These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.

Reproach hath broken my heart; and I am full of heaviness: and I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none Psalm 69.20

I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: I hid not my face from shame and spitting. Isaiah 50.6

Warning – This chapter contains violence and may distress sensitive readers.

Aragorn came to increasingly dread the visits of the burly servant whom he had come to think of as 'the butcher'. They enjoyed telling him that the man had been the official executioner during Denethor's time and was a master of inflicting slow, excruciating pain.

The King was no coward, yet was unable to bite back his screams when such agony was inflicted on his increasingly damaged and helpless body. With his mind, he tried to reach out with his mind to Faramir, pleading with him to come and save him from such torment.

If his tormentors had expected him to beg for mercy and agree to their demands though, they were disappointed as his will remained resolute and he never gave up hope that rescue would come soon.

Between the butcher's visits, both Lord Lamedon and Devorin of Ringlo Vale took great delight in punching him in the ribs, belly or groin, never sufficiently to cause any great damage but hard enough to inflict considerable pain. They would laugh and spit in his face while their chained and helpless captive struggled to suppress his cries of pain and frustrated rage.

One day, frustrated that he had yet again refused to sign the document, authorising the marriage of his son to Elbeth, Fosco had pinioned his left hand to the floor, while Devorin had stamped on his fingers repeatedly, crushing several fingers and had only stopped when he lost consciousness with the pain.

Always, there was the lurking fear that worse pain and humiliation lay in store, as so far they had made no further attempts to remove his drawers or cause any potentially fatal injury. Maybe some deep-seated fear of what he symbolised held them back, but for how long?

Hanna often accompanied Devorin armed with a knife, which caused Aragorn to shudder and fear for his manhood but at Devorin's urging, she merely brandished it, telling him in great detail what she intended eventually to do. She contented herself though, with grabbing handfuls of his hair and beard and painfully pulling out clumps.

He became increasingly disorientated, having no way of knowing day from night in this windowless cellar and he suspected that they deliberately varied the times at which they came to 'persuade' him either to sign or seal the document or even how often they came.

Even what food and drink they provided, was brought at sporadic intervals. They brought the water in a dish rather than a cup and he was forced to either spill half the precious liquid or lap it like a dog much to his tormentors' amusement.

The confinement was especially hard to endure for one such as he. He was accustomed to cold and hunger from his long years as a ranger, but never confinement.

Even Minas Tirith often made him feel enclosed and a dark cellar was torment indeed, to one accustomed to the open sky and the feel of the wind in his face. It took all the relaxation techniques that the Elves had taught him over the years to keep him from panicking. Even using all he had been taught, he often felt he could not breathe and would stifle without fresh air and the sight of the sky overhead.

He grew sore and stiff not only from his wounds but also from lack of movement and the fetters binding him. It took a supreme effort even to reach the bucket when nature demanded and only his pride and sheer force of will enabled him to do so.

He grew weaker as the days passed. They fed him barely enough to keep him alive and his lips were parched from lack of sufficient water. He sustained himself with thoughts of the three he loved so dearly; Arwen with her tender smile, her passionate embraces, her musical laugh and her beauty both of body and soul, Eldarion, so tiny and perfect, yet growing by the day, who already smiled with such love at his doting father, and Faramir, the chosen son and brother of his soul, his closest and dearest friend with whom he had spent so many happy hours discussing their shared interests and plans for Gondor's future, always with such love and devotion in his grey eyes, so alike to his King's.

Faramir's devotion was humbling as his love had never faltered even after Aragorn's misinterpreted command had led him to be almost beaten to death, which made the King love him all the more dearly once he knew the true depth of his devotion and forgiveness.

They shared a bond as close and loving as that of any father and son and Aragorn continually reached out with his mind towards both Faramir and his wife, hoping the thought bonds they shared would alert them to his plight, though Arwen alone was the most likely to understand what he was trying convey.

As an Elf, she had a far greater perception than any not of her race was capable of. He continually stroked the white tree, she had so lovingly embroidered on the leg of his drawers, glad that he had at least something left to cherish in this dreadful place.

He had no idea of how long he had spent in this grim place. At times, when he was certain that none could hear and the pain was unbearable, he would weep in agony.

One day, or night, he knew not which, the door opened softly and a small shape entered carrying a candle.

To his amazement it was a child, and not just any child but Elbeth. She started in terror at the sight of his chains and dishevelled appearance but did not cry out, displaying an iron willed self-control, amazing for one so young.

In her hand, she clutched a cup and a half eaten apple together with a slice of bread from which jam oozed on to her small fingers.

"You have no need to fear me, Elbeth," he said softly, blinking back his tears. "I will not harm you!"

