CHAPTER SIX

Through These Eyes

Darcíl went to the window in an isolated and small hallway before he stopped and stared out of it glumly. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked towards the sun and watched the new palace being erected against the horizon. He could hear the trumpeting of the huge oliphaunts as they were driven to haul huge loads.

He remembered Dorrag when he was younger, much younger and even then he was ambitious. However, now that his father was off to war with some of his best men the prince had taken it to his bigoted mind to try and leave the kingdom better off than when his father had left it.

Of course, as it has been with many in history he was failing miserably. The people were tired of it as well, though none dared to oppose him for very obvious reasons that had been painfully learned. The Haradrim captain remembered that with vivid clarity. It was not an event to easily be lost from memory and cast aside. He was ashamed to say that he himself had a hand in it and without him it may have perhaps never happened.

But he would rather not think about that now, it brought back too many painful memories that made his heart far heavier than it already was. Running his fingers through his black hair that had a red band about the brow to hold it away from his eyes he drew a heavy sigh of displeasure and annoyance. He shut his eyes and noticed absentmindedly that he could not feel the hot beams of the sun upon his face and dark hair.

The rains had come and they would not see the sun for some time. That thought alone was enough to depress him and principally at this time in his life. Opening his eyes he looked out the window again and saw the dark clouds coming, ominous and blotting out the light with their bulk. And yet they were eerily beautiful and they held him in awe for a reason he could not grasp.

Drawing out his sword, he held the blade in his hands and looked at its edges with furrowed brows as though he was staring at the lengthy letter of explanation from a lost lover. There was innocent blood on this blade, and it cried out to his conscience in wails of sorrow.

He felt a breeze pick up and looked to see the tempest moving closer at a rather high rate of speed. Lightening and heavy rain came in its front, announcing its terrible arrival. Sheathing his sword he placed his hands on the sill and gripped it tightly as he leaned out to look below.

There was nothing as their once had been and it made his heart bleed. He could not forget the countless time he had looked down to see children practicing fighting and tearing around, causing havoc. They had always lightened his heart, but now they were gone, pestilence had swept the land. Many believed it was a curse out of the West, given to them in cruel scorn of their contempt. For this they hated the Valar and Elves much more and considered any who were friends with Elves to traitors of Middle Earth and of their tribe.

He himself had believed this once, but he was questioning it now. Notwithstanding he knew that this would do no good for the captives. The Elf and ranger were doomed as assuredly as if the powers at be had written it in the sky for all to marvel and behold. He knew that once an Elf was placed on the gallows and the people had a chance to release their bitterness on a tangible object and not just a myth out of reach, then things would get a bit crazed in the village.

Perhaps at the Elf and the emissaries' execution he should order an extra garrison of troops to help keep a decent order to things. After all, he thought with a twisted smile, it was supposed to be a solemn event. But his smile quickly dispersed from his face, being replaced by a grim frown. Dorrag would turn it into a celebration though, uplifting himself and his might. And who would question it after an example was made of the Elves and the ranger was later sacrificed at Dorrag's dark request.

Then there was Sarchel to consider, Darcíl recalled tenebrously. He still wondered what in all of Middle Earth had been spoken between his lord and that cursed upstart of an officer in his abrupt absence. He was sure that Sarchel was trying to usurp him of his position as head Captain and most trusted infantry adviser.

The man was a fool, however.

Sarchel would never be placed in a higher position unless he really screwed something big up and was executed. Darcíl knew he was invaluable to Dorrag, though he was sure Dorrag was extremely jealous of his position and resentful of his wisdom that far exceeded his own. Darcíl backed away from the window as he felt the rain blow in and sprinkles down upon his hands in cold droplets that also proceeded to speckle his clothes.

Going in quick strides that easily closed the space between himself the door to the dungeons. He went quickly down the winding stairs of thick wood and turned into the first set of dark and apocalyptic corridors where the Elf and ranger were being held. His feet splashed through at least tow inches of water, due to the rain of the monsoons.

Drawing a key from his pocket, the Haradrim captain stood outside of Legolas cell door, watching with narrowed eyes of displeasure through the bars as the Elf dangled from his right wrist, all his weight pulling against the manacle.

Legolas heard the key enter the lock with a nerve-grating creak and he opened his glazed blue eyes to give the man a dull stare. He instantly became painfully aware once more of the screaming pains that coursed through his shoulder and arm under the cruel tension they were forced to endure. His archery was going to be ruined forever, thought the Elf wryly and as he mused to himself. Though it was stupid to be thinking of that sort of thing now when it certainly was not the immediate problem.

