Scars Chapter 11- Our Time Is Running Out
Disclaimer: This story is being written for enjoyment only. I do not own any of Tolkien's characters.
Author's Note: Thank you to all once again for your kind words and for sticking with this story. I will plead the fifth on both the length of time it took to post Chapter 11 and the actual length of the chapter. I usually say that I hope you enjoy the next chapter. I don't think that's possible with chapter 11. It is a very dark chapter. Perhaps that is why it took so long to write. I will warn you not to read into it things that don't actually happen. You'll have to wait for that explanation.
WARNING- PLEASE BE WARNED THAT THE FOLLOWING IS A VERY DARK CHAPTER. MY ADVANCED APOLOGIES IF IT PROVES TO BE DISTURBING TO ANYONE.
"Though the wake of day was steadily approaching, Estel's darkest hours were still ahead of him. Somehow he managed to complete the splint he had started, and with his injured leg once again supported, he renewed his impossible journey toward the flowing waters of the Bruinen and hence homeward." Elrohir continued emotionally. "By this time, however, he could manage little more than slow paced creeping through the lower vegetation. But his firm belief that the river's banks were within his reach ignited some untapped source of energy still dwelling inside of him, urging him onward when others faced with similar adversity might have given up. Pushing himself upward with his one good arm and leg, he began once more to draw himself forward across the terrain before lowering himself again and repeating the grueling process all over. His progress was both slow and tedious. He grappled not only with this physical handicap, but also with incapability to effectively mask his movements any further upon the landscape. Still my brother's choice was the wisest course of action left to him, though he was unaware as to how close the Enemy was drawing in upon him. For his keen ability to orient himself with his surroundings through sight, sound, and even scent had slowly deteriorated throughout the interminable night along with his waning strength. Until at last, the advantage deserted him completely. The final distance he thus covered during this last stretch at defense was minimal at best. But if Estel had not carried on as he had in his quest toward Rivendell," Elrohir's voice faltered momentarily. " he might not be here with us today. It is not by mere chance that my brother still endures."
Meeting Elrohir's agitated gaze, Legolas witnessed the same intensity of emotion now dwelling within the depths of his own tear brightened eyes. 'But what of the scar?' Legolas' overworked mind pondered. Though he had spent near an hour with Elrohir as night fell upon them listening to this grim tale unfold, his raven-haired friend had neglected yet to speak of the scar that Aragorn bore, while he made mention of the many other injuries the Human had sustained. Legolas' quickening heart twisted painfully within his chest as he began to realize that the scar had not been a result of his friend's fall from Berior. That Aragorn was to suffer even further before Elrohir finished his bleak account.
'It all was beginning to make sense now.' The Silvan elf concluded as his troubled mind remembered the young Aragorn he met up with several years ago in the stables at Imaldris- his reserved appearance, the unexplained scar, and finally the grim, grey eyes that met steadily with his own. Aragorn's gaze did not falter, but spoke volumes more than the Human himself of the transformation that had taken place within the youth, though the Elf had not been qualified at that moment in time to read this message successfully. The pain of guilt tore through Legolas as at last he surmised how Aragorn must have incurred the scar . For though Elrohir had yet to confirm his estimation, Legolas now grasped what most likely ensued for the boy. His heart cried out with this revelation and his inability to perceive it until now. During that earlier time spent in Imaldris, his mind had been too engrossed with more compelling details than to pay much heed to the boy's uncharacteristic manner. The thought of setting off upon a scouting mission with one so green to the ways of the world had been troubling enough to the Elf. And though he had noted Aragorn's unusual posture, he had chalked it up to their being thrown together in an awkward situation and also to their past differences.
