Aragorn, for his part, didn't show his panic as the orc drew nearer. Taking a cleansing breath, he exhaled, and drew on his courage. He would go through this for his friend, plain and simple. Nothing would change that. Nothing.
The new orc leader stepped forward, and grinned evilly. Spittle dripped off its fangs, and it glowered at the ranger fettered to the altar. Twirling the scimitar in its fingers, it growled softly in pleasure. It would get to torture this ranger and it was going to enjoy every minute of it.
Walking slowly around to the end of the table, it smiled, knowing that Aragorn's gaze would follow its actions. Taking the blade, it positioned it first right above the right ankle. Twisting the cutting edge back and forth across the delicate skin there, Aragorn could feel the blade dipping deeper and deeper into his body.
Mustering his strength, he waited as the orc got bored with the ankle. Moving up a couple inches until the scimitar was even with the calf muscle, the orc slowly moved so the blade didn't just graze, but went in a little ways into the soft part of Aragorn's leg. The ranger's breath caught, but he didn't reveal anymore pain than that.
The orc, hearing its prisoner's intake of breath, smiled. Removing the knife from the calf, it moved upwards to the knee, and made an even deeper cut. Aragorn arched a little, and his hands clutched into tight fists. Breathing heavier, he almost cried out as the orc moved the scimitar across his knee from the inside.
On the side, Legolas could see the pain starting to manifest in Aragorn's eyes and face. The ranger was not crying out, but the elf wondered how long it would take his friend to give into his pain.
The orc again removed the blade, and this time grinned as it placed the tip to the middle of the outside of Aragorn's right leg. Looking up to the elf instead of the ranger, the orc struck with callousness. Impaling the center of Aragorn's thigh, the orc closed its eyes in pleasure as the ranger let loose a strangled cry and arched off the table.
Aragorn had felt the tip on the outside of his leg and could not help but tense as the orc looked to Legolas. He knew what the foul thing intended, and could only wait as the blade suddenly was dug into his leg.
Legolas closed his eyes, but to ward off the sight of the blade dug into his friend's leg. Knowing how painful it must be, the elf could not watch as the orcs burst into laughs and evil catcalls as Aragorn's blood ran onto the top of the table.
The orc leader let loose the loudest laugh, and twisted the scimitar within Aragorn's leg for good measure. Aragorn gave a choked cry, and his face screwed up against the agony. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white.
The orc removed the blade, and to the horror and dread of Legolas and Aragorn, moved to the left leg. Woefully, though, the orc started with the left ankle with a powerful cut that had blood streaming. When it reached the left thigh, the orc carefully carved Aragorn's leg, and roared with delectation as the ranger's cries gave way to screams.
Legolas had tears running down his own face as he heard his friend's pain, and tried to recoil as Dúnhere's mockery fueled his desperation. Looking to the side, he could see Freca.
The Mouth of Sauron had a sickening smile on his face as he listened to Aragorn's screams, and he had his arms crossed firmly across his chest. He stood in a confidant pose, and his enjoyment was obvious.
Hearing another one of Aragorn's outcries of agony, Legolas could take it no longer.
Moving so he stood facing Freca, he yelled, "Freca!" the messenger of Sauron turned in surprise, and he smiled as he saw the elf's pain.
"You've seen enough of his pain and enough of his blood! Stop this madness before they kill him!" Legolas demanded in sorrow, but he watched as Freca's gaze flickered to the torture taking place.
Recognizing the dismay at ending a torture session, Legolas prayed to the Valar more than he ever had. Let him stop this. Let him spare Estel. Freca looked back to the elven prince, and nodded reluctantly.
"Stop!" his voice bellowed out, and the orc leader paused in surprise. The blade was still embedded in Aragorn's thigh, and the orc turned and quickly pulled it out. Aragorn was almost out of it, and his head just lolled as the pain washed over him.
"Take the ranger down, and return him to the bank." He then turned to Legolas as the disappointed orcs moved to take Aragorn from the altar. "Care for him, Elf. He dies, and it will be your fault."
Legolas' eyes flickered over to Aragorn's motionless form being carried past him, and he looked obstinately back to Freca. "If he dies, what will you tell your master?" Freca's arm connected with Legolas' chin, but the prince did not truly falter.
Dúnhere stepped forward, and loathsomely wrapped an arm around Legolas' waist. Dragging the elf behind the ranger and the orcs, he led the prince to the shore, and threw him down next to Aragorn.
Legolas did not let the pain of his own injuries stop him, and he immediately moved for his motionless friend. Dúnhere's mouth turned up in disgust, and he moved away for the fire of his men.
A fire had been lit near the two captives, and Legolas used the light to look over Aragorn's injuries.
Running a hand over the ranger's thighs, he cringed in shared pain. Hearing a stifled cry and a groan, the elf looked down into the pain-filled face of his best friend.
"Estel, mellon nín, don't move!" he said with relief at seeing Aragorn alert. The human could barely understand Legolas from all the pain he was experiencing, but he could sense his friend's worry.
"Legolas..." he muttered. The elven prince's worry melted into anger as he attempted to rip the remainder of their shirts into bandages.
"Estel Elrondillon, don't you ever do that again, do you understand me? I will not have my best friend going through that just to save me a little pain. Do you understand me, Aragorn?" Legolas looked down into the distressed face of Aragorn, and his anger faded out.
Bending over, tears shimmering in his eyes, Legolas touched his forehead to Aragorn's. "Im dim, Estel. Amin harmuva onalle e' cormamin /I'm sorry, Estel. I shall treasure your gift in my heart/." Sobs started to shake his weakened body, and he could not stop.
"Just, please, don't do that again. Not for me." Aragorn's pain-glazed eyes fixated wearily on Legolas' face, and he smiled feebly.
"Who else for, mundo dol mellon nín /my bull headed friend?" he responded, but then his eyes closed against the pain, and his back arched. Legolas struggled to stop the bleeding, but the wounds were deep.
"Aragorn." Legolas' way of saying the ranger's name in a situation always amused Aragorn. It held warning and worry and concern all at one time, and it also seemed to comfort the injured ranger. Now, he chuckled lightly.