"Elf," he approached with mock caution. He couldn't get over how the blonde being's eyes still shone brightly through the glaze that had settled over the large blue orbs that were now narrowed in a considerable amount of wrath. Most prisoners, at least form his own experience, never kept their bright eyes long after the film began to gloss them over with spiritual death and real agony. This Elf was different and he hadn't gotten a chance to see the ranger yet. But things had been going strangely and it wouldn't surprise him in the least if the other captive were just as bizarre.

"Human," addressed Legolas in turn through grit teeth, having nothing else to say. He closed his eyes as pain blinded him for brief moment and nearly forced him to cry out. He wanted to make up a further insult but some how, conceivably because of his intense pain, the words simply didn't come. But perhaps that was best; after all, those sorts of things had a discouraging efficiency at enhancing his discomfort.

"You know, you shouldn't be suffering thus," Darcíl stepped up to Legolas and placed his hand on one of the Elf's flushed cheeks feeling the heat in them and the sweat that covered the clammy features like a thick and frothing film. Legolas could not believe he was suffering this man to touch him thus, but there it was and he was in far too much pain to care enough to put a stop to it. And it also didn't help that even if he wasn't in the pain he was and did care enough to put a stop to it, there was nothing he could do but endure it. As well as if he hadn't been near the point of passing out he might at least make some sharper comments about his personal space. That thought was slightly encouraging.

Just because he was encouraged that much the prince had to make comment. He simply was helpless not to. It was most likely not the smartest thing to do in this situation if past reactions to this sort of thing were any manner of a guide.

"I know and you along with your men will pay for it," spat the Elf and then he arched his back as pain rippled through his body, causing it to convulse and take control of itself. Legolas worked to regain control of his nerves, trying not to show his weakness to this human that he scorned bitterly as he had not scorned a man in a long time. It was anger inspiring and annoying all at once. He found it remarkable how those two traits often came together, annoyance and wrath.

"That was not what I meant and you and I both know it so don't play those deceitful games," growled Darcíl irritably as he placed his hand on Legolas' right shoulder and began to press down as he squeezed it, putting more weight on the iron manacle that had already cut into the pale skin. He could see a faint outline of blood beneath the cuff. It wasn't satisfying, but it was the deliberate effect that had been pursued and the way the Elf's breathing was slowly but surely accelerating was a plus as well.

Legolas blanched noticeably. He drudged to keep his eyes open to face the human before him rather than let him think him weak. But he finally decided that he didn't care what the man thought, he could make whatever assumptions he wanted, and they didn't matter. Closing his eyes, the blonde Elf clenched them tightly so that his brow furrowed. He wondered why he was doing this when it frankly didn't do a thing to ease his growing misery. As a matter of fact, it only served to cause the growing headache he possessed to strengthen in potency and nearly blind his vision.

"Now let us try this again," the Haradrim captain said as he applied a bit more pressure, knowing that in this particular case a little went a long way. Legolas' felt his skin tear some more beneath the manacle that began to feel like it was burning him. His arm felt as though it was ready to disconnect from his quivering body. His whole body was feeling quite detached from itself actually, which was a rather disturbing and puzzling thought. "What is your name?" Darcíl asked the fair being in a cold and calculatingly voice.

Legolas reached inside the depths of his spirit to gather up what defiance he could spare which was a surprising quantity. "None of your…business…murderer." He honestly didn't think that comment would go unpunished but as it did, Legolas began to feel a bit bolder. But he also began to feel a bit suspicious…some thing wasn't connecting…was not right…but he didn't know enough to say for certain. This mystery raised his state of irritation a notch higher.

Swallowing down a hard lump of agony that stuck in his throat, the prince forced his eyes to open so he could see the reaction of his captor, hoping to see some sign of ire. He knew he was being an idiot, wanting to see his subjugator enraged and thus risking more pain. But it was strangely his delight and he couldn't think of a real reason why. Perhaps he really was insane. It was a definite possibility, he mused oddly. After all…he had been around Aragorn long enough for the ranger's antics to rub off on him.

"But it is my business Elf and until you speak your misery is going to be unrelenting," Darcíl threatened and his heart was in it. It was a strange change in tone and Legolas knew that Darcíl's heart and soul was in this omen and that he had better be careful about his choice of words. Legolas shivered as the man went behind him and ran his finger along the still bleeding lacerations made by the cruel knife. A few more shivers tried to follow the first but he put an abrupt and definite stop to them.

As Legolas tried to draw a deep breath he found it was impossible with his bruised chest being stretched and his muscles spasming. Choking on his want for more air, the Elf managed to get a meager amount of ventilation into his hungry lungs. But it was hard to cough as well and Legolas pulled his free arm around his battered rib cage, trying to ease the swiftly rising pain that made him feel as though his chest would explode into millions of tiny pieces.

