PART X

SOMETHING INSIDE SO STRONG

Nothing given

The violence had begun in a distant cloud of dust, which not even Legolas' sharp eyes were able to penetrate, but they had both heard the clash of swords or knives, imagined the fall of blood. It seemed like a tornado moving closer to them. For a moment they feared they must leave their hiding place and join this battle that seemed to have no allies. This was not the battle of men skilled in fight, this was for the struggle of death. The dust parting for a moment, in the blur before them the boy and the elf saw shreds of black cloth, heard shreds of an unknown language. Limbs seemed to emerge in odd directions and it was clear that the fight would soon be over

At last, as their limbs became stiff with waiting it was over. There was a thud ahead of them and the dust began to settle. In fear they waited, apprehensive, watching for any sign of movement. None came.

Legolas moved first, cautious and light footed on the soft ground. Before them lay the bodies of two Corsairs; the boy and the elf recognised in them their own mirror images. From the chest of one hung the arrow they had heard. It was close to his heart and deadly. The other was unconscious and bleeding, but his wounds did not seem grievous. Hauling him from the ground Legolas dragged the limp body away into the trees, bound his hands and waited. He would not lose his captive this time.

As daylight fell away in the west they came to a resting place, the boy the elf and the captive. He was lucid now though still sluggish from the blood loss of his wounds. He had been forced to walk as soon as his eyelids had flickered and now he stumbled, on tired feet, into a pile on the ground, helped by a slight nudge from the elf. His hands were bound and he had not yet spoken a word. Legolas, ever wary of the threat of strangers in the night, lit a fire in the centre of their small circle of humanity. The glow and warm scent of flames seemed to bring hope back to his features. He turned on his captive, face demanding answers and began at once.

"What is your name?" he asked. It seemed only courteous to do so, even with an enemy. The man did not oblige but in his eyes there could be read his distrust of the situation. "You will not give it then," responded the elf; and a dangerous note of irritation had entered his voice. "It makes no matter for we shall walk no matter what, accompaniment is not an option. Whether you should choose to grace us with fellow humanity is your own choice. It seems clear that you had parted from your fellow men, which seems to leave you alone with us." There was an edge of bitter humour alongside the words and he seemed to bite the air.

I heard them come

Suddenly Aragorn felt cruel nails wrest him from the sharp ground. Roughly he was dragged from the strong grip of Sador. Though his legs, limp from beating were defiant, in their weakness they could not hold him there. When he refused to move he felt knuckles connect with the bottom of his ribcage and he was thrust into the arms of another. Sador, his hands bound before him pushed all the strength he possessed into the holding the man to him. Then in the darkness, a boot in his stomach, and he fell back. Breath was wrenched from his body and he was left silently alone.

Uncertain in the blinding light of night, Aragorn stumbled as he tried to escape from strong hands. His legs failed him and led him in the direction he would not take. They stopped, shook him, then placed a bag over his head. The pores were narrow and the weave suffocating. The darkness was suffocating too and the sense of being lost. There was no way to turn back now. They held the power and knew it, for his body was weak like mankind.

He thought they led him toward the pit of daytime and work. His feet against the earth told him so. With the loss of sight his feet became eyes. Then they stopped. He did not know where.

A voice, it seemed to belong to Nuth, "teach him, but don't kill him."

Something pulled on the rope around his hands and his ears strained for explanation but the sounds were too vague. Then he was released by the hands. Such had been the pull of the hands that for a moment the shock of release caused him to fall to his knees. He tried to crawl away but reaching a certain distance found himself thrown backward as something held him in place. He guessed that something was attached to the rope which constricted his hands and he panicked.

Then, for a moment there was silence. He could hear the shriek of the night air and wondered if they had left him alone to freeze in the darkness.

They had not…

From nearby a noise! Then pain pulsed through him. A fist round and fierce found its way into his gut. Disorientated by the deprivation of his sight he had not expected it to come. Silence had left him defenceless and tense. The silence returned.