"I know, Legolas. The bleeding isn't stopping. Just hold it there for a moment longer, and we'll see."
:0Ж0:
It was a few days later, and the elven prince of Mirkwood still feared deeply for his friend. Aragorn's wounds were festering, and the ranger was developing dangerous fevers. He was sweating profusely, and his body's temperatures were leading to delirium and shock. The human was slowly fading, and there was nothing Legolas could do to help.
Freca laughed silently as he watched the desperation in which the elf struggled to save his friend, and he gloated in the fact that Aragorn was gradually dying. Ever since Aragorn and Legolas had defeated the dark Númenorean nearly thirty years ago, the man had been bent on revenge.
When he had heard that Sauron was rising again, Freca had leapt at the chance to join the Dark Lord's cause. He had known that if he had, he would have a validated excuse for going after the Heir of Isildur. He had lied to Legolas. Sauron had no idea that his human commander was going after the descendant of Elendil.
Freca had told his master that he was going to squelch the threat of the revolting peasants near the Mordor/ Gondor border. A resistance had been developing for years, and the people were finally getting enough initiative to go against Sauron and his dominion. The Dark Lord had not cared, had laughed really at the thought of the free peoples going against him. Sauron knew that the people would never really make it against him without the Heir of Isildur.
The Mouth of Sauron had used this to his advantage. Freca had always known the information he held was important, but he wanted the glory for himself too much to tell anyone else of the elves raising Aragorn all those years.
But, after the murders... Never before had Freca felt such want for vengeance.
Now, he had the two people responsible within his grasp, and he was not about to let them escape.
Seeing the two of them together again, Freca felt unbelievable anger. He would make those two pay, and that'd be the end of it. Smiling devilishly, the human looked to Dúnhere further down the way. The hill man could sense his leader's gaze on him, and turned uncomfortably to lock looks.
Freca did not truly acknowledge the other man, but continued to smile. "How would you like to have a little more fun?"
:0Ж0:
"Estel? Estel, are you awake?" soft whispers awoke the ranger from his rest, and Aragorn groaned softly as the heat and pain in his body made themselves known loudly. He slowly opened his eyes to look into the worried gaze of his best friend, and gave a wearied smile.
"I am now." Then, he grew concerned, and coughed. "Lego...Legolas, are you alright?" the elven prince's face was even paler, if such a thing was possible, and he was trembling even more noticeably. Legolas cradled Aragorn in his lap unsteadily, but still did not look to the man.
"I am fine, Estel. It is you I am truly worried about. How are your legs feeling?" Aragorn attempted to move his legs to ease the discomfort, but then sucked in his breath loudly as pain erupted from every part of his lower body.
Crying out as well, his hand flew out to Legolas' wrist, and gripped the slender limb tightly. Squeezing as he rode out the pain, his eyes closed and he took deep breaths.
After a little bit, he was ready to talk again. "Legolas, don't worry about me, mellon, for it is you who have the internal bleeding and everything else broken. And, I'm sure taking care of me is not helping." Shivering with the chills that invaded his strong form, Aragorn unknowingly snuggled closer to the warmth of Legolas' body.
Legolas noticed, though, and wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders tightly. He coughed, and could begin to finally taste the coppery flavor of his blood. It seemed that his internal bleeding was showing through at last.
Unfortunately for him, Aragorn noticed his uneasiness, and knew at once the cause. He had used his healing talents, but there was still nothing he could do to aid his friend. Legolas was slowly dying.
Now, he looked to the prince, and he gently put a hand to Legolas' temple. "Just stay with me, Legolas. Please, don't leave me." The elf smiled shakily down to his friend, but could not truly say anything to reassure the human.
Aragorn tried to sit up, but the increasing pain in his legs prohibited any type of movement. Sucking in his breath, he sagged against Legolas heavily, and was forced to try and ride the pain. But, even with his eyes closed, the dizziness and nausea did not subside.
"Legolas, I think I'm going to be sick." He breathed out. Legolas looked to Aragorn with alarm, and gently helped the ranger to his side. It took a moment for the tremors to diminish, and Aragorn dropped even more across Legolas' lap. The blood loss of his legs, and the fevers gathering in his body from the infection, was beginning to take hold. He was becoming weaker and weaker, and anything more done to him would send him over the edge.
Legolas draped his uninjured arm across Aragorn's chest, and he leaned back somewhat. He knew that if he and the human didn't get help soon, then both would most likely perish.
So, for an hour or more, all Legolas could do was watch his friend drop into delirium. The fevers were taking an even stronger hold on the ranger's weakened body, and the elf wasn't sure how much longer Aragorn would stay with him. The high temperatures in the human's body were increasing dramatically, and Aragorn wouldn't be able to fight the infection in his body for much longer.
Leaning over the ailing human, Legolas was surprised as strong arms wrapped around his forearms. Yanked to his feet, the elf could not help cry out as some of his weight pressed down on his left hip. Aragorn, aware of something going wrong with his friend, struggled for alertness so he could assist Legolas, but some of the hill men cruelly stepped on his legs to keep him submissive.
Crying out, unable to stop himself, Aragorn attempted to curl away from the new abuse on his body, but the evil men stopped him. Legolas, watching the torture being inflicted on his friend, looked past his own agony.
"Leave him be!" he shouted, fighting against the arms on his own body. "He cannot fight you, leave him be!" Dúnhere was the one mostly behind Legolas, and he struck the elf in the back of the head.
"Silence, Elf!" he then threw the stunned immortal into the grasps of some of his men, and then motioned for the others to carry the ranger. He looked to Legolas.
"We have permission to have some fun with you, Elfy. I hope you enjoy it as much as I will." Legolas' face paled, but he attempted to remain strong. He needed to for Aragorn.
"Do what you will with me, if it truly makes you happy." He snapped out, and the men shoved him forward for his bravado. Legolas stumbled, and nearly fell, but one of the men grabbed his bad left arm and pulled until the elf was somewhat on his feet again.