Darcíl jabbed his finger into one of the wounds and Legolas stiffened and then his feet beat slightly as he jerked against the pain. His muscles seizured and he could not avoid it. More sweat pooled on his damp and hot brow. Darcíl rubbed the Elf's silvery blood between his fingers in disgust before he gave Legolas a smarting pat on his cut shoulder blade meant for a jeering comfort. Legolas didn't respond, as he had expected.

"You and I both know you will never make it out of here alive, Elf or that ranger. You can go easy or be tortured to death," he explained with a slow relish. "There is no where left to run." He tangled his hands in the golden tresses and tipped the blonde being's head backwards, causing Legolas to pull more on the single manacle.

Stars plagued the prince's vision in bursts of odd color mingled with a bright white light and he felt himself spinning while everything seemed to remain strangely still and at ease. He felt like he was leaving this cruel world and entering into a new one though he couldn't be dying because it was still harrowingly painful. He grimaced and then forced himself to keep a calm façade though it was conceivably the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. But behind his eyes a growing fire of intense fury was slowly building to a point where it may not be able to be contained.

Darcíl jerked his head from side to side and thus caused Legolas' tortured frame to swing from side to side as well, the chain and cuff sawing into the inflamed skin. "Are we ready to talk yet?" inquired the Haradrim captain as he released Legolas' head of his hold and took a step back, observing as the Elf swung in his misery from side to side like a pendulum.

Legolas heard the water of the small flood slosh behind him as Darcíl went and retrieved a chair from the corner. He put it beneath Legolas' feet, allowing the prince to have a rest. Legolas found breathing to be so much easier and if he didn't know the comforts of a finely stuffed chair or a soft feather down bed he would call this extremely comfortable. But he still cast a puzzled look at the piece of furniture beneath him. He didn't know what it was for but he was sure his pleasure and comfort was not even vaguely on reason.

He tried not to show how relieved he was for the temporary ease of his agony but his body gave his mood away and for that he resented it all the more. His blue eyes fixed on the man of Harad and he asked in an icy tone, "what is your game? You care not for my pain and suffering, so why abate me?" Legolas made sure that his eyes hardened as he asked the question just to emphasize his mounting anger and doubt.

"I am doing the interrogating master Elf," said the captain and he braced a foot against Legolas' chair as the prince watched his face. Suddenly he kicked the piece of furniture out from beneath the Elf's booted feet and Legolas fell hard against his bond that suspended his body from the ceiling. The chair tumbled into the water with a splash.

A mixture of confusion and slight fear crossed Legolas face before he fell and the chain went taut with his lurching weight. A small cry passed through his tortured lips and the prince winced as he heard it, his shame stabbing him as painfully as any dagger through the heart might have. But he could not stop himself from hissing in ascending agony and he chewed on his lower lip until it bled through freshly opened cracks in excruciating suffering.

Darcíl stood back and watched a moment before asking, "how about now?" He taunted in almost a chant, "all I want is something so simple as your name, just your name and where you live. How hard is it to say two words, three at most? Certainly you would be relieved of your pain?"

Legolas' voice was hard and cold as he retorted unyieldingly, "it would be simple indeed…but two words or even one can be as fatal as many. I know enough of your purpose." He was not an idiot. Committing to these men his name and where he lived was a fool's errand. Valar, even f he told them, what were the chances that they would believe his identity, Legolas Greenleaf Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood? They would probably punish him more for 'lying'.

"Very well, Firstborn," he consented. Picking up the chair, he set it beneath Legolas' feet again. Forcing the Elf to stand on it. Legolas could not very well resist for the pain his body was already in and Darcíl knew it and wisely played upon the Elf's vulnerability. "But you don't know the half of my purpose."

Legolas looked down at the water moody and silent and at the red taint to it, realizing his back was bleeding and it was dripping into the water to turn it sanguine beneath him as he had been suspended. Darcíl reached up and inspected the stretched and bloodied wrist of the Elf nearly displeased that it had not dislocated yet But torture was not something he took pleasure in an so the other part of him was somewhat grateful the Elf's body was this strong. Legolas continued his scrutiny of the dreary flooded floor of his cell. He may not know half the purpose but he wasn't sure that he entirely wanted to anyway even if eventually he would have to.

The Haradrim captain glanced at Legolas' white face and then he took the Elf's pulse by placing his fingers none too gently along Legolas' jugular vein. The heartbeat was erratic and strong as Legolas' fear pulsed through his veins. The Elf was afraid, but he was trying to hide it. Well, he could bring it out in due time.