'Ah, Valar! How could I have been so insensitive to his plight?' Legolas questioned as his haunted blue eyes looked upward toward the darkening heavens as if in search of absolution. Placing a trembling hand upon the ground beside him to steady himself, the Elf's body shook not only from illness now, but sorrow as well. 'How could I not recognize such isolation of spirit? Was I that cold-hearted? That aloof? Estel, it was never my intent to wrong you so . . . For I know now how you must have suffered . . . the loneliness you must have felt . . . the despair . . . For I have been there too. But unlike you, I was never truly alone, was I? For you were there beside me through it all, though I did not permit myself to see so at first . . . I had closed off my mind to any chance at a bond or affinity between us. Still you persisted . . . dragging me back toward the land of the living when my body and spirit were set to let go . . . promising me hope and understanding when I believed them lost . . . You were there with me, even if I had not been so for you. You knew all too well, yet still you did not let go . . . '
Misery claimed a choke hold upon Legolas. He could listen no further to Elrohir's account. He could not bear to hear of the harsh treatment that Aragorn must have born at the hands of his captors. For the Elf knew firsthand of their sadistic and unrelenting ways. The Orcs derived fierce pleasure in first breaking the bodies of their hostages and then the spirit that dwelt within them. And as Elrohir made to continue on with his fateful narrative, Legolas almost raised a hand in protest to stave off his attempt. But at the last second, he held back. For to do as he intended would be like denying Aragorn all over again, and so instead he sought to steel his weakened body as Elrohir's tragic tale moved toward its shattering conclusion.
"Over and over again, Estel reached forth to grasp whatever purchase he could find by way of roots, brush, and even solid rock to aid him as he struggled onward toward the Bruinen. Ignoring the protests of his injured body, even the torn flesh of his hands, he did not relinquish his goal until . . . "
Aragorn's good arm finally gave way beneath the boy as he slumped down toward the cold earth. He had pushed himself unmercifully for as long as his body could hold out, but now he could go on no further, not without a brief respite. Turning his face, he allowed his head to seek rest against the ground. The soil's cool dampness for a time proved strangely soothing to his fevered flesh as his injured body strove to renew itself. But all too soon, the nagging chill that had plagued him on and off throughout the long night returned and he was overcome anew with shivering.
Reaching toward the remnants of his cloak still about his shoulders, he sought to draw it even closer around his body like a blanket to ward against the impending coldness. As he did, his fingers scraped against the dampened soil beneath him. Even in his misery, he was still able to assimilate that the ground he now crossed over was marshier than it had been before. Lowering his head once more toward the terrain, he attempted to make note of what telltale signs the earth surrounding him was willing to give up. In specific, he listened for evidence of the Bruinen, but was incapable in the end of telling whether the whooshing that sounded within his head was a confirmation of the mighty river's current or from the fatigue affecting him.
He had to put his trust in that it was the former of the two and preparing himself again, he made to move onward. By now even his good limbs shook in protest to the prolonged exposure he placed upon them, but he could not give up. He would be there soon and when he arrived, he would partake in the Bruinen's restoring waters. The river's swirling tide would finally quench his unshakable thirst. With only one goal in mind, he would reach it shores or die trying.
An eternity seemed to pass as the boy pushed his ailing body onward, while every few feet he forced his head upward in hopes of gaining a glimpse of his objective. Until at last even through the dark folds of nighttime, which still cloaked the landscape, the unmistakable surge of its force lay ahead of him.
"The Bruinen" he cried shakily as his head dropped toward the ground in unspeakable homage. Sobs threatened to overwhelm the boy as he raised his head once again to reassure himself of its certainty, though his body had long lost the ability to produce any accompanying tears. "It is here! I have made it and soon I shall be home again!" He choked.
Dragging a trembling hand toward him face, he attempted to quiet the myriad of emotions rushing through him-relief, joy, anticipation, longing. He had not given up and his struggle had paid off. Within minutes he would feel the Bruinen's soothing balm against his hands and face. He could wait no longer and drawing himself upward, he reached forward again with a war-torn hand.
He had only gained but a few yards, when his proceed was abruptly cut short. A fierce impediment grabbed hold about the ankle of his injured foot. The pain of its contact shooting through the boy. Aragorn dropped heavily toward the ground as an inescapable cry of pain was torn from his cracked lips. Panting heavily, the boy struggled upward again. Sure that he had only caught his injured limb upon some overgrown root, he attempted to wrestle himself free, only to encounter immediate resistance before his leg was yanked unmercifully backwards. Aragorn never heard the second tortured cry of pain that was ripped from him as the bone he had painstakingly attempted to align earlier was brutally splintered apart while darkness reached out to claim him.
Legolas' grief-stricken blue eyes looked toward Elrohir as he suddenly quit speaking. The raven-haired Elf was weeping openly. The Silvan Elf was unaware that his own countenance betrayed similar emotion until his shaking hands reached up to cradle his dampened face.
