Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien, with exception of my OC's.
Aragorn braced himself as another sharp "crack" resounded. Pain exploded up and down his back. His blood mingled on the floor with the sweat from his interrogator. The ranger hissed as the whip fell on a particularly raw area. His bloodied fingers curled around a stone and squeezed it so tightly that it cut his palm.
His back arched, and another wave of white-hot agony engulfed him when the lash tore deeper into a throbbing laceration. Aragorn could not stop a small moan from escaping past his lips.
The black-haired man grinned slightly and applied the instrument to the exact area with greater force. His victim trembled involuntarily, much to his delight. Dark eyes glinted as the ranger tried in vain to move against the chains that bound him in place.
Biting his swollen lip, Aragorn laid his hot head on the cool floor. His breath came in short gasps, and his mind swirled with pain. He prayed for unconsciousness to swallow him quickly.
Gresit lowered the whip. He leaned down, "Ready to talk?"
Aragorn sighed heavily and forced his lips to work, "No."
"No?" The tormentor laughed. "You can't hold out forever."
"Watch me," the prisoner croaked.
Gresit struck the ranger hard across the face. "Oh, I will break you." He hauled the man up by his sweaty, blood matted hair. "Now, tell me what you know!"
Aragorn raised his eyes defiantly and vowed, "Never."
Before he knew what was happening, he was slammed into the stone floor. His ribs flared achingly. An iron grip wrapped around Aragorn's throat.
"I grow tired of your insolence." hissed Gresit as he tightened his crushing hold, cutting off his victim's airway.
His throat started to burn, and his lungs screamed for air. Darkness drowned the ranger's fading vision. The heavy chains prevented him from struggling. He was utterly helpless.
Gresit smirked with satisfaction while he watched his prisoner turn a sickly bluish-white, and his eyes close. The pulse beating against his palm slowed. A shiver of thrill passed through him, but his pleasure was short-lived. As much as he desired to end the ranger, he still hadn't extracted the information that his leader needed. He couldn't kill him, yet.
Snarling, Gresit gave a final squeeze and released his victim. Aragorn crashed onto the ground, coughing as he sucked gulps of air into his starved lungs. With a curse, the interrogator delivered a vicious kick to the prisoner's midsection.
The sharp kick sent an explosion of pain and a wave of nausea through Aragorn's battered body. The nausea was too much, and he retched. It was only dry heaves. His captors had fed him nothing the past couple of days, leaving his stomach empty.
The ranger's reprieve was brief. The cruel man wrapped his fingers in Aragorn's brown locks and picked him up. With his other hand, Gresit grabbed Aragorn's face in a bruising grip and drew it close to his own.
Gresit's hot breath tickled the ranger's ear like a snake's tongue, "You're weaker than you think. When I'm finished with you, you'll tell me everything." He paused with a twisted smile and dug his fingernails into his victim's skin for added effect. "Our next session will be our last. You'll either be alive at the end or dead. Personally, I hope it's the latter."
Gresit punched his prisoner and threw him to the floor. He then picked up his whip and walked out.
After the cell's door closed, Aragorn finally allowed a string of groans to pass from his lips. He laid there, just trying to breathe through the flames of pain that licked at him. As a healer, he could tell from the heat of his wounds that they were dangerously close to becoming infected. Infection would doom him. He doubted his body would have the strength to fight it off. Aragorn's head whirled. He needed help, soon.
His health wasn't the only reason he had to escape. Innocent lives were also in grave danger. There was no time to waste. He had to get free. The man gritted his teeth as he tried to slide the shackles off his wrists for the thousandth time. Sharp pangs shot from his wrists up his arms. The metal raked the tender skin on the wrists. A small cry tumbled out of his mouth. Yet, he kept trying.
Several minutes later, Aragorn lowered his hands and throbbing wrists in defeat. The chains clanked with his movements, mocking him. He yelled in frustration. There was nothing he could do unless he got free of his bonds, and he couldn't even do that. They were too tight. The only thing left for him to do was pray for a miracle.
The attack happened so fast. Legolas had no time to unleash his weapons. The men pinned his arms behind his back in the span of a second. It felt like a spider attacking him. The elf struggled to reach the twin blades on his sides, but the men's hold on his arms tightened with every jerk. The humans' positions made it impossible to reach his bow, let alone use it.
Refusing to give up, the prince flung his head back and crashed it into a sweaty head with a loud "smack." The pocked-face man uttered a surprised curse but maintained his grip. Growling, the elf moved to slam his head into the human on his left. The man hurled his fist into the prince's temple before Legolas could act though.
