aragorn grimaced bravely and turned away, seeing the confusion effect of his shot. He only wished the disgustingly fat orc had suffered more.

Now Aragorn hurried urgently through the rushing orcs, the need to come to the tunnel entrance much weighing on him. He did not know how Arwen was, but she certainly needed help, and his was all she could have. But he could do nothing until they were safe, and how long till that would it be? Something he could make happen sooner.

At last Aragorn reached the safety of the tunnel, and fled gratefully inwards. Suddenly he was coming face to face with legions of his own battle-lusting Dunedain men. He called out to them as he scrambled through, his arms protectively round Arwen's slim body, commanding them frantically to let him pass by. They could not see him, but a narrow gap managed to part in between the rows, as the men started to charge out into the clamouring cavern. Now Aragorn could see just how many Rangers he had, line upon line stretching all the way back through the dark passageway. As the compressed army ended, there were still a few more jogging along to join in. There would certainly be no future for those awful orcs; they had tied themselves up in one web which they could not escape.

Finally the tunnel became empty, and Aragorn relaxed, knowing he and Arwen were safe. She was still in his arms, her warm head resting against his chest and her tender body huddled together with her legs over his right arm. He could not risk stopping yet, they were too near the fighting, but the tunnel swiftly fell into a deep unbroken silence, disturbed only by Aragorn's hurried footsteps.

He slowed down a bit, trying to disturb Arwen as little as possible. He did not want to hurt her, or wake her if she was indeed merely sleeping and not unconscious. The black tunnel seemed endless, far longer than it had when he had rushed in, and it was hard work struggling along uphill. Aragorn also had to be very careful not to run into a sharp wall, now not having a spare hand to guide himself by.

After some enduring and difficult minutes, Aragorn thought he sensed Arwen move in his arms. At first he was not sure, wondering if it was just her being rocked as he ran. But then he was sure, positive that she really was stirring. Quite apart from anything else in contact with his body, he felt her soft hand sneaking up to his bare chest just below his neck. The contrast in her touch made him immediately aware of her, the sleepy movement of her fingers as she stretched weakly and the tired rubbing of her cheekbone against his torso as she settled her head down more comfortably.

He smiled as he kept on going, immeasurably reassured by knowing she was at least breathing and conscious. Before he had had no idea whether she had been at death's door or just unable to move at his loving handling of her. But she was living, she was alive and she was actually here, lying in his arms! He had done it, at last, and his Undómiel was safe…

And when they came out he could tend to her hurts, and put an end to the searing pain from her deep sword cut. All he wanted was to make her happy, to make her smile, and to be able to love her as he so much desired to do; and at last he could. His darling Evenstar, his sweet, beautiful Arwen was safe.