The elven prince nearly passed out from the explosion of pain that coursed through his arm at that point, but through sheer force of will, remained conscious.
Dragging the pair to the edge of the trees, Dúnhere removed a set of manacles from a bag, and moved to one of the trees with a low branch. Attaching one end to the branch, he motioned for Legolas to be brought to him, and for Aragorn to be held.
Bringing the elf over, the hill men could not contain their excitement at the prospect of more torture. Two holding him, one other tore off the shreds that remained of Legolas' tunic, while a last one chained the elf's wrists above his head.
Legolas tried not to appear nervous, but memories of his last torture session ran through his mind, and he could not help but gulp. If anything, these men could and would do whatever they wanted to the defenseless elf, and there was nothing Aragorn or Legolas could do to stop them.
From behind, Legolas could hear some rustling, and then with a slight whoosh of air, the prince felt a sharp club tear into his back. Closing his eyes against the unexpected pain, Legolas took in deep breaths and tried to calm his racing heart.
The club had hit just behind the ribs that were broken, and the pain was excruciating. But, Legolas could also feel something rather disturbing.
Not allowed time to dwell on it, another blow fell, and this time, Legolas could feel something enter his back. Arching, Legolas opened his mouth for a silent cry. Oh, Great Eru, how that had hurt!
Stepping around the elf so that he could show Legolas the tool being used, Dúnhere could not keep the evil sneer off his face. Holding up his club, Legolas got a full look at what his torture device looked like.
It was one of the orcs' clubs, but the hill men had 'improved' on it. Barbs from arrows were tied loosely to some of the ends, and they stuck out like porcupine quills. Horror dawned on Legolas as he figured out what the hill man was doing.
Apparently, Aragorn had, too. Being forced to watch, even through his delirious state, he was able to recognize the arrow tips on the club. Knowing the leader's plans, the ranger could not help but cry out.
"No! You cannot do this! That could paralyze him for all you know!" Dúnhere merely smiled in response.
"Grand, isn't it?" Aragorn growled, and attempted to throw himself towards the leader of the hill men and his best friend, but was halted by the stronger grips of his captors. He was desperate to reach Legolas, for he knew that the elf could only take so much more.
Unfortunately, though, Aragorn was too weak to fight anyone.
Watching Legolas' face screw up in pain as another stroke fell, the ranger could not help but cry out again. "Please! I'm begging you! Stop this before you kill him!" the hill man did not even acknowledge the other man, but his evil smile grew considerably.
Instead of answering, his next blow against the elf's back sounded as if bones were being crushed. Legolas could not help but scream in complete agony as he felt bones and vertebrate move through his whole back. Feeling arrow tips lodge in his flesh, the elf nearly passed out from the overwhelming torment. Hearing Aragorn's choked cries behind him, Legolas could not turn to look to his friend. Closing his eyes in suffering, the prince could feel tears escape his eyes as he realized something after a moment.
Dúnhere grinned, and motioned to his men. Laughing, he rounded the bound elf, and grabbed his chin, forcing the injured immortal to look him full in the face. Seeing the moisture on the elf's face, he laughed, and cruelly wiped at the tears that had trailed down his face. Not commenting, he spoke only to goad the prince's misery.
"Let's see you live through this, Your Majesty." Then, he turned to his men. "Let the elf down, and then let the ranger go." His men's confused expressions, he spoke again as if he were talking to ignoramuses. "I don't think the elf is going anywhere any time soon."
The men still did not understand, but did not tell their leader that. Just shrugging slightly, the hill men released Aragorn, and practically threw him to the ground. A few rushed over to Legolas, and using the key, let the elf crash heavily to the soil. Legolas let loose a choked cry, and tried to curl onto his side.
Aragorn, not looking to the hill men standing over him, anxiously tried to crawl to his friend. Dúnhere, seeing the frantic movements of the ranger, harshly kicked Aragorn into the ground. His face landing hard in the earth, Aragorn was not able to move as Dúnhere leaned heavily with his weight. Bending over the captive ranger, the hill man whispered,
"Do what you can, Ranger; you won't be able to save him." Pushing down one final time, Dúnhere turned, and slowly walked away.
The ranger did not even waste time in watching the men leave, but instead rolled over and crawled as fast as his wearied body could go. Seeing Legolas curled in on himself, trying extremely hard not to cry out anymore, broke Aragorn's heart. He was used to seeing the elven warrior so strong and fierce, and it was strange to see Legolas so frail and almost broken.
Making it to Legolas' side, Aragorn just sat there for a moment. "Legolas?" he quietly questioned, his own pain pale in comparison to the agony of his elven friend. "Legolas?"
The elf could not answer for many moments, just laid there trying to suppress his pain. Opening his pain-filled, blue eyes, Legolas looked up at Aragorn. Seeing the unknown anguish within the elf, Aragorn gently placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.
Legolas almost shuddered as he felt his friend's touch, and his tortured eyes latched on to Aragorn. "Estel... I can't..." he closed his eyes, and swallowed. Legolas took a few deep breaths, and Aragorn could read the torture that traveled through the immortal's body.
Without opening his eyes, Legolas whispered brokenly, "I can't feel my legs."
CHAPTER BREAK
:0Ж0:
Slipping silently through the shadows, several rangers of the north headed towards the reported orc camp. Many that had patrolled the lands said that they had heard screaming from around Amon Hen, and some of the rangers volunteered to check out the surrounding terrain for the origins.
Leading this group was Anders, son of Halbarad, and he was a little scared. He had heard from Strider's elven brothers that the human was in danger and had gone after Prince Legolas, and every word had sent shudders through his heart. Strider had helped raise the boy since Halbarad had allowed his son to stay with him in the camps, and the man was like a second father or uncle to Anders. Even Legolas was close to the young human, for the elven prince had joined in all the adventures that had occurred over the years.
Hearing that both were missing sent shivers down his back, and embedded fear into his heart; especially when it was reported that orcs were around.
Looking to his father who was beside him, Anders motioned for his men to move closer to the camp.
