Chapter Five: Unsuspected Mercy
Aragorn did not know how long he was out. He woke in the cell, head throbbing, and was frightened to discover that he was alone.
He scooted back to sit against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest and locking his arms around them. What were they doing to Legolas? Was he even still alive?
His question was suddenly answered as the door to the cell flung open, and two guards mercilessly dumped the archer onto the floor. Aragorn rushed over to his friend, shaking fingers feeling for a pulse. It was weaker than usual, but steady.
Satisfied that at least the elf was alive, Aragorn gently brushed the blonde hair away to study his friend's condition. His gut twisted sickeningly, and had his stomach not been empty it likely would have revolted.
Dark, angry bruises from Dormian's beating were beginning to show, but they were overlaid with lashes from a whip that covered the elf's torso and legs. Some of his wounds were inflamed, and Aragorn worried that they were already infected.
Aragorn's face darkened in fury as he discovered wounds from at least three kinds of whips. What had they done to Legolas? Why? Fingers shaking, he gently probed the elf's side where his ribs had been injured, and his heart sank as he discovered that another was broken, as well as two cracked on the other side. Thankfully, though, the elf had healed enough that the old injuries had merely rebroken and not broken completely free of the rest of the ribcage.
He pulled his shirt off, tearing the sleeves off and ripping them open to wrap around the elf's chest in hopes of offering his ribs some support. He wrapped the rest of the shirt around the elf when he saw that there was no way he could bandage all of his friend's wounds with that single piece of clothing. The cell was bare of furniture, so he half-dragged, half-carried Legolas over to the wall and sat against it, pulling his friend into his lap as much as he could to keep him off the stone floor.
Aragorn grimaced as he looked down into his friend's still face. One of the elf's eyes was clearly swollen shut, his face a mess of drying blood and...dirt? It looked as though someone had taken a handful of dirt or mud and smeared it into Legolas' face. Which, considering Dormian, wasn't entirely unlikely.
Shifting just slightly to a more comfortable position, Aragorn leaned his head back against the wall and began humming the old lullaby again. It was the only song he could think of at the moment, and somehow it was soothing to him just to hum it.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting like that when he finally felt Legolas stir.
Instantly Strider leaned down over the elf, one hand gently touching his friend's face as he murmured quieting words.
One bleary blue eye cracked open, the haziness of unconsciousness gradually fading as Legolas recognized the face above him.
"You..." the elf whispered faintly, his voice rough, "look terrible."
Aragorn's face split into a broad grin, and he winced as he suddenly noticed his split lip. In his concern for his friend he had completely forgotten his own wounds, though since they were only bruises it didn't matter much to him. "Be glad you do not have a mirror, Legolas," he replied lightly, but his heart was breaking as he knew Legolas must have screamed himself hoarse.
The elf groaned, trying to stretch but whimpering and curling up a little instead. "Did they hurt you?"
"No," Aragorn said reassuringly. "Just a few bruises, don't worry about me...did he ask you anything?"
Legolas squinted up at the ranger. "No," he whispered.
Aragorn leaned his head back with a groan. "I am sorry," he said, sighing. "I wish I knew why he did this."
The elf didn't reply, but rested his head against Aragorn. "So do I," he finally said.
The man flinched. He looked back down, the smallest of smiles creeping to his face as he saw Legolas fighting to keep his eye open. "Just rest, Legolas," he said quietly. "You need to heal."
Shaking his head, the elf struggled to sit up, though Aragorn held him down. "Your ribs," he said gently. "You need to lie down."
"It hurts," Legolas whispered, the look in his good eye a bit desperate.
Aragorn nodded in understanding—with Legolas' wounds there really was no good way for him to lie in this cell. He slowly helped the elf sit up, making Legolas lean against him so he was supporting as much of his friend's weight as he could. Legolas finally relaxed as a bit of the pain receded, and rested his head against Aragorn's shoulder.
The ranger smiled, then frowned in concern as he suddenly noticed the heat radiating off the elf. He touched his friend's forehead with one hand, and his heart sank as he found that the elf was feverish. That could only mean that infection was setting in, and Aragorn dreaded what would happen if he couldn't get help for his friend soon.
