AN: This is the torture chapter. I've never written any before, so please pardon me if it's not very good.
Chapter Four: Interrogation
The hours seemed to pass slowly as Aragorn and Legolas sat in silence, broken occasionally by a word here or there.
Aragorn wondered what truth Lothram could want. He had been surprised to discover the man who had lead the bandits at the inn was not their leader, though he supposed he should have guessed that someone who seemed the least bit merciful could not possibly be their captor. A slightly sadistic grin formed on his face when he thought about that—as if he and Legolas could ever have been captured by a kind, decent man.
He was mostly concerned, though, with Legolas' condition. Truly, the elf's healing ability had helped his wounds somewhat, but they were still rather painful for him. He could feel the anger gnawing at his stomach every time he thought about the bruises Dormian had inflicted on the archer's shoulders.
Legolas had fallen into a light doze, still leaning against Aragorn. The man winced as he studied his friend's face, with dark bruises around one eye and along his jaw.
His mind turned back to Dormian. What could that man have against elves to make him so vindictive? Because elves occasionally traveled through the area he hadn't thought to try to disguise Legolas, though now he wondered if Dormian had picked the elf as the target in hopes that he'd be caught and could exact vengeance.
Some men were just so...human...Aragorn thought with an inward sigh.
He straightened up as he heard the bandits approaching, wishing for a moment that they could be silent so his friend could rest. It was too late, though, the elf was already stirring, and Aragorn offered him an encouraging smile before one bandit, the one who had lead the men at the inn, and two guards entered the room.
The bandit studied the two prisoners before approaching, casting a warning glance at the guards to stay back. "My name is Obren," he said. "I am Lothram's second-in-command."
"What do you want?" Aragorn asked sullenly.
"The truth," Obren replied.
"I already told you the truth." Aragorn was quickly losing patience.
Obren sighed, squatting down to get a closer look at Legolas. "I can't protect you for long," he said softly. "Lothram will send the others back unless you tell me something I can use to give them a reason not to touch you."
Elf and ranger were taken aback. "What could we tell you?" Aragorn asked.
"Who is your master?" Obren said. "Why are you here? What brought you so far out of your way? Are you working for our enemies?"
Aragorn sighed. "You know the answers to those questions."
The bandit's gaze saddened. "I suppose I do," he said, standing up. "I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do," he whispered.
Obren left before Aragorn could ask what he meant, and the ranger gave the elf a meaningful look.
"That was interesting," Legolas commented. "At least he's not utterly evil, like some of the men you introduce me to on these wonderful journeys of ours."
Aragorn chuckled, studying his friend with scrutiny when Legolas winced. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"No, Strider, I'm dying."
It took the ranger a moment to catch that his friend was being sarcastic, and when he did he lightly thumped the elf on the arm. "Not funny," he growled.
"I'm fine," Legolas said with a laugh. "Just a little stiff."
"Lean forward," the man ordered gently, pulling the elf's collar back to check on his shoulders. He was discouraged to find that the bruises looked even worse in the light of day. "Do they still hurt?"
The elf nodded. "Don't touch them," he said warningly.
Aragorn sighed and sat back against the wall, watching as Legolas turned sideways to lean his shoulder against the stone. "Do you think Dormian will be back?" the archer asked quietly.
"I hope not," Strider replied, a saddened tone in his voice. "But I believe he will."
Legolas closed his eyes and shook his head. "And considering we told no one we were going to that particular inn there is no reason to hope someone will find us soon, is there?"
The ranger grimaced. "I'm afraid not."
The elf snorted, his eyes still closed. "Remind me again why we went to that inn?"
Aragorn couldn't help but laugh. "I have no idea."
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Legolas had barely fallen into a light doze when he heard the distant tramp of footsteps coming down the corridor to their cell. He immediately straightened up, wincing when the movement tugged at the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders.
Aragorn was sleeping, his head tipped back against the wall and his mouth hanging open. Legolas grinned, reaching over and gently closing the ranger's mouth.
The touch, of course, immediately awakened Aragorn and he whirled about, reaching for a dagger that wasn't there and slamming his hand into the wall.
"Someone is coming," Legolas said softly before his friend had time to complain. Strider's gaze hardened, and Legolas knew they were thinking the same thing: Dormian.
Any question was soon thrown from their mind, as in the next moment the door to the cell was flung open and Dormian and several other men crowded into the cell.
"Well, well, well," Dormian sneered with a sadistic grin. "It appears Master Lothram has decided to leave further questioning of the prisoners up to me."