:0Ж0:
Aragorn could only look to Legolas with a look akin to horror. Hearing that his worst fears concerning his friend was realized, the ranger could only sag against Legolas.
"Oh, mellon nín. No..." his voice drifted off, and he closed his eyes. Pulling a hand up to rub at his wearied eyes,
Aragorn could only comfort Legolas. "Let me look." He then very gently ran his hands down Legolas' bloodied back, and cringed visibly when his fingers came into contact with the broken skin and the end of the arrow tips.
Knowing that the arrow tips were probably not the problem, Aragorn gently talked to his friend, trying to calm Legolas down. "I think it could be swelling, Legolas; nothing more. The arrow tips will come out and the swelling should come down. This could only be temporary, mellon nín. "
Legolas didn't look up or anything and a sense of defeat seemed to hang around him. "It's no use, Estel. We won't be getting out of this to see whether or not it is." The ranger nearly jerked at the elf's words. Legolas was giving up! No!
"Legolas, I will not let these spawn take us to Mordor, and I will personally make sure that you see my father. Do you understand me, Elf?" Aragorn's stern words brought a semi-smile to Legolas' injured and bruised face, and he said,
"Estel, what attitude you have." But, the small moment faded. "I understand, Aragorn, and I believe in you." Opening his eyes, his wearied gaze tore into Aragorn's own gray orbs. "I just hope we can get away in time."
:0Ж0:
Hearing the end of the scouts' reports, Anders looked to his father. Nodding his understanding after a moment, the young ranger moved through the beginning twilight, his senses on overload. The scouts had finally confirmed that orcs did indeed rest near the ruins of Amon Hen, and two figures had been spotted near the center of the group a few times. Just a few hours ago, one had been beaten in a public display.
Now, Anders and Halbarad were convinced that it was Strider and Prince Legolas. Only those two trouble makers could be this far south in the company of orcs and hill men. At the moment, both were worried over the conditions of the two captives.
Moving stealthily through the woods, the Dúnedain were aware of the position of the orc/ hill men camp, and were being cautious. A surprise attack was necessary, and the last thing the group needed was to be sighted by their quarry.
:0Ж0:
Freca paced around his tent, his agitation showing through quite plainly. 'Now what am I going to do with those fools? They've both seen each other suffering, but is that enough? I wanted the ranger to experience the worst pain imaginable, but have I succeeded? Has he gone through enough? Throwing his hands up in frustration, and running a hand through his dark hair, the Mouth of Sauron spun around.
An evil smile slowly spread across his face, and his hands fell to his sides. Spotting something that he had left lying around, Freca walked over to the object. Carefully picking it up, he slowly fitted it to his knuckles, and flexed just to make sure.
Speaking aloud, he could not help but feel giddy. "Oh, I believe I have discovered a commodity that will work just nicely."
:0Ж0:
Legolas was sleeping fretfully, and Aragorn carefully kept watch over his friend's condition. He himself was not feeling up to par with the blood loss and the temperatures of his body, but Aragorn would do just about anything to protect his friend from further harm.
Leaning back against a tree near them, the ranger ran a comforting hand through Legolas' long, blonde locks; almost calming the elf down. Keeping his hand moving, his gray eyes drifted to Eärendil and its sacred light. Seeing the star, he felt a sense of peace fall over him, but he was still aware. Until Aragorn was sure that he and his immortal companion could escape, his guard would be on full alert.
Seeing Gil-Estel beginning to shine in the sky still helped hope resound through his heart, and refueled his determination. He would get Legolas out of this, even if he had to die to save his friend.
Hearing heavy footsteps approaching, the ranger snapped his head down, and stared hard at Dúnhere. Glaring his hatred and defiance, he knew that the hill man barely acknowledged the ranger. Seeing the hill man's contemptuous eyes fall on the slumbering elf, Aragorn quickly moved to interfere.
"What do you want?" Dúnhere reluctantly looked to the ranger, and sneered at him.
"Master Freca wishes the elf and yourself to join him." He then leaned over, bent on waking the elf up cruelly. Aragorn intercepted his arm.
"I'll wake him up." Dúnhere snarled, but moved away. Aragorn carefully leaned over his friend, and gently tapped his cheek.
"Legolas, amin -uva coire/Legolas, you must wake up/" Aragorn's quiet pleading brought Legolas out of his pain enhanced sleep, and he groggily opened his blue eyes.
"Estel? What...?" the human didn't explain, but only began to stand. Legolas got the meaning, but his face almost immediately dropped. "Estel, I..." Aragorn stopped him, and finally got fully to his feet. Testing the weight on both of his legs, he wasn't surprised when both nearly gave out.
Instead of sitting down, Aragorn bent over and slid his arms underneath Legolas' slight frame. Lifting, he almost fell over at both their weights.
"Estel! Este nin nu! Amin mai nev rast/Put me down! You can barely stand/" Legolas' worried words touched Aragorn, but he was determined.
"I am carrying you, for I do not trust this filth of Mordor as far as I can throw them!" Legolas rolled his eyes, but the worried expression stayed on his face each time he felt his friend stumble on the ground.
Following Dúnhere, the three came to the edge of the shore, where Freca and a few orcs and hill men stood. A bright fire burned in a small pit, and the numerous evil beings looked up as Aragorn and Legolas came closer.
Still holding onto his elven friend, Aragorn stopped just shy of where the firelight touched the sand. He didn't want to get any closer to the maniac servant of Mordor. He didn't want Freca getting any more ideas of how to torture the defenseless elf.
But, it seemed as if the man had come up with some without the elf and ranger being nearby.
Seeing Freca's evil sneer, Aragorn's eyes shot around, seeing the anticipation shining in the orcs and hill men. Something was about to happen, and the ranger could guess that it had to do with Legolas and him.
Starting to back up, Aragorn was stopped by Dúnhere coming up behind him. Not looking back, he held Legolas tighter. The elf, feeling the tense form of his friend, looked around in suspicion, trying not to reveal his fear.
Freca nodded, and Aragorn's heart lurched. Looking around for the being about to attack, the ranger was unprepared for an orc merely coming towards him and wrestling Legolas from his grasp.