"No . . . not any more . . . " He whispered. " Please, I cannot stand this . . . "
But Elrohir did not hear his impassioned entreaty and with a strangled voice he resumed talking.
"Estel was to awaken with Orcs all about him . . ."
Slowly consciousness returned to the boy through unyielding pain that could no longer be denied. As his eyelids struggled to flutter open, he found himself upon his back. During the time it had taken him to regain his senses, the earth's dampness had soaked through both his cloak and undergarments. His renewed shivering alerted the beasts above him to his return to cognizance.
"So our little swamp rat is awake." One of the foul beings snarled down at him.
Tremors of fear now coursed through Aragorn's body. They acted toward accompanying his shivering as his heart pounded erratically within his chest.
"Crafty piece of sludge he is . . . " Another Orc exclaimed as he glared down menacingly upon the boy's bedraggled form. "...but it seems as if his struggle has cost him dearly." He finished as a guttural laugh escaped his twisted lips.
"Yeah . . . not as pretty as when we first encountered him a ways back upon that lofty steed of his . . . "
Aragorn shuddered in revulsion as the Orc presently speaking stretched his clawlike hand down toward him. "What's the matter, swamp rat? Don't like our company, do you?" He mocked while trailing his misshapen finger across tattered garments covering Aragorn's chest until it reached the moss dressing just below the boys' ribs. The goblin's nose wrinkled with distaste as it came in contact with the earthly gift until his keen senses were rewarded with another more satisfying aroma.
A heinous smile took a hold of his loathsome features as his thick tongue slid forward to lick his lips before speaking again. "Seems the little rat has injured more than just his leg." He snickered before clenching the covering beneath his broken nails and ripping it from the boy's body.
Aragorn's head arched back in agony as his cry of distress remained smothered within his distended throat. Through pain glazed eyes, the boy watched as his captors took delight in his misfortune. The Orc, who held the now tampered dressing, yellow eyes gleamed with amusement as he raised moss toward his grotesque face while squeezing it until the blood it held ran into his mouth and down his hand and arm.
"Hey . . . " One of the remaining group grumbled. "We didn't all hunt for him just to have you reap all of the rewards."
"Didn't you get enough of your fill earlier with the parting gift he left behind for us?" The boy's initial tormentor cackled.
The meaning of the cruel beast's words was not lost to Aragorn as his throat constricted ever tighter in acknowledgment to what was being said. "Berior . . . " He began to choke out until all thoughts of his horse were ripped from him as the return of resounding pain gripped his young body.
"Aye, perhaps I should have . . . " Another Orc snorted. "But I've never been one to pass up Man flesh when it's available." And heartlessly the goblin's gnarled fingers jabbed into the open wound along Aragorn's side digging in deeply while shredding the already torn flesh further. The boy could do little more than gasp his distress as he found breathing near impossible as the creature dug even further into his chest cavity. The edges of the boys' vision were threatened with darkness as the pain he had undergone up till now seemed insignificant to this new agony he was now experiencing. And just as he was about to pass out again, the Orc withdrew his probing fingers before raising them to his lips to savor his delight.
Barely conscious, Aragorn drew in upon himself as he curled his good arm around his injured side. Above him voracious laughter erupted, but the boy was no longer cognizant to the guttural jargon being thrown back and forth by his captors. Rocking into himself upon the cold, muddy ground, Aragorn's mind searched outward in his despair as he mumbled the first name that came to his now garbled thoughts.
"Father . . . Father . . . " He beckoned, and though his lips moved in unison to the words outwardly he made no sound. "Father, please! I'm afraid . . . Do not leave me!"
"Look! The whelp's trying to talk. What do you suppose he's trying to say?" A voice howled
"Who cares!" Another grunted. "It will be light soon. I say we have our fun and be done with him. With the condition he's in, he won't last long."
"Father . . . " Aragorn mouthed again, this time tasting the coolness of the earth before he was jerked unceremoniously upward.
Aragorn was hauled briefly to his feet. Time enough for weight to be placed upon his injured leg. The limb buckled beneath him as a cry of torment was wrung from the boy. He was saved from falling to the ground, however, but not from the further fate that awaited him as raucous laughter erupted about him. The Orcs' revelry was lost upon the boy, for all his thoughts were now turned inward engaging in a battle with the incessant buzzing that was filling his brain.