Legolas jerked his head away, not wanting this disreputable man's fingers anywhere near his neck, especially the vein that held his life source. And it was rather uncomfortable to have someone fingering you neck and poling you. As far as Legolas was concerned he was going through enough and didn't need to take the slightest bit more. Not that his feelings on his issue were going to even be counted but he felt the need to try and display them.

Darcíl looked at Legolas' body, trembling in pain and weakness, in quiet contempt. He placed his boot with indifference against the chair backing and then struck again, knocking it from beneath Legolas feet. The blonde being's legs beat the air helplessly as all his weight was thrown against his defenseless wrist once more, sending vilifying anguish through his awareness.

O0O0O0O

Aragorn cried out softly as he tried to breathe. His ribs felt as though he had an oliphaunt sitting on top of them, breaking them, pressing the air out of his lungs. As he lay on the floor, the ranger stared morosely at the boots of Lieutenant Sarchel, who stood gloating above. A lot of things were grating on Aragorn's nerves. The dark, cave like room with hardly any space to walk and lit by a few meager torches, the cruel and taunting methods of torture being used that were more than completely painful. But the most of all he had really and truly began to loathe Sarchel with a passion. Well, that was not entirely accurate, he pitied the mixed up man as well, but it was more scorn than it was pity. Sarchel was more than sick, he was totally sick.

Aragorn did not remember much of what had happened, it had been extremely painful and he knew he must have gone unconscious at some point. For there was a black spot in his mind of frightening emptiness after the knife was put to use probing his wound once more and maiming the already tortured flesh. He had felt it dismember flesh from bone and puncture deeper. That had been the most alarming part, smelling his own burning flesh and feeling his skin burning as well as being torn.

There had been stars, he remembered feverishly. And they had been bright and the white light of them had burned his eyes with its radiance. Then he remembered everything spinning in disoriented directions and he remembered falling into nothingness (thankfully).

Shivering as he realized that he was shirtless and the stone tiling that he was lying on was as cold as a bitter ice, the man debated whether to try and rise. He felt sharp pain when he tried to move and his ribs throbbed. Legolas, he thought resentfully, I am sorry I brought you into this mess. I am so very sorry. I should have never let you come with me. You could have lived to be an old and wise Elf of many many, many summers and winters. But for your friendship with me you might still be yet enjoying life.

Aragorn managed to get up to his knees one minute movement at a time. As he hunched over them, shivering violently he clutched his sides, trying to ease the shocking pain that shot through his consciousness with headache stimulating results. Sweat took his body warmth away as his clammy skin began to dry a little bit at a time. He was also trying in vain to remember when he had last been in this much pain. It had been a long while, he thought gloomily. He didn't know whether it was depressing or not. It all depended on how you looked at it.

Sarchel delivered a heavy kick to the man's chest, throwing him backward, before asking in a detestable sneer, "so what is the Elf's name, ranger?"

Aragorn felt dizzy and he whispered, "by me you will never know." Wiping his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, Aragorn noticed with alarm that a red streak crossed his pale flesh. Then he suddenly felt it come back into his mouth, filling it with a coppery feeling. But from the way it flowed in he knew it a miniscule amount.

"I think I will," returned Sarchel as he gripped Aragorn intentionally by his wounded shoulder and dragged him to his feet. But Aragorn's strength was sacked from his earlier torment and whatever new one was planned he deeply feared it could be too much. He didn't care so much for his sake, but for Legolas'. He had dragged that insane Wood-Elf into this mess and he felt more than obligated to drag him back out and not betray him.

Pulling Aragorn to where a chair was in the corner, Aragorn guessed the man's intent and he decided that if he was going to be tortured in this new fashion, then he was going to let Sarchel know he certainly did not enjoy it.

Kicking out, he made sure to land his boot's hard toe into the shin of the Harad man's leg. Sarchel stumbled and fell, bringing Aragorn down beneath him with one of his elbows crunching into Aragorn's most injured rib and causing the ranger to give a curt cry of intense and quick pain that lingered after the hard end of the elbow was removed, leaving Aragorn short of breath. Who had ever thought a simple elbow could inflict such damage and pain?

Sarchel then gripped Aragorn by his hair and pulled the ranger quickly and decisively to his feet. He forced the ranger to stand upon the chair and clamped one manacle that hung from the ceiling about his left wrist. With a cruel light glimmering in his eye he brightened up deviously. "I bet you are wondering what your friend is going through right now, that miserable Elf in all his beauty," he scoffed as he watched Aragorn's face drain. "Well I thought I would help you see things more clearly."

He then kicked the chair out and Aragorn had only enough time to look down and see his feet falling and beating against the air before the chain went taut and he felt a sharp and spreading pain in his shoulder creeping up his arm. A blinding light burned his eyes, as he literally seemed to see his anguish.