When the next bite of skin came against him he was tensed in preparation, arms acting as a shield as much as they could. The gaps of silence were irregular and he found it almost impossible to predict where the next jab would come from. He seemed to live in a blur of pain, as close to his dreams as though he lived within. A heavy blow came against his forehead and he staggered backwards his side, bruised from beating smashed hard against the Earth and he felt the warmth of liquid within the cage of the bag.

He could no longer see the weave but inside it swirled bright colours; circles of green and red. He tried to stand… to run… but felt himself once more tossed to the ground by a rope.

"Escape if you think you can," jeered the countless voice from outside his prison. "Go on, retaliate, it's not like you not to put up a good fight."

Aragorn thought of his flailing limbs as they tried to decipher the direction of his tormentors and would not give them the satisfaction. His organs seemed bruised against his skin and he thought he could feel the spread of black across his torso. The sharp rock beneath him bit at his legs; shredding skin. His teeth came down hard upon his tongue as he refused to cry out yet confusion seemed determined to force weakness from him.

Then there came a thinner pain that slashed harder. They had clubs now he thought. The hits were as hard but more concentrated. They ripped at broken skin threatening to strike his consciousness from him. Once more they hit his head and he seemed to fly through the air. For a moment he wondered if he was dead. Then the rope which held him became taut and spikes of rock were in his side. This time the sudden jolt forced a cry from feverish lips, refusing to bind themselves shut any longer. This seemed to delight his torturers and they giggled with delight.

Blinding… the last pain he remembered was shocking and fierce, the thin sharp pain of a blade embedded in deep skin.

Sador had heard the cries in the dark, and his mind shivered with memory. Then silence shocked him and his eyes tried to pierce the night air for answers. Minutes or hours later there was a thud beside him and a limp figure dropped to the ground like an animal skin. He could smell blood. In the light of orcish eyes he saw the blood on Estel and his heart seemed to snap.

A reluctant guide

Legolas moved off, as if to attend to the fire. Arun sat by the man who was now bound to the tree. His eyes, ever watchful, took in each flicker of movement. He tried to stay aloof but the presence of such a man, in alliance with Mordor, drove him to the brink of fury. At length Legolas brought across Lembas bread, the waybread of the elves which sustained beyond all other sustenance. He tried to push some into the man's mouth, who could not feed himself. But he would not take it.

Arun's temper flared. "Why then should we keep such an animal alive? He does not speak, and treats all life with disdain, as commodity. We should kill him now." His dagger now rested at the man's throat, enjoying for a moment the fear that rose within black eyes.

Legolas turned almost instantly startled by the vengeful anger in the boy. It was only to be expected, but nonetheless it shocked him. Moving slowly forward (he did not wish to have the man's throat cut by accident) he edged toward them. Then, wrapping his hand around the hilt of the dagger he gently pulled Arun's hand away from the man's throat.

"There is no sense to kill him," Legolas spoke sadly and softly. Anger had disintegrated. "Should he speak he may be of use. Otherwise he is only one man alone and can cause us little harm." A sigh of relief in the man's throat seemed to echo his thoughts and his eyes pitied what he saw although his heart did not.

He turned back to the fire and in the glow his eyes were filled with sorrow, until in the shadows behind he heard a new noise.

"Zimran" the voice struggled reluctantly against the guilt so new to it. Legolas turned.

"Your name?" Legolas queried, his eyes once more like a bird of prey, he wanted more. "How came you then to be in this situation."

In this Zimran was more forthcoming, feeling all the treachery of his men as though the world was against him personally. "My men were mutinous and angry. We did not make enough money with our last sale and so they turned on me. I fought many of them off, until I thought them dead. The man you saw followed me, until turning I faced him. Then I killed him." He was silent for a moment to consider his situation and then with a bitter tone, "who are you that you should have the right to hold me so?" He was clear and did not falter as the boy in the forest.

"Who we are," Legolas allowed the authority of his position and his irritation to illustrate his words, "is none of your concern, for such knowledge will not improve your lot. However neither will we bring you more harm unless you should warrant it." He planned his sentences carefully, unwilling to part with information that could be used against him. "My friend, my brother…" at those words he breathed for a moment through the pain of loss, "… was carried to Mordor by men who might consider themselves allied with you. As payment for the evil caused by your people, you shall lead us to Mordor in order to rescue him should he still be there, or die in the attempt."