Tiptoeing closer, she eyed him curiously, undecided whether to flee or remain. "You are the man who was kind to me when grandma died!" she said at last, setting the candle down. "They told me you were a bad king who wanted to hurt me and was being punished for that, but I don't think you're bad now I know it's you! I thought it was another king as there are lots in my book of stories!"

"They told you a lie, Elbeth, I would never hurt you," Aragorn replied, "I do not want you to marry my son, that is all."

"I don't want to get married. I don't know why anyone does as boys are so noisy and dirty." Elbeth said scornfully, moving closer and wrinkling her small nose in distaste at the stench of the place.

"You should not be here as they might be angry with you." Aragorn told her, knowing he should encourage her to leave, yet loath to lose the sight of a friendly face.

"They won't dare be angry. I'm to be the Queen and then I shall chop off their heads!" Elbeth said haughtily, "They keep telling me that I am vital to their plan!"

Aragorn felt a pang of regret. If only he and Faramir had taken her with them a year ago, then this innocent would not be entangled within their web of treason. ."Why are you here?" he asked.

"I was hungry and went to find something nice to eat in the kitchen. They had venison for supper and it tastes horrid!" she explained, "They told me not to come here as 'Lesser the Zerper' was dangerous. Tonight I heard you crying and I was curious who 'Lesser the Zerper' was. I thought you must be a monster or something, but it's only you! Monsters don't cry!"

" I am Elessar, but I am no usurper, you can call me 'Strider' as it is easier to say!" Aragorn told her gravely. He noticed she was wearing only a nightgown and surmised it must be quite late. "You will catch a chill, Elbeth," he said kindly, "Return to your bed."

"Would you like this food, Strider?" she asked with surprising insight for a child, "I don't think I'm hungry after all, as there was nothing I could find but a sour apple and bread and jam .I wanted some cakes or maybe beef jelly!"

"Yes I am hungry." he replied quietly and was rewarded by having small fingers thrust the food into his larger ones. He forced himself not to gulp, as after what they had been feeding him on, no Royal Banquet could have tasted finer and he ate every crumb including the apple core.

"Did they hurt you?" Elbeth enquired, catching sight of his maimed left hand.

"I bumped my hand," he told her, not wanting a child to know the horrors he had endured.

"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked.

"Not really," he lied. "Have anything to drink too?" Aragorn asked, changing the subject. How he hated having to beg from a child but he was so thirsty.

"It's only water I wanted some milk." Elbeth replied, giving him the cup, which he drained greedily before handing it back to her. Her small hands felt frozen now.

"You must go now or you will catch a chill," Aragorn insisted, "Thank you so much. Do not tell anyone you have seen me or they might be angry with you!"

"I will visit you again .I like you better than I like them and I won't tell!" Elbeth announced, bending to take the cup and then to his surprise, kissing him on the brow before picking up the candle and leaving as silently as she had come.

Aragorn could have wept again at the first loving gesture since he was captured. A naturally loving and affectionate man, he had greatly missed the love and warmth that he had grown accustomed to these past years. Even in the wilderness, there had been his horse that would nuzzle his hand for an apple or handful of hay.

Elbeth was true to her word and nearly every night, she would come and bring him food and drink, ignoring Aragorn's pleas to be careful, though if she had not fed him, he wondered how near to starvation he would be, as often the food he was given by his captors was inedible even for one as famished as he. He assumed their aim was to weaken him so much that he would not know what he was signing.

Much as he hated the thought of a child spending time in a damp and dismal cellar or seeing anyone in a condition such as he was in, as often his face was bruised and he was splattered with blood, he did not know what he would have done without both her friendly little face and the extra food and water.

He tried to hide his wounds from her under the thin blanket, but although she asked no further questions, he suspected she had some idea of what they were doing to him as her small face was often puckered in distress when she saw him.

Despite Elbeth's visits, Aragorn grew increasingly despondent as the days passed with no sign of rescue. He was certain that the thought bonds he shared with Arwen and Faramir would tell them he was still alive. Even here he could sense them both in his mind and knew they could do the same but how could they ever find him? As he grew weaker, though, so did the bond and he could feel his last link with his loved ones slipping away as his strength faded.

Yet, he had clung to hope until today. When Faramir had walked in, his heart had soared with hope that his loving and faithful Steward had come to rescue him, mixed with the fear that he had been captured too.

Then all hope had died in that dreadful moment when Faramir had struck him and spewed forth his hatred.

The blow, he had barely felt, but his Steward's words and actions had broken his heart.

TBC

A/N

A very grateful thank you to my reviewers for your much appreciated comments and the sweet poem. I have almost reached 400 reviews!

Lorena Bobbitt was a woman who castrated her husband.

I felt I needed to describe some of Aragorn's suffering to show just what is at stake.

I would love to see the villains trampled by horses or elephants as in that novel!