Legolas I am so sorry if they speak the truth and you truly are experiencing this torment. You don't deserve it. Aragorn swung like a pendulum from the cuff and he felt it bite and tear into his wrist as his weight was hurled against it. It was the most miserable thing he had ever experienced since the clubs.

Sarchel slid the toppled piece of furniture beneath the ranger's kicking feet again. Aragorn was surprised how even a minute in that hanging position hurt him so deeply. He kept his grey eyes analytically hard so his thoughts could not be read easily by his subjugator. "And to think that poor Elf is enduring the suspension portion of this process so much longer. He is very strong. You wouldn't want to see that great strength…broken, would you? Would you not rather he die proud, not after he is crushed and a shadow of what he was?"

"You are going to regret those words later," said Aragorn as he felt a shiver creep up his spine. "My friend's strength will out last your wickedness plans. He doesn't fade!" spat the wavy-haired man around his swollen lips. Fury was mounting in his eyes as he realized that this man was talking about his best friend as though he was no more than some worthless animal. But then again he felt a satisfying feeling creeping into his thoughts as he realized that these cruel and heartless men had at least admitted that Legolas was strong.

"In your last dreams," replied the Lieutenant tersely and the chair fell from beneath Aragorn's feet again.

With a cry, Aragorn fell once more and his battered chest stretched, as did every muscle in his body. He writhed for minute and then felt a sickening pop as his shoulder dislocated. Bright and furious pain dazzled his senses and he screamed as he felt the joint sliding about outside of its socket with soft sickening noises.

O0O0O0O0O

Legolas had remained silent, hanging limply by his wrist as Darcíl taunted him rigorously. Legolas felt no need to talk, or open his eyes. He couldn't hear that well still from the close encounter with the lightning bolt. So he could let his thoughts drift away without much harassment from sound. Indeed, his body was captured but his spirit could soar and it was with the stars, floating in the air between the stars and the earth. But he couldn't tell whether his hearing loss was a good or bad thing. It depended on the predicament he supposed.

He had been placed on the chair and had experienced the grueling and harrowing pain of having it yanked from beneath him several times so that blood ran down his arm in a small river, flowing then down his chest in an annoying trickle. He was surprised the main artery had not been slit in his wrist but he doubted Darcíl would let him die just yet. He knew that he was still valuable and that if he came too close to death this torment would end and he would be given a healing reprieve. For how much he knew that swine of a prince wanted him alive…for now…he wouldn't be surprised if the best healers were told to keep him alive.

Darcíl placed his face up by Legolas' pointy ear and murmured, "I think your friend just screamed. Something horrible must be happening to him."

The Elf turned his face towards the man and spoke haltingly because of the pain he was in, "he did no such thing!" Pressing his lips into a thin white line that blended in remarkably well with his pale set features; Legolas expressed his obvious disdain and wrath at the man before him. He blinked as he struggled to remain awake long enough to let this man know exactly what he thought of him.

"You are a liar," snarled the Wood-Elf as he dangled from the manacle. "And you are a crooked fool. A suck up to that half-witted bovine that I believe you call a 'prince'." Darcíl's hands tightened noticeably at his side and he glared daggers at the Elf while he regained the last shred of his patience.

He knew very well that Legolas was right if you disregarded the liar comment. That made that little lecture all the harder to bear and he slapped Legolas sharply across the face, drawing blood from the blonde Elf's nose. He felt inward anger at himself building and if he had into the self control needed he might have actually beaten the Elf into a pulp for daring to bring to light what he had hidden in the dark. "And you are a nosey Elf who needs to learn to mind his own affairs and stay in the forests!" he hissed. "And your friend did scream, you can trust me on that and know I don't steer you wrong, Elf."

Legolas said nothing, he didn't need to. The darkened blue eyes spoke very verbose volumes about his thoughts on the situation. His gaze was compellingly scrutinizing, as his sharp Elven eyes seemed to pierce through Darcíl's heart. Even though they were glazed over they were vexatiously strong, reflected the Haradrim captain as he stared back into their depths. Indeed, he saw a hidden strength that he perceived would be extremely impossible to break. That alone was enough to make him want to stamp his foot in frustration though that would be rather immature he reminded himself glumly.

Legolas knew more or less what the Haradrim man was thinking about him and he really didn't care. Raising his chin even in his torment, the Elf snorted and turned his gaze into the darkness, giving Darcíl the impression that he didn't think the human was worth his time. Which wasn't just a show, he truly believed the human was not even worth the effort he was putting into remaining awake simply to gather the man's ire.