He gave a command to the men who had entered with him, and five of them rushed forward to subdue and separate the elf and ranger. Legolas' struggle was short-lived, his shoulders still too stiff to allow him to fight much, but Aragorn managed to get a few good blows in before one of the men dazed him with a blow to the head.
"Take them down the hall," Dormian said gleefully. "It's been a long time since we had anyone to interrogate," he added, following right behind the men who were leading—well, dragging—Legolas.
The elf knew what was coming next, and he sighed deeply. He wasn't even surprised when they were brought into a room with shackles on the wall and various whips and other instruments of torture laid out on a table.
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Aragorn fought as best as he could, but he was unable to break free of the three men who wrestled him into a chair off in one corner, tying him tightly to it to ensure that he wouldn't escape.
The other two men manhandled Legolas over to a post and tied his wrists together, slipping the bonds up over a hook near the top of the post. Aragorn seethed as his friend's face paled—no doubt he was in pain from being forced into that position.
Dormian took a small knife and cut off the elf's tunic and shirt as well as the bandages that supported his still-broken ribs. Aragorn resisted the urge to roll his eyes—this man certainly had a flair for the dramatic.
"Such pretty colors," Dormian sneered, running a finger over the bruises on Legolas' shoulders, bruises which Aragorn was pleased were finally beginning to fade. However, that didn't keep him from thrashing against his bonds in anger when he saw the elf wince at the bandit's touch.
The bandit walked over to the table, casually choosing a flexible rod about a foot and a half long. "Do tell me the truth, Ranger," he said in a tone that indicated he didn't really want to know anything. "I don't want to have to hurt your friend." Callously, the bandit struck Legolas across the back with the rod. Aragorn flinched, but was glad that Legolas didn't make a sound.
"I told you already!" he shouted. "There is nothing more to tell!"
"What a temper," Dormian snarled, punctuating his words with two bruising strikes against the elf's back. "Just tell me the truth and I'll let your friend go."
Despair welled up in Aragorn's heart. "I already told you," he said. "We were headed for Rivendell, nothing more. We are not here as spies or as raiders or as your enemies...we simply wanted to get to Rivendell."
Dormian grinned, a sadistic spark in his eyes. "I was so hoping you'd say that," he said, turning back to Legolas.
Aragorn shouted at the man to stop, but the bandit refused to listen. He strained against his bonds, ignoring the man who roughly backhanded him and ordered him to be quiet. Dormian was ruthless, beating Legolas without mercy or reason. Tears ran ignored down Aragorn's cheeks as he screamed at Dormian, his heart pained at the whimpers the bandit was wringing from his friend.
There was no preamble, no more threats, no more questions. It was no longer an interrogation, Aragorn realized. Whether Dormian still felt insulted from being exposed as a thief or if he simply had a vendetta against elves, it had become a vicious beating. Aragorn closed his eyes, lowering his head and fighting the despair in his heart. There was nothing he could say to save Legolas now, no matter what the bandits wanted to hear.
It seemed the beating went on for hours, but at last the bandit stopped. Dormian looked sickly satisfied, as though the cries he'd finally forced out of the elf were something to be proud of. He threw the rod aside, studying the elf's back with the air of one who is observing a work of art. "Ah, this will be pretty soon," the man murmured.
"You're nothing better than an orc," Aragorn snapped, and was backhanded again. "We told you everything. This is nothing more than your pathetic thirst for vengeance for an imagined slight masquerading as an interrogation," he added, hoping to direct the bandit's attention back to him the way Legolas had done at the inn. His words were to no avail, however. It seemed Dormian was only interested in tormenting the elf.
"You know," Dormian said with a sigh, surveying the table that held the torture instruments, "I grow tired of listening to the ranger."
"Would you like me to gag him?" one of the men asked.
"No," the bandit turned back, a dark gleam in his eye that Aragorn did not like. "Take him back to his cell. We'll bring the elf to him when we're finished here."
"No!" Aragorn fought as the men began to cut through the bonds that held him to his chair. He looked at Legolas, who was hanging limply against the post, too weak to even lift his head. One of the men cuffed him, another drove a knee into his middle. He fought, but was unable to break free.
"Legolas," he whispered as a sharp blow landed on the back of his head, and the last thing he remembered was Dormian's sadistic laughter as he blacked out.
Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers?
You know, I didn't realize until I started posting these chapter separately just how many cliffies this story had.