Legolas, too, wasn't ready, and gave a half-choked cry as the Mordor spawn's claws dug into his weakened body. Struggling only a little, he and Aragorn were unable to keep the orc from taking the elf.
Hitting the ranger across the face, the orc laughed as he dragged the paralyzed elf towards its master. Throwing Legolas in front of Freca, the orc retreated into the throng of its regiment.
Legolas could only moan in pain, and try to curl into himself. Realizing that he was paralyzed completely from the waist down, the immortal prince moaned again. Feeling desperation mounting within him, Legolas did not look up to the Mouth of Sauron.
Freca laughed softly, and knelt down next to the trembling elf. Looking up to Aragorn as he spoke, his grin grew as Dúnhere came up behind the ranger and grabbed the tops of his arms. The other man was too weak to resist, and all he could do was watch as Freca again tormented his best friend.
"So, Prince Legolas, it seems that Dúnhere has done a better job on you than I had thought." Legolas did not look up at him, but only held his midsection as waves of pain rolled over him. He was concentrating on merely staying conscious, and not to expel the contents of his stomach.
Freca noticed, but did not comment on that just yet. Yanking Legolas to his feet, he was somewhat surprised when the elf immediately collapsed with a cry.
"Stop it! He can't..." Aragorn tried to deter the evil man, but Dúnhere's fist connecting with his face stopped any other comment.
The Mouth of Sauron looked to the leader of the hill men, and he glared stonily. Not speaking, he rolled his eyes, and motioned to a couple of the closest hill men. Three walked over, and held up the elf.
Freca stepped backwards for a moment, and began to pull an item from his pocket. Looking to the elf and ranger, he allowed the brass to shine in the firelight, and made sure that both could tell what the device was.
Aragorn's eyes widened considerably, and he looked frantically to Legolas to gauge his reaction. The elf only looked to the brass knuckles, but did not show an outward expression. Instead, he closed his blue eyes, seemingly so he would not have to look.
Freca placed the weapon made of an alloy on his right hand, and twirled his hand around; admiring the simple beauty of such a weapon. Looking back to his two enemies, he put on a pleasant expression.
"One would not think that such a small thing could do so much damage." Twirling his hand around a little more, the dark haired man stepped closer to the captive elf. "Bones could break with only one hit, blood drawn at once, and who could ever know what would happen if someone were hit in vital areas?"
From the side, Aragorn had renewed his struggling against Dúnhere, and more men were required to hold the fighting ranger. The mortal knew that Freca would injure Legolas more than anything else that had been done to him, and recognized that it would probably harm the elf beyond aid.
Legolas, not even acknowledging his friend's strife, only looked to the demented man with dead eyes. But, his questioning startled everyone, even the ranger. "How did it feel to murder innocent elves?" Freca's smile dropped a little, but Legolas went on without noticing.
"How did it feel to ruin the survivors' lives? How about ruining my best friend's life!" his voice did not rise, but the ferocity of his tone amazed Freca. Lunging forward with his left hand extended, the human grasped the blonde locks, and forcefully shoved Legolas' head back.
Freca looked as if he were visibly trying to restrain himself from hitting Legolas more, and after a minute of just breathing heavily and looking into the elf's eyes, he slowly relaxed and backed off a little. Straightening his black tunic and robes, he turned back to the bound elven prince.
"Only one last thing, Elf." Then, he looked to Aragorn for the last part, wanting to see the ranger's reaction to his threat. "And, the Heir of Isildur will watch every minute of it." Legolas finally allowed his emotions to show, but it was only in worry for the ranger. He knew first hand what it felt like to watch a loved one tortured, and noted with sympathy how Aragorn would be forced to watch for a second time in a row.
Aragorn had the direct response that Freca had been waiting for. Lurching forward against the grips of his captors, the dúnadan fought to reach his friend. "Freca! Haven't we gone through enough? You have no reason to want him, for it was not his fault what happened thirty years ago! I was the one who supplied the evidence to my father, and I was the one who constructed your fall! Legolas was there for Roth, nothing more!"
The Mouth of Sauron looked to Aragorn, feelings between boredom and amusement going through him. He had the ranger exactly where he had always wanted him. Begging and pleading, willing to do anything for Freca. Just to save one elf's life.
"You'll be royalty soon, Aragorn. You must learn when to make sacrifices." Smirking, he turned away from the ranger, and balled his fingers into a fist. Stepping closer to Legolas, he readied himself.
:0Ж0:
Slipping closer and closer to the camp, Anders was secretly alarmed when he could spot no lookouts among the shore or trees. That meant that whoever had devised this was very confident over the security of their prisoners.
Noticing the sun beginning to dip, he knew that now was the time to strike. Seeing his father drawing closer, he waved Halbarad over.
"Father, I don't know what to do! We don't know where Strider and Prince Legolas are! If we make even one mistake..." Halbarad cut off the anxious ramblings of his son, and placed a strong hand on his broad shoulder.
"Strider will understand a rescue attempt when he sees one. If it is within his power, he will protect himself and the prince." Anders nodded, and then looked around.
"Where are they?" but, horrifyingly, he was answered.
"LEGOLAS! NO!" Strider's screams echoed throughout the trees, and Anders's head snapped up to lock gazes with his father. Motioning to his men, the rangers took off into the trees, praying to the Valar that they were not too late.
:0Ж0:
Freca struck quickly, and his fist plowed into the side of Legolas' head. The brass knuckles connected with the elf's temple, and snapped Legolas' head to the side. The immortal did not even remain in the men's grasps that were keeping him up, and he folded to the ground. Landing on his stomach, his eyes closed, Legolas was completely out of it. Blood ran down his ashen features, and it was quite obvious to all around that the elf had received serious injury.
Unknowing to everything but the sight of his motionless friend, Aragorn was not even aware of the screams that escaped his throat. Not even fighting against the men holding him any longer, all he could do was stare in complete horror.
No, this could not be happening! No!