Every breath Legolas drew was a torment and he coughed raggedly as he tried to drag a full amount of air into his voracious lungs. But at most he could draw half of a breath before the pain of his bruised and swollen chest squeezed it out again, begging for more. His feet were limp now; tired of useless kicking that only succeeded in draining him of vital energy. He now wished he had saved his strength to kick his tormentor and let him know full well that he was not as helpless as he seemed.

Darcíl knew that slowly this blonde Elf would wear down in time and then he would break. The ranger might break sooner though and that would be all the better. Smiling coldly with ice and steel weaved cleverly into the brightness of the grin he gave a Legolas a little shove, letting him swing in his bond. This was one of the few things he did that Legolas found so difficult to endure…at least one of the few things so far. Legolas wasn't so stupid or naive as to think that this was the worst he was going to receive. No matter how much he wished this would be the worst, he knew very well that it wasn't going to be by a long shot.

Turning his back on the dangling prince that had ceased struggling when this happened some time ago, Darcíl made his way to the door, sloshing through the filthy water and exiting the small cell. Legolas watched him go and as soon as the man was gone further down the hall and into the darkness, most likely to go and check up on Aragorn, Legolas reached up his free hand and gripped the chain. He used what strength he could muster and pulled his own weight up and held himself up, giving his wrist a break.

The short reprieve was so refreshing that it made Legolas nearly terrified of falling again. But it also made him content and feeling lightheaded and very nearly giddy with relief. Smiling to himself for moment in his meager and short lived victory the Elf began to shake as his nearly diminished strength faded further.

He felt his arm trembling after a few minutes. The prince willed himself to hold on just a little longer and then his hand let go of its own accord and Legolas plunged back down, his wrist chaffing even more. He winced and stifled an abrupt wail at the same time his arm burned with renewed vigor.

Panting, the Wood-Elf reached up again and pulled himself up once more. His whole body began to tremble like a leaf in a gale after less than six seconds and then his grip loosened and he fell once more. Legolas drew in half of a quavering breath and then leaned his head against his stretched arm as he felt his world spinning. He knew that only caused more pain but he was disturbingly too tired to think of or do much of anything else.

Wiping the sweat from his brow against his bloodied arm, the Elf whimpered slightly as the action infuriated his torment and it became harder to bear. Sighing in near despair, the prince wondered when he would die. Immortality was overrated at times, he concluded in his weariness as his dulled blue eyes scrutinized his prison before they found an oddly intriguing interest.

Looking at the water below he watched it swirl in small whirlpools below his slack feet. It was something to do anyway. But it only made his stomach lurch and so the Elf closed his eyes, though he knew sleep was impossible in this position. Smiling grimly he thought to himself, you never could get a decent sleep can you?

Darcíl opened the door to the room named by most as the 'torture chamber' and as he thought of the cruel sounding name it fit quite well. Placing his hand on the handle, he slowly pulled the door open and prepared himself for the gruesome scene he knew would unfold before his eyes.

Sarchel stood in the corner, screaming at Aragorn, who was swinging from his wrist, attached to the manacle in turn attached to the chain in the ceiling. His feet were beating the air in spasms as he jerked in his pain.

"What is the Elf's name?" asked Sarchel again as he delivered a solid punch to Aragorn's jaw, pitching the ranger's head backward upon the hard impact. Aragorn's dislocated shoulder screamed at him and he felt blackness creeping upon him. Blood ran from his nose and mouth where his face was broken in several spots.

He felt his mind swirling and everything was merged into bleary images. Black spots mingled with yellow ones danced before his vision as he felt himself sliding quickly into refreshing unconsciousness. He didn't fight it in the least. This unconsciousness was a blessing in disguise if ever there was one. Curious, this was what it was like to be in the air amid the stars… But then he remembered this feeling was not entirely new.

He closed his eyes and felt the pain lessen slightly, much to his relief. But his ears picked up on the conversation between Sarchel and captain Darcíl that was quickly escalating into an all out argument.

"He is ready to break!" yelled Sarchel in frustration at his captain's decision and Aragorn felt the Lieutenant's hand against his hot and clammy shoulders shake with anger. He willed himself not to shiver beneath the ungentle touch though all his muscles wanted to tremble.

Darcíl snapped, "he is getting narrowly close to death! Lieutenant," he stressed the other man's position angrily. "If he dies then I am accountable, as you are under authority from me. That is called responsibility, something you know nothing of. Now, I order you to get him down and place him with that cursed Elf!"

Sarchel knew that he was bested. He was a weak man when it came to physical strength and weaker still when it came to mental strength. He did not have the courage to challenge his superior officer, not yet. He carefully said, "As you wish, sir." But there was a dark malice weaved nearly undetectably into his voice that made it seem more like the growl of an angered and humiliated dog than the reply of a man.

Darcíl found that comparison moderately amusing and resisted the stanch desire to smile at the thought of Sarchel crawling around on all fours and perhaps panting a little as well. But he knew it was too much to hope for.

Sarchel did as he was bid solemnly and sulked as he undid the ranger's cuff and the captive fell against him. With disgust, he let Aragorn fall to the floor and curl into himself in agony. With a sneer the lower officer rolled him over onto his back and Aragorn opened his glazed eyes wearily to see the dark ceiling wavering above him.

He felt relief flow in to every part of his body as he came to the recognition that he was on solid ground and pain was not lancing through his left arm and neck. However, his bruise mottled chest still felt congested and broken into many fragments, each with its own type of pain, throbbing, constant or dull.

"Now you will take him to his cell," growled Darcíl. "And I don't care how he gets there, just as long as he is there before I finish counting to fifty!" His eyes narrowed and with his furrowed brows he looked convincingly commanding.

Gripping Aragorn by his bleeding shoulder and letting the dislocated one drag against the stony floor, Sarchel began to drag Aragorn out of the door.

Aragorn didn't resist as he hit every rut in the floor and his out of kilter shoulder took the brunt of his pain. He let himself by dragged along towards he and Legolas' cell while strange shapes and stars whirled about him as he felt himself falling into a black abyss of nothingness.

He wondered what Legolas reaction would be to this incident. Smiling inwardly, he knew that the Elf would be irate and most livid being on the face of the earth. Then Aragorn experienced an acute stab of worry, realizing that Legolas would be the most irate and livid being on the face of the earth if he were conscious.

He wasn't worried about them breaking Legolas. He had known the Elven prince long enough to know that was a hard feat that had only been reached once and he knew Legolas had learned to be stronger from that experience. But he did worry about the pain his friend was experiencing or had been experiencing. Legolas felt pain the same as anyone else. He also knew that Elves died just as easily as the other races and that was a thought that was alarming and caused his mounting headache to sharpen to an unbearable height.

He felt water slosh around him and soak him, freezing him to the marrow, as they went down the slightly lower inclined hallway that was flooding. The cold water only served to worsen his already morbid and pain-racked state of mind. The ranger shivered as he heard the grating of the iron door being swung open with a screech that irritated his nerves.

The dirty, cold water splashed in his face, causing him to choke on it. His dislocated shoulder throbbed and then went numb. He felt a strange tingling sensation in his fingers that meant the arm was going dead from the lack of circulation. That was anything but a calming thought and most definitely not optimistic but he saw no reason to skate around the inevitable truth.

He became blearily aware that he was being dragged further and being placed in the sorry excuse even for a dungeon. If they were going to keep he and Legolas prisoner then they could at least give them a half-decent dungeon to be held in. It was in such decay that if they were not chained, unconscious or in too much pain to think straight, a easy escape plan wouldn't be too hard to conjure up. He smiled again inside, especially with Legolas' devious wood-Elf brain. But then again the plan such an Elf might come up with could quite possibly be far too reckless to even slightly be considered foolproof.

Aragorn winced and allowed a small groan of instant and brief agony as he was hurled into the prison and grimaced as the door was slammed shut with a loud clattering bang as the metal locks connected.

Legolas woke as water splashed against his hot flushed cheeks, feeling so cool and refreshing. He blinked stupidly and scanned the room for the cause of the splash. Nothing had fallen from the decaying ceiling, nothing from the barred door, nothing had collapsed in from the walls. Strangely everything seemed normal, but then his eyes fell upon a form lying half-submerged in the water.

His heart nearly stopped as he came to the sudden insight that the limp, cold, forlorn, blood leaking form was Aragorn. The man looked like he was nearly dead and Legolas watched as the water around the shirtless ranger was turned a disturbing sanguine color as his wounds bled freely in the filth of the mucky water.

"Estel," Legolas half spoke half croaked. He raised his head slowly from it rested on his restrained arm. He hadn't honestly thought that they would bring his friend back this soon. He kenw that chances were they were going to pay dearly for that later but he was more than willing if it mean ta few moments of 'happiness' with some one who could give him enough comfort to carry one for just a little longer.

Aragorn opened his eyes slowly and gave a feverish smile that was so hollow it made Legolas feel empty. "Hello mellon nin," he breathed around his pain. "You shouldn't have came for me…s-stupid."

Legolas frowned and rolled his eyes as he hung from his arm, "well if that I wouldn't have been captured, then everything would have been alright!" rationalized the Elf as he dangled in misery. Not coming back for Aragorn was hardly an option that he was willing to even glance at and dismiss.

Aragorn raised himself slowly and fell down into the water again in his weakness. His dislocated shoulder fell beneath him and shot pain through his collarbone and chest. Legolas narrowed his eyes and said in a surprised cry, "Valar, Thorongil! You are practically dismembered!"