Zimran seemed genuinely surprised. He had not in his life experience such selfless generosity and it puzzled him. They were fools, he thought, if they believed they could enter Mordor and defeat the power of Orcs and men behind the black gate. He laughed out loud at the thought of two such tiny beings against the forces he had seen there. He grinned darkly, comfortable now with the saviour of his life, "he will be dead. There are none that will survive the fires of slavery in Mordor."

He breathed to find the blade of Arun once more at his throat. "Do not forget," he hissed, "that we still hold the power of death within our hands, if naught else. Life, it seems, you prize."

Legolas reached once more to calm the boy. Fear might help them, but he was not willing to lose this last link so soon.

Attempting to regulate his breathing, panic still flooding from his features Zimran no longer grinned. "There will be no way for you to pass the black gate without me." He retorted weakly. The knife wavered dangerously close again at this point. "Therefore I will lead you to the black gate, though I do not promise that you shall live beyond it."

"Very well," agreed Legolas, with some relief; violence was not yet necessary. "You shall have at least your life."

A sense of Betrayal

When morning light split the darkness all eyes were on the man that fell. Still he had not woken. The overseers poked at him waiting for response, but were greeted by nothing more than the twitch of his ribcage as it trembled with breath.

"Leave him." Nuth spoke not from kindness but from annoyance.

In the shock of dawn Sador cried out before he could stop himself "surely you see that if you do not help him he will die." The cry was desperate and basic like and animal. He did not think of consequences.

Nuth glared at the source of the voice, but it irritated him that the body of the man should escape him so easily. "Deal with him," he grunted, "tend his wounds, but don't make him too comfortable."

Sador stung with grief. In his head he argued and comforted Bellas by turn. His heart writhed within him and he did not know if grief or anger would prevail. He wished it would be grief but felt it would be anger. Bellas had suffered, Valar knew, but could he forgive this seeming need for self destruction. His own wounds were too fresh. With the heat of the pit his temper burned, his tears were not cold but scorched his cheeks and he wished the Orcs had punished him for his questioning. What was there left to trust to?

When night had returned and he fell with fatigue to the floor, Bellas' eyes sought him out. For the first time since he had been dumped the previous morning the eyes were open and searching. They showed that life yet remained. For a moment Sador welled with relief. Then dry from thirst, with lips broken and sore Bellas spoke to him.

"Sador… I….."

But Sador did not wish to listen. "Don't speak." The anger of his reply surprised even himself and he found he could not control the words that sprang from his mouth.

"If you are intent on continuing this path of self destruction then there is nothing left to say. As for myself I shall have nothing to do with it."

The silence spoke of the shock of his words and for a moment Sador relented. "Bellas I…" but the words seemed to intimate, too near. His anger too was close to the surface and his emotions battled to override one another. How could he understand?

"I won't," it seemed to him he choked. A single tear ran from his eye. "I can't see another I love destroy themself for no purpose."

This time Aragorn was ready with a reply. "Sador," he cried out for the empathy or understanding of the man. How could he survive with no purpose, to see other's treated so… did he not see that they wouldn't kill him? It was not self destruction but survival. His silent call went unheard, but he continued with more guard than his feelings should have allowed, "I do not look for trouble, but it pains me to see others suffer. I do not needlessly give myself, but cannot live in the knowledge that they are persecuted. Then he spoke the words closer to him, "while I fight I breathe."

Sador thought the concept incomprehensible. Of course this was just another way of getting himself killed. His irate thoughts told him that they were all the same, that giving oneself for another's punishment would help no one in the end. In frustration he wished to cry – do you not see I need you, for strength I named you to give me yours. What point is there when strength has turned to weakness?

His words when he used them were stiff, emotion was folded away. "I do not ask you to die for me, and neither do they. You do so needlessly. If you are to continue to afford life so little value then I must leave you to it. I have not the strength to live for both of us." The last statement tired, but brutal in honesty.

He turned, back towards the stunned ranger and closed his eyelids against the tears, regretting every word and every new breath.

End of Part X