Not wanting to distress Legolas, he took back up humming the old lullaby.
The elf relaxed further, and Aragorn desperately hoped his friend would sleep soon. Natural sleep, not unconsciousness, would greatly help him heal.
"Strider?"
Legolas' drowsy voice jolted the ranger out of his thoughts. "Yes? Is something wrong?"
"Will you sing?"
Aragorn blinked in surprise, but quietly complied. His voice had never been as melodic as an elf's, but Legolas seemed contented and finally drifted off into a healing sleep.
Only when he was sure that the elf was sleeping did he let his despair overwhelm him, and he rested his cheek against Legolas' forehead and cried.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
To say that Obren was seething as he followed Master Lothram to the cell would have been an understatement. The bandit was infuriated, both at his leader and at Dormian. He had given his full report of the rather unbalanced bandit's behavior as well as his concerns when Lothram had decided to assign Dormian to the questioning.
He knew the rationalization behind Master Lothram's decision. If interrogating the prisoners would keep Dormian happy, he would not be in danger of striking out against one of his fellow bandits. However, Obren had a suspicion that Dormian would forget that he was supposed to be getting information and take out his misguided prejudices on the elf.
The outward picture of calm, Obren was dancing with impatience on the inside as he waited for the guard to unlock the cell to let him and Master Lothram enter. He didn't know why the master insisted on bringing guards with them...if Dormian's past history was any indication, the elf would be in no condition to fight back, and he was sure the ranger wouldn't endanger his friend by attacking the leader of the bandits.
Still, nothing had prepared him for the sight that greeted his eyes.
The ranger was sitting against the wall, the elf propped sideways against his chest. Obren ignored the ranger's glare and knelt beside him, gently checking the elf's wounds.
"Dormian informs me that you refuse to answer his questions," Lothram said haughtily. Obren gritted his teeth, biting back a scathing retort.
"I did answer," the ranger said, his voice sad yet majestic. "He just couldn't accept the truth."
Without looking, Obren knew what expression was on Lothram's face. The master was likely grinning smugly. "I am sorry," Obren whispered, his voice so soft that only the ranger could possibly hear him.
"Well, Obren, does he live?"
Obren clenched his jaw, setting his face in a neutral expression. "Barely, Master Lothram."
"It seems Dormian was a bit over-zealous," Lothram commented casually.
The bandit could see the ranger's fury grow. "He didn't even question him!" the ranger shouted, not noticing that the elf had been startled awake.
"Peace," Obren whispered. "Anger will get you nowhere...I will do what I can."
The ranger glanced over at him, a puzzled look on his face.
"Master Lothram," Obren called, rising to his feet. "The elf is alive, but I don't know if he'll survive the night."
Lothram shrugged. "I do not care."
"But if he dies you will have no way of getting information out of either of them," Obren replied, his words bitter on his tongue.
The master's eyes narrowed in contemplation. "And what do you suggest?"
Obren paused, thinking carefully. "What if we put them in a room for tonight? We could give the ranger supplies and let him help the elf, and in the morning you could decide if you want to return them to their cell."
Lothram nodded, and Obren was relieved to see that his words were getting through to the master. "What would you do?" Lothram asked, and Obren knew the master was merely curious now and not testing him.
"I would give them two days," Obren replied, even though he would have given them both enough time to fully heal. "Let them rest and recover, and then they might be able to understand the merciful side of your nature and give you the answers you desire."
"I see," Lothram said with a nod, and Obren knew he'd won. "Very well...I shall place the prisoners under your charge."
Obren nodded his thanks, bowing to keep the master from seeing any changes in his expression. While happiness at this assignment in someone like Dormian was to be expected, since that man was as twisted and sadistic as an orc, Lothram would have wondered why Obren was so pleased.
"I shall have them moved immediately," Obren said. "Thank you, Master Lothram."
Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers?
AN: Review responses for this week are delayed because I've been spending the day fighting either a stomach virus or a case of food poisoning.
Only one chapter and the (very short) epilogue left!