"No…I am-"

"You are not 'fine' or even close to being 'fit', Thorongil!" seethed Legolas in a low whisper. He winced and his feet jerked as a pain spasm blinded him and he felt for a second like his heart would stop beating. But no, life was too unfair for that to happen yet. He would have to be tortured some more first.

"No…" began Aragorn but he never finished.

Legolas reached up with his free hand and gripped the chain tightly as he tried to pull himself up and relieve the torturous pressure on his wrist. As a little pressure was removed from his arm and the cuff lifted slightly, hot blood ran from beneath it, trickling down Legolas' bare arm.

"Ranger…" he breathed in a gasp, "you are NOT fine!" His grip slipped and he banged against the manacle with a cry that he wished to goodness he had suppressed. But he was wise enough to know it was no use crying over what was over and done and plan foolish when it was something that trivial. Shuddering, the blonde prince said under his breath in a gasp, "and apparently, neither am I."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength and willing his heart to calm down to a normal beat.

Aragorn finally forced his body to comply with his commands and he rose up to his knees, looking at the water that dripped from his clothes. As he looked at Legolas he felt a sickening lump squeezing his throat shut and cutting off the cry of horror and anger at his friend's treatment. He could not believe men were so cruel even though he was right here, watching it. It was disquieting and he forced the thought form his mind…or tried to.

Legolas was too weary to hold his head up and he let it fall against his arm while he was in the company of his friend. He suddenly felt extremely thirsty and looking at nothing but water was torturous in and of itself. Well, not exactly, this water wasn't unerringly good and clean looking. It had blood, he noticed, lots of bright red blood mingled in its murkiness. His lips were cracked and parched with blood doting them, for his body had lost a lot of water content during his cold sweats that he was still experiencing. His feet beat the air again as they jerked of their own will.

Aragorn crawled through the two-inch water towards his friend and as he got closer and saw the bruises all over Legolas cheeks he was immediately made painfully aware of the torture his Legolas had been placed under. He saw the muscles of Legolas' arm straining, as they were wretched taut by Legolas' own weight.

"Eru, my friend," breathed Aragorn as his eyes rested on all the fresh bruises and blood on Legolas' body. As the Elf spun slowly on the chain, he saw the cuts cruelly carved into his back some deep and some shallow, all bleeding. Aragorn shuddered in abhorrence at the wounds.

He didn't even realize Legolas was looking at him and the strange way he carried on arm, as though the slightest jolt was a severe torment. Legolas was sure it was a torment, as was everything else they were going through at the moment. He saw the javelin wound in Aragorn's other shoulder, ripped and looking as though it had been probed with a hot knife, which he was sure that it probably had. But he saw some other strange lacerations on his friend's body of which he could not identify.

It disturbed him to see the deep purple welts on Aragorn and some of the cuts that marked up the clammy chest of his friend. Knowing more than something about his friend's pain and what he had truly gone through it only served to make him further sympathize with his friend. The water had cleared the blood away and he saw them clearly, obviously made by the metal strips of the club. Memories of his own horrible pain seemed not so distant and he felt his stomach muscles tighten ever so slightly even as he worked on calming them. It made his head hurt even more to know that Aragorn was going through the exact same thing at that very moment and he closed his eyes in stabbing despair.

The water had strangely refreshed Aragorn and cleared his thoughts, exactly the opposite effect he had though the frigid liquid would have. As he looked at Legolas he suddenly became extremely scared as the Elf's head lolled sideways and his body stopped spasming. He nearly shouted Legolas' name but remembered that was one of the things he must never utter here. Instead he felt his heart accelerate his breathing hitch. "Don't leave me," he begged in a breath as he was unable to say another word without giving Legolas up.

He crawled over, holding his limp and immovable arm to his side. Aragorn struggled to rise, but he was too weak and trembling, he sank beneath his bleeding friend and looked at his numb fingers of his dislocated arm with despair. He wished he felt numb, but he felt nothing but hurt and doubt inside. He wished he could do anything but he was helpless, a feeling he had not come across in quite some time, and he didn't think he wanted to get used to it anytime soon.

Thunder rumbled outside and it seemed to shake the palace down to the roots where they were placed in cold darkness. Aragorn didn't notice and in fact, even if he had, he wouldn't have cared. His body was breaking and as he watched his friend begin to crumble and struggle to live and hold strong his spirit was breaking too. But there was enough fire, the fire to want to live and bring Legolas him, that kept him alive.

TBC…Well here was your angsty chapter six. Hope it was nice and juicy. Please review, we look forward to hearing from you. Your opinions are very much enjoyed and appreciated. :)