Freca smiled, and shook his fist as if he had hurt it with the power behind his swing. Walking over to Aragorn, he wiped the blood from his knuckles onto the pale face. Smiling as Aragorn seemed to cringe away from the evidence of his friend's suffering, Freca gently dropped the brass knuckles into his pocket.
Not even nodding or gesturing to Dúnhere, the ambassador from Mordor smiled with satisfaction as the hill man released the heir.
"Now, to deal with you."
:0Ж0:
Anders whistled low but fast as a signal to his men, informing the archers to fall into position. Not looking to his father beside him, or to Kalmoth that had come up beside him, Anders raced to the shore and the firelight shining on the water.
Seeing the man in the center, their chieftain, the son of Halbarad unsheathed his sword. Not giving any warning to their enemies, the rangers under the sanction of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, struck.
:0Ж0:
Aragorn stared Freca full in the face, and did not flinch. Anger and hatred shone from the gray depths, but the Mouth of Sauron only found the other's anger funny.
"I know how much you want to kill me, Estel. Oh, how I know." Pulling a strange looking dagger from the back of his belt, Freca twirled it between his fingers. Looking back at the ranger, he could not help but smile broadly.
"Legolas had no idea what he was talking about. I feel nothing about killing those elves. That was just a little sport. I wanted to see how many I could kill before I was caught. Obviously, I was good, if the elves that raised you suspected you above any one else." Aragorn didn't move, but took deep breaths, clenching his fists over and over again.
Before he could say or do anything, Aragorn's head shot up; hearing light footsteps behind them. Seeing one of his men in the trees, the ranger smiled in relief, and looked defiantly to Freca.
"It matters not what happened, or how you outsmarted most of the elves of Rivendell. You will get your punishment, of that you can be certain." Freca seemed a little mystified at Aragorn's smug look, but then looked over Dúnhere's shoulder. Seeing Anders and Halbarad with many of the other rangers rushing at them, he gave a hurried command.
"Get your weapons! We're under attack!" but, the orcs' and hill men's weapons were not near them. As they had grown so assured that no one would find them, and that they were merely watching some sport, none had brought their armaments.
Tossing an extra sword to Dúnhere, Freca sheathed his dagger and ignored Aragorn for the time being. Meeting Halbarad with crossed blades, the Mouth of Sauron sneered at the other man. Pushing back with all his strength, Freca forced the dúnadan backwards, and the fight commenced.
Anders had come face-to-face with Dúnhere, and the two younger men circled one another. The leader of the hill men sneered at the ranger, and then attacked first with a blow that should have cut Anders in half, but the other man blocked and twisted.
Their blades encountered each other in an intricate dance that would decide life or death for both the winner and the loser. Anders had somewhat of an advantage after being trained by elves and Strider, but Dúnhere's moves made up for that by being quick. The two were practically evenly matched, and it would be a narrow escape for either.
Aragorn saw his men fighting against the orcs and hill men, and smiled. Knowing that the rangers would have it under control, the man hobbled as fast as he could to Legolas' side. Gently checking over the elf's temple, he trembled as he saw the blood streaming from the immortal's body.
"Legolas? Mellon nín? By the Valar, answer me!" his demands were met with silence, and Aragorn could not withhold a sob. Weeping, the ranger gathered his friend in his arms, and he put his chin on Legolas' motionless head. Staying there for a moment, he didn't care what happened to him at this point.
Kalmoth had been fighting some of the orcs, but heard Aragorn's cries for his friend. Moving over to his chieftain, he was scared at seeing his leader so... human. All the time, Strider was so strong and confident; he always led the rangers with a good hand and wisdom. Kalmoth had constantly looked up to the leader of the Dúnedain, and it had seemed that Aragorn was beyond any of them. But, seeing him like this, grieving over a friend, Kalmoth was reminded of when his own brother had been killed.
Shaking himself, Kalmoth was able to block a blow from a returning hill man. Some had returned to their camp for their weapons, and were better prepared. Now, he realized that he was needed to defend Strider and Prince Legolas.
Parrying a blow, he sliced and watched as his foe dropped. Yelling over his shoulder, he continued to fight. "Strider! You need to get the prince out of here!" not hearing movement behind him, the young man almost groaned in frustration. "Strider!" he sliced across a hill man's midsection, and then spun around to look to his leader. "Get Legolas out of here!" Aragorn's eyes slowly drifted up to him, and Kalmoth could plainly see the pain and agony embedded in their gray depths.
"Go, Kalmoth. Leave." Strider's deadened words shocked the young dúnadan, and he almost didn't turn in time to block a blow aimed for his back. Not responding, he looked over to Halbarad and Anders, ready to ask for help.
Seeing the father and son pair locked in battle with their own opponents, Kalmoth nearly threw up his hands in surrender. Finishing off the enemy in front of him, the young man dropped down to kneel next to his chieftain.
Placing a hand on the other man's biceps, Kalmoth again gained Aragorn's attention. "The prince isn't dead yet, Strider. We can still save him. The camp isn't that far, we can get him and you there to be healed." Aragorn's eyes slowly lost their glazed and helpless look, and steely determination shone.
"You're right, Kalmoth. By that Valar, you're right!" gently examining Legolas' critical wounds again, the ranger looked up to Kalmoth. "I might need your help. Freca and the hill men took my weapons, and I don't know where they put them." The younger dúnadan nodded, and stood. Looking around, he parried an oncoming hill man's sword, and then began to fight furiously.
From the side, Freca finally managed a winning blow against Halbarad. Hitting the other man across the chest with his blade, he could not help but smile as the ranger collapsed to his knees with a surprised cry. About to plunge his long-sword into his opponent's chest, Freca's head jerked up as he heard Kalmoth's cries to Aragorn. Smiling, he turned back to the second-in-command of the Dúnedain of the north.
Switching to the hilt, Freca hit the other man across the head. Halbarad dropped to the ground, senseless.
Starting towards where Kalmoth was defending the ailing ranger and prince, Freca reached his hand behind his back for the dagger he always kept within his belt. This was a special dagger, distinctly designed in Mordor for the worst damage possible. Freca knew that he could not allow the Heir of Isildur to leave here alive.