An eruption of pain radiated through his head, and stars danced before his eyes. Legolas' knees were swept out from under him. The air fled his lungs as four bodies toppled onto him to keep him from moving. Nevertheless, he stubbornly fought to free himself. One of the attackers jabbed his knee into the middle of the prince's spine, threatening to break bone. "Don't move, or you'll regret it."
Legolas stilled. The man with rust-colored hair produced a crude rope and started to bind him. As he lay there, the elf seethed with anger and frustration, directed mainly at himself. He was better than this. He should have been more aware, more careful. Now, he was in deep trouble thanks to his stupidity.
Suddenly, a thunderous voice pierced the fog. "Hey! What's going on here?"
They all looked up to see Oren in the alley's entrance, standing tall and terrible with his hunting knife in hand. The hunter's eyes darkened as fury boiled in their brown depths. Legolas could feel a shiver pass through his attackers. He suppressed a smirk as he heard one gulp in apprehension.
"Let him go!" Oren ordered, his voice dangerously low. The grip on his blade visibly tightened, and he stepped forward threateningly.
The color drained from the four assailants' faces. To Legolas' relief, they immediately stopped what they were doing, scurried onto their feet, and fled into the night's gloom. Oren let them pass as he hurried to the prince.
"Leian! Are you all right?" Oren questioned while his meaty hands worked to free Legolas of his bonds. In a flash, he finished untying his hands and bent to untie the ropes wrapped around his ankles.
The elf couldn't resist a small smile at Oren's concern for him. Rubbing his wrists, he responded, "I'm fine. I just took a minor blow to the head."
All trace of the intimidating figure who had challenged the ruffians melted away as the hunter fussed over Legolas, "Do you feel faint? Confused? Dizzy?"
Internally, Legolas chuckled. Oren was like a combination of Estel and his adar. "Really, Oren, I'm fine," he insisted with a reassuring hand on the human's shoulder.
Oren eyed him skeptically for a moment before nodding. "You're lucky then. You promised me you'd stay away from such men."
Legolas thought fast. He didn't want Oren to know he was following the men because it would only lead to more questions. "I didn't mean to get attacked. I had just left the inn and walked into this alley when those men waylaid me."
A muscle jerked in the human's jaw and a deep frown marred his face, "I see. The gall of men these days…" He shook his head with a distant look before he sighed, "Just be more careful, Leian."
"I will," the prince replied. "Oh, thank you for saving me."
"Glad I could assist you, my friend." The hunter rubbed his hands together, "It's cold for a spring night. Let's go back to the Pony where it's warm."
Together the pair walked back to the inn. Legolas kept a hand near his knife and scanned the area for signs of his attackers. He thought he heard several horses gallop away in the distance. If it was the four men, then he needed to follow them.
Toasty air greeted them as they entered through the weathered door. Oren started towards the nearest open seats, but the elf hesitated. He grabbed the hunter's shoulder, "Oren, wait. The hour grows late, and I still need to reach my friend. I'm afraid I can't delay any longer."
The man smiled, "Of course. I'm sorry I kept you so long."
"You did nothing of the sort," Legolas assured with a brush of his hand. He then held it out to the human. "Thank you for everything."
"You're welcome." Oren grinned and pulled him into an embrace, "Stay out of trouble, Leian. I won't be around to rescue you next time."
The prince nodded. The hunter dipped his head in return. Oren then ambled over to an open chair. Legolas remained near the doorway and studied the room's occupants. The cursory scan didn't yield Ahneus. He must have left with the others, he surmised grimly.
He spotted Butterbur cleaning a table. Threading his way between tables and humans, Legolas came up to stand behind the innkeeper.
The jolly man jumped, "Oh! Sorry...I didn't see you there, Master, uh Master…"
"Leian."
"Oh, yes. Master Leian." He set the rag in his hand on the table, "How can I help you?"
"I need you to remember a message for me."
Beads of sweat emerged on Butterbur's forehead. "Hmm...what's the message?"
The elf leaned in close to the man, so their conversation wouldn't be overheard. "Strider is alive. He's been captured by a group of men. Their full numbers are unknown, but they traveled east. I will follow them. Be careful. The men are dangerous."
Finished with the message, Legolas asked, "Can you remember it?"
Barliman picked up the rag and wiped his red forehead. "Um, I'm afraid I'm not very good at remembering things, you see, Master Leian."