"Father . . . " He endeavored to gasp once more until a strong forearm pressed against his collarbone and lower neck. It's force driving his breath from him. What he felt next was the Orc, who was holding him, warm breath against his neck. The stench of the creature's rotting teeth reached the child's nostrils causing his stomach to revolt. He would have been sick had the bile not been forced back down by an agonizing scream that was wrenched from his aching throat as the choked hold upon him was released. For at that very moment, the Orc detaining him had dropped his open mouth to the boys shoulders and using his jagged teeth ripped through the boy's outer garments before tearing into his flesh as well.
If he could have cried, tears would have coursed down Aragorn' face. Blood instead ran down the boy's back as he remained shuddering in the monster's firm hold.
"Father . . . " he all but whimpered as the arm previously around his neck now tightened mercilessly around his chest in an excruciating hold. As darkness once again crept into the boy's periphery vision, another image became known to him also. It was that of his father and brothers. Their presence a welcoming comfort amongst all the pain and angst surrounding him.
"Father, you're here and Elrohir and Elladan too. You did not desert me . . . " Aragorn began until the compressing hold around his chest gave way and the air around him was filled by his wheezing gasp for breath and with the sound of fabric being rent apart. The lingering chill of the night air unexpectedly touched the now exposed flesh along the boy's back, while more and more of the garments he wore were being severed apart. At times the pointed blade that the Orc holding him used scored against his skin leaving its mark. Until finally, his total outfit was completely shorn apart. Immediately the boy felt the goblin's crushing hold once more upon his neck stealing his breath away yet again, but it was the monster's other hand that caused the boy's frantic heart to race even further with fright within his chest. Forcing his way through the now severed fabric, the Orc's raking nails found the boy's bare hip as he forced the child's prone body backwards toward his own.
"No!" Aragorn struggled to shout out though no breath was left within him. Frantically the boy reached out to the vision that was his only moments prior. "Father." He mouthed one last time, but Elrond and his brothers were now disappearing as their comforting presence had become forfeited to the swirling tide of darkness that threatened to overtake him. "No! No!" The child's brain screamed out. "This cannot be happening! No! They cannot do this! Please! Do not let them do this! No! Was I to go through all that I did thus far, to have it end this way now? Please no!" The child's final words escaping as the Orc's choke hold momentarily grew lax while he began to undo his own coarse garments. As the beast's grasp eased against Aragorn's throat, the boy moved his frenzied grip away from the arm seeking to asphyxiate and down toward his waist.
"No!" Echoed a muffled cry as a hand burst forth to clamp around Elrohir's forearm dragging the raven-haired Elf abruptly away from the ominous tale, he had been telling. The Rivendell Elf did not realize how caught up in his story he had become as he sat hunched over, his shoulders hitching with every unsteady breath he now drew, while tears of anguish rained freely down his cheeks.
Startled from this waking nightmare, Erohir's gaze now moved outward to encompass his fair-haired friend before him. "No!" Legolas pleaded again as his body shook alarmingly. "No!"
"No!" the Silvan Elf's cry pierced the air around them once more. "Please, no . . . Do not go on any further, for it is far worse than ever I imagined! He was just a boy! Estel!" Legolas wailed in misery until his one hand flew to his throat while the other cushioned his chest as if he were suddenly struggling for breath. "Please, no! Do not let it be so!" He gasped yet again before collapsing into a motionless heap beside his friend.
Author's Closing Notes: Once again, my apologies. My aim, however, was to try and depict as accurate a description as possible. There is no glamour here, no entertainment. Whether by force of violence, coercion, or manipulation the crime of rape is wrong. I've debated back and forth on how I should handle this next bit of information, but I felt it wrong to hinge a cliffhanger on whether or not a young Estel suffers the full brutality of the violence that has been enacted against him. No, he is not raped. That will be explained later on in the story, when the memories are picked up by both him and his brother, Elladan. Does this disclosure ruin the story? I hope not. Could the heir of Isildur have been as strong and as effective a leader if such a trauma had occurred to him? I'd say yes. The Estel in my story, however, will deal with the severity of the complications left over from the aftermath of what happened to him. There is still much more of the story left to go. I hope I haven't lost any of you with this current chapter or revelation. - Sue a.k.a. Quickbeam