Ending up behind Kalmoth, the Mouth of Sauron ended up catching the younger man's sword arm as the dúnadan swung around to clobber his newest enemy. Smiling cruelly, Freca stabbed Kalmoth in the side, and then shoved the young man towards the direction of where Dúnhere was fighting Anders.
Stalking silently towards Aragorn, Freca unconsciously wiped Kalmoth's blood on his pants. He wanted only the heir's blood to stain this dagger.
:0Ж0:
Aragorn stood up unsteadily, trusting young Kalmoth to defend Legolas and himself.
Reaching down to lift the coma-like prince into his arms, Aragorn was surprised when a hand yanked him around. Before he could do or say anything, a dagger was plunged deep into the left side of his unprotected belly.
His mouth forming into a silent cry, the ranger's face screwed up against the newest form of pain. Looking into Freca's unmerciful eyes, Aragorn wasn't astonished when the Mouth of Sauron moved closer to him; digging the dagger even more into his abused body. But, when Freca's smile grew to unreachable heights, the ranger was a little rattled.
Twisting the small blade for good measure, Freca's thumb moved for the nearly concealed lever under the hilt. Pushing the lever located there, his delight increased as he read the agony manifesting into the lines of Aragorn's face.
Aragorn couldn't keep from crying out as he felt the apparatus's function. Within his abdomen, the dagger's blade had suddenly shifted, and it seemed as if the blade had split in half. Tearing through skin even more, Aragorn sagged against Freca as the pain swamped him. Giving a small gasp, he closed his eyes against the anguish, and could sense the other's amusement.
Again twisting the dagger, Freca waited until Aragorn's eyes opened once more. Inspecting the ranger's pain-glazed eyes, the Mouth of Sauron's mouth curled up.
"I hope you rot, Estel." His face got even closer, his desire to cause Aragorn even more emotional pain driving him. "And, I want you to suffer in the knowledge that you failed. Not only have I killed you and your precious elf prince, but I'm going after Rivendell. Your father and brothers will kneel at my feet and beg for mercy before I end their pitiful lives." Aragorn's eyes widened in horror, and he moved for Freca.
Freca twisted the blade with the double blades within Aragorn's body, and the dúnadan's knees finally collapsed against the onslaught of pain. Reluctantly holding on to Freca to keep partially up right, the ranger attempted to dissuade the evil commander's plans.
"Don't! Oh, Blessed Valar, my father did nothing! My brothers weren't even in Rivendell when it happened! Please, I'll beg for their lives, just don't go to Rivendell!" his breathing was becoming labored, and his vision swam. The dagger being embedded into his stomach was causing an unbelievable agony, and Aragorn knew that he would not last much longer unless he somehow got away from Freca, the hill men, and the orcs.
Falling all the way to his knees, and pulling on Freca, he tried to get the man to let go of the hold he had on the hilt. But, Freca was determined not to lose his favorite dagger.
"No, no, no, dear, Estel. I will be going to Rivendell, and I will destroy the Elven haven. Who knows, I might even find a ring of power." Aragorn's faced paled further, and Freca smirked.
"I remember standing at the door to your father's study, and hearing all the interesting talk swirling about. I know that Lord Elrond Peredhil possesses a ring of power, and I will retrieve it for my master." With this, he changed the position of the dagger a final time, and then retracted the second blade back into the first. Yanking the weapon from Aragorn's stomach, he shoved the ranger backwards, so that the man was unable to get up.
Laughing, Freca turned and walked away, leaving a dying Aragorn and Legolas in his wake.
:0Ж0:
From where he was fighting Dúnhere, Anders heard his father's cry. Keeping himself from going to Halbarad's aid, the young man parried a blow meant for his midsection; following up with a strike for Dúnhere's head. The leader of the hill men ducked, and then went for an upper cross with his fist. Hitting the side of Anders's head, the blow dazed him for a moment.
Shaking his head to clear it, he instinctively threw up his sword as a shape came towards him. The figure hit him, nearly throwing him to the ground.
"Anders..." the pain-filled voice brought the dúnadan's attention, and the son of Halbarad was shocked to see Kalmoth in his arms.
Seeing the blood staining one side of the younger man's torso, Anders ignored Dúnhere for the time being.
"The leader is going after Strider and Prince Legolas. I think he already did something." Dread filling within his stomach, Anders's gaze quickly swept over the camp and the battle. Not seeing Aragorn or the feared Mouth of Sauron, the young ranger looked back to one he considered as a younger brother.
"Kalmoth, you must run." Looking around, and noticing the leader of the hill men beginning to come towards him again, Anders gently pushed the wounded teen in the direction of some of the other Dúnedain. "Find one of the others and have him take you back to camp. Go!" then, he turned to face Dúnhere.
Kalmoth held a trembling hand to his side, indecisive in how he wanted to act next. He knew that his fellow rangers needed the help, and he was the only one besides Anders that noticed the danger their chieftain was in. He couldn't leave now, not when the others needed him.
I promised Mother and Father that nothing would happen. I gave my word. So, making his decision, he slowly sheathed his sword, and then staggered as fast as he could for the surrounding woods. He would most likely hate himself later if something happened to Strider, but Kalmoth had promised his parents that after the death of his brother he would not place himself in any unnecessary danger. Even against his own wishes, he would not be the one to cause his parents that anguish again. Not when he was their only child.
:0Ж0:
Lying on the grass, it quickly becoming stained crimson, Aragorn fought with his body over rising. He knew that he needed to get Legolas and himself away from here, but his overly abused body would not obey any command his brain fed it.
His eyes towards the sky, it almost seemed as if for just a moment, the sounds of fighting faded. It was as if he and Legolas were not in any pressing danger, and the two were merely camping in their favorite place by the large waterfall in Rivendell. Closing his eyes, the pain drifted away and he relaxed. But, his minute peace was harshly interrupted when a body fell heavily beside him.
Opening his eyes, he noticed the pain-pinched features of Anders. Aragorn finally pushed his body enough to rise to his elbows, and stare at his friend's son's attacker. Pushing himself beyond a limit he hadn't felt in years, Aragorn picked up Anders's fallen sword, and faced the charging hill man.