"Should I repeat the message?"
"Uh, I don't think that'll help. I tend to forget things, no matter how many times you repeat 'em."
"Please, it's a matter of life and death," the elf hissed, "You have to remember this."
The man gulped and shrugged his shoulders, "I...I'll try my best."
Legolas quirked an eyebrow. This wasn't going to work. "Do you have some parchment?"
"Let's see…" Barliman rummaged around in his pockets, "Oh, here's a piece."
He took the offered scrap of parchment. "Do you have anything to write with?"
"I don't, but I've something at my desk. Come, come, I'll get it for you."
The man moseyed over to the front of the inn, and the elf followed him. He produced ink and a quill, "Here you are, Master...Master..."
"Le...oh nevermind." Legolas quickly scribbled out his message. He folded it and handed it to the innkeeper. "If a group of elves or rangers come here, give them this message, please."
Barliman eyed him suspiciously but nodded anyway.
"Thank you." The prince gave the human a couple of coins. "Here, take this for your trouble."
Legolas then hurried out of the Prancing Pony and towards the stable. As he walked, he breathed in the crisp air to center himself. It was important that he remain focused and calm, especially now that he was onto the captors' trail. After a few deep breaths, the elf felt better and his eyes glinted like steel in the moonlight.
Mithelen whinnied happily when her master entered her stall unharmed. The elf rolled his eyes at her, "Don't act so surprised to see me in one piece. I can survive an hour away from your side, you know."
The mare simply gave him a look, and Legolas flashed her a mischievous grin in retort. Mithelen huffed with a shake of her head.
Swinging into the saddle, he sobered and whispered. "I found news on Aragorn. He's being held prisoner by some men. We're going to follow them in hopes they will lead us to him."
They exited the stable, but the elf stopped beside the stable boy sitting outside the doors. He leaned down and addressed him, "Did you see four or five men leave here earlier? One of them had red hair." The boy nodded his shaggy dark head. "Which way did they go?"
"That way," the stable boy mumbled, pointing his finger towards the east.
"Thank you. You've been most helpful," replied the prince, dropping a tip into the boy's calloused hand. Happiness shone in the boy's hazel eyes as they watched the gray mare and her rider canter off into the darkness.
Almost two days of relentless tracking led them deep into the wilderness. Legolas halted Mithelen next to an old oak. He placed his hand on its rough bark and closed his eyes. The tree rumbled. Several nearby trees grunted back in response, their branches shaking and gesturing.
He nodded. Mithelen looked at her master questioningly. "There's a cave up ahead. The trees say the men stopped there," Legolas said as he patted the tree in thanks.
The elf then climbed down from the saddle and rummaged through his supplies. He extracted a healing kit, food and water, and the ranger's spare clothes. Legolas had changed back into his own clothing after leaving Bree, figuring there was no need to keep up the disguise.
His mare watched while he crammed all of the articles into a bag. The archer mentally went over a list of all the items he or Aragorn might require during the rescue attempt. "Valar, I hope I have everything," he muttered.
Shrugging, Legolas closed the bag and situated it firmly on his shoulder. His trusty bow, arrows, and knives were already strapped to his back. "All is ready," Legolas breathed. "I just hope I'm not too late."
The horse nuzzled the prince. He curled his fingers into her mane. "So much time has passed since he went missing. And those...those yrch are torturing him. Ai! What if they've killed him, Mithelen?" Legolas sighed shakily. Experience from countless years of battle and many rescue attempts left him with no illusions of what he might find.
She shook her head and lifted the elf's chin with her nose. He smiled, "You're right, mellon nin, hope's not lost yet. Aragorn will not give up easily, so neither will I."
The elf unslung his bow and walked in the direction the trees had pointed. Mithelen trotted behind him. He turned and stopped her with a gentle hand. "No, Mithelen. I must go alone. Stay here, and get some rest. I'll need you strong enough to bear us away when we return."
The mare's eyes brimmed with worry, and her ears deflated. Legolas scratched them affectionately. A playful gleam shimmered in his eyes. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about. You're under strict orders not to do anything rash while I'm gone."
As he expected, Mithelen snorted indignantly. They both knew who the real troublemaker was. But, Legolas did not give Mithelen a chance to retaliate. Nimbly, he leaped into a nearby tree branch and raced through the trees to his destination.
The setting sun's dark orange rays bathed him a reddish glow. It was almost appropriate, for blood would be spilled that night.
Will he be too late?
I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review!
~ M.B.