Dúnhere was surprised to see the ranger stand, let alone hold a blade, but he just smiled at the new development. Stopping, he raised his sword in a mock salute, and his mouth moved to form a snarl.
"I will settle the score in Rivendell, scum. With or without you there; I'll settle the score somehow. You can bet your life on it." Then, turning, he ran off to join Freca.
Aragorn dropped the sword after the momentary peril passed, and then he collapsed next to Anders. "Anders, are you alright? Where are you injured?" the young dúnadan looked up to his leader and winced.
"My leg. He... stabbed it pretty bad." Aragorn leaned over and weakly started to rip the trouser leg. But, his own stab wound got the better of him, and he blacked out for a second.
Waking up to Anders kneeling over him, Aragorn shook his head and tried to regain his somewhat stooping position, but his head began to swim.
"Take it easy, Strider." Aragorn shook his head.
"No, I must get Legolas out of here." Anders nodded, and helped Aragorn to his feet, his own about ready to give out. Testing the weight, he then looked up sharply to Aragorn.
"Take Legolas, and escape to the ruins. Freca probably assumes you are dead, and may not try to find you. Wait for us as long as you can, and I will go back to get help." Aragorn approved of the plan, and the two grasped forearms. "May the Valar protect you."
"And, you, young one." Anders nodded, and then silently moved away as fast as his wounded leg could carry him.
Aragorn watched him go, and then spun around to get Legolas. Staggering, he grabbed the nearest tree, and hung on as he attempted to recover his strength. After just a few moments, he moved away and bent down to pick up Legolas in his arms.
Cradling the injured prince to his chest, Aragorn took a few unsteady steps and moved forward. Nearly gaining the woods, his heart chilled as he heard a bellowed orc voice, "The prisoners are escaping!" Thundering footsteps began to give chase, and Aragorn sped up.
Reaching the woods, the ranger nearly fell over branches and logs hidden in the residing sun. The orcs were drawing closer, and Aragorn knew that he would have relative safety if he reached the ruins in time to hide.
Nearly dropping Legolas, the ranger fixed his grasp and kept moving. Going up a hill and then down the other side, Aragorn almost ended up rolling down as his legs threatened to give out. Praying to the Valar to keep him moving, Aragorn faltered at the end. He was a little amazed that he had lost his way, so he took off for the nearest looking 'road'.
Finding one buried underneath the leaves and fallen branches, Aragorn could hear and feel the orcs drawing closer as he raced for freedom.
:0Ж0:
Halbarad regained consciousness as the orcs began to race after Aragorn and Legolas. He heard Freca's stern orders and the panicked cries as the rangers were defeated. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, the ranger looked around for his son. Not seeing Anders anywhere in the vicinity, Halbarad moved forward, holding a hand to his aching head. Searching for his son, he was surprised when he walked by a tree.
A hand jumped out and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into the growing shadows of a fine oak. Looking around, reaching for his blade, Strider's second-in-command spun to see his son.
"Anders!" seeing the blood staining his leg, his worry grew. "My son, what happened? Are you alright? Where are Strider and Legolas?"
Anders ignored his father's questions, but his eyes grew at the implications of his leader's danger. "We must hurry back to the camp and get reinforcements. Strider and Legolas will be in the ruins, but we must get help." Looking deep into Halbarad's eyes, his words rang with a hidden warning. "They're dying, Father. We have to get help."
Halbarad nodded, and wrapped Anders's left arm around his shoulders. Putting his hand to his son's waist, the two headed off as fast as they could for the ranger camp.
:0Ж0:
The sun set, the mounting colors of orange, purple, and yellow showed clearly in the skies. It was a remarkable sight, one that filled a being with instant calm and serenity. However, appearances were often deceiving.
A shivering silence filled the air and the atmosphere around Amon Hen held danger and warning. The despair and helplessness permeate every atom of the milieu, and the trees trembled with the feelings penetrating their sensitive souls.
Save the immortal one. Save our prince. The trees' quiet murmurs resonated throughout the wood and their branches shook with fright. Help the firstborn to live.
The reason for their distress was evident as Aragorn ran awkwardly across the uneven ground. Urgent and evil footsteps followed as the human attempted to keep him and his friend up and moving. Recapture would mean death for the two, as the one cradled in the man's arms was near death as it was.
"Please, Legolas, hold on, mellon nín! You have to hold on!" whispered words drifted from the man's lips, and then a small sob of relief as they finally reached the ruins. Carrying his motionless friend more into the shelter, the ranger moved to the darkest corner, and gently sat down.
Leaning up against the wall, he nearly halted his breathing as he waited for the sounds of their pursuers to fade away. Instead, a strong voice broke through the coming darkness, causing a shiver to run down Aragorn's spine.
"Forget the elf and the ranger. They will die within days. We must move for Imladris whilst they are unprepared. Move out!" Freca sat on top of his dark mount, staring unblinkingly into the fading light. A slight smile drew across his young features, and a knowing nod began.
"You will never be able to save him." The younger man's sneering words sank into Aragorn's heart, and feelings of doubt settled. Hearing the hooves of the beast of burden receding, the ranger allowed his guard to fall.
Sighing in short lived relief, the ranger leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes searching the sky for the Light of Eärendil. Finding the star provided little comfort, and his eyes fell back down to the broken figure held within his strong arms.
Legolas looked even worse in the growing darkness, and the blood from his temple wound coated his hair to the side of his head. His body did not tremble from the drawing cooler temperatures of night, and that worried his friend. Legolas was not responding to any stimuli from the world, and Aragorn was concerned beyond words. The poor elf was so pale it was almost as if the firstborn had already surrendered his soul to the Halls of Mandos.
Gently holding his friend in his arms, Aragorn leaned forward to place his chin on top of Legolas' head. Tears streamed down his tanned face, and sobs began to shake his form.
"I'm sorry, mellon nín. None of this was supposed to happen. I tried everything, but no matter what I did, it wasn't enough."
:0Ж0: