CHAPTER 13. TRUTHS UNCOVERED
"Speak!"
"No."
"Speak, vermin! You will regret it if you do not."
"Then regret it I shall, and be proud to have held my tongue."
His captor delivered a stinging slap to the Elf's face, leaving a smarting mark where his hands met the skin.
"It is not difficult information that you give me." the man stated softly. "An untrained fool would could have noticed the changes of the guard, and seeing as you are supposedly an ambassador, I will credit you as having at least some degree of intelligence."
"Then you will know that to divulge you this information is treason of the highest order." Legolas replied, his tone forcefully calm. "Changes of the guard? Weaponry? You are planning an assault on the White Tower, and I will have no part in it."
"No one need know." his captor said warmly. "You will be released, and no one will ever know the better."
"You would have me think that I will simply be released if I comply?" Legolas queried, his tone slightly mocking. "I thought you credited my intelligence more than that."
"Then allow me to suffice in promising that your death will be far less painful than if you choose to be difficult." the man reasoned, smiling sadistically.
Legolas tugged firmly at his bonds, but slumped down after a few seconds. He had little strength left after hours of interrogation, being punched, kicked and otherwise abused for his noncompliance. The wound on his shoulder had not had the chance to close up, and exploded fiercely every time it met the jagged rock of the cave floor. The gash on his torso, similarly, throbbed dully, not to mention the many shallow scratches and cuts covering the once-flawless skin.
"You will tire, Elf. Soon you will beg for me to let you speak." he taunted, circling the battered figure with an air of superiority.
"I would sooner submit to Morgoth himself than to a coward like you." Legolas spat in fury.
His captor let out an angry snarl and slammed a foot down on Legolas' chest, crushing the air from his lungs; the Elf responded with a pained hiss. Legolas twisted and writhed, pinned down by the heavy boot, his every breath an effort.
"Do not forget, vermin, that I am in control here." he said, calmly but with an unmistakeable hatred. "Now, I have other matters to attend to. I trust you shall keep comfortable in my absence."
He released his boot from the Elf's chest; immediately he rolled sideways, gasping for breath as the sound of footsteps echoed away into silence.
~~~{###}~~~~
"My lord?"
"Ah, Faramir, enter."
The Steward inclined his head respectfully as he entered the King's study, where Aragorn sat, a long scroll of parchment in hand.
"You received the reports from Osgiliath?" Faramir noted.
"Aye, I did, and their tidings are good. The city's restorations are coming along quicker than we anticipated." Aragorn replied, eyes scanning the text rapidly.
"May I?"
"Of course."
Faramir took the scroll and read the first few lines, though his eyes seemed oddly unfocused, and he looked up after a moment or two.
"I have not seen Tirion of the Guard of recent." he commented in a poor attempt at casualness.
"Nay, you would not have. I sent him after Legolas, as you are well aware." Aragorn replied, a smirk playing at his lips. "You are a terrible actor, my friend."
Faramir laughed uncomfortably. "After Legolas, you say?"
"Yes. I sent him with a letter, hoping that it may bring him back to Minas Tirith with haste. I have been told that his horsemanship is unrivaled among the Guard; I thought he was best to pursue such a capable rider as Legolas." Aragorn answered simply. "What of it?"
"My lord, Tirion's steed was found by some soldiers near the city wall." Faramir explained gently, voice cautious and quiet. "It was without a rider."
"Without rider?" Aragorn repeated in shock. "Faramir, what do you mean to-"
"Tirion has been attacked, or else captured." he stated shortly. "And therefore, seeing as Tirion was tracking them, it is likely that Legolas and Gimli-"
"Have also been struck." Aragorn finished, slamming his fist down on the desk with a roar of anger and shooting to his feet. "They never should have felt compelled to leave the city. If I had not been a fool and-"
"This is not your fault, Aragorn." Faramir said soothingly. "There are many things at play here, secrets yet to be uncovered. Until we are certain of the circumstances, no blame can be placed on you, nor anyone else."
"You are far too lenient in judging me." Aragorn snapped. "The circumstances are irrelevant, except for the fact that there was danger at hand, and I allowed my friends to pass into it."
"You knew naught of the threat." Faramir protested in exasperation. "The news was yet to come regarding these men!"
"I should have kept a closer watch," the King insisted, pacing in quick, panicked steps. "I should have known that there would be rogues, traitors too, no doubt-"
"That is utter falsehood." Faramir said brusquely, a hint of anger to his words. "There are no traitors in Gondor."
Aragorn took a deep, shaky breath.
"What of Legolas' horse? Arod?" he asked in a voice of forced calm, bringing a hand to his furrowed brow.
"There has been no sight of it." Faramir answered immediately. "There is still a chance that they are safe, however slim."
"We must look for them. We can send out a unit to search the countryside." Aragorn suggested. "I would hazard a guess at the mountains-"
"If I may say so, that is a poor idea, my lord." Faramir said delicately. "If this rebel group feels confronted they may panic and kill the hostages, or else use them to bargain free passage."
"Then what is your suggestion?" Aragorn queried, forcing himself to keep a level head.
"I believe we should wait until we know more about our enemy." Faramir answered reluctantly.
"Wait? They will all be dead by the time we reach them!" he spluttered, his impatience winning the battle for calm.
"They may be dead already." Faramir snapped shortly, stopping Aragorn's fresh protest and leaving him with a horrified look on his face. "I am sorry, Aragorn, so sorry, but it is a possibility we must take into account. We cannot waste our men on a mission as uncertain as this."
"So we let them die." Aragorn finished coldly.
"You know full well that is not what I imply." Faramir retorted in annoyance. "We must pursue them, of course, but in proper time. If we rush into battle unprepared they may well perish in the crossfire."
Aragorn nodded slowly.
"Then what?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. "What is our plan?"
"I wish I had an answer to that." Faramir sighed.
"It is curious, perhaps, to consider what Legolas would do, were our places reversed." Aragorn pondered, eyes directed floorward as he commenced pacing once more.
"And what is that?" the Steward inquired.
"He would pursue me himself. No soldiers, no battalion, just him." Aragorn answered, looking up at Faramir, eyes pleading. "He would pursue me to the ends of the earth, irrelevant of the circumstances."
"Absolutely not." he said immediately. "You are not replaceable, Aragorn. You are no longer a Ranger of the North: you are a King of Gondor. Your duty is to your people. You cannot pursue a dangerous mission such as this, especially not alone."
"I am aware of that." the man snapped sharply. His face bore the weight of a thousand years' worth of sorrows, and the ghosts of fear wandered in his steely grey eyes.
"Then we wait." Aragorn concluded finally, a sour expression on his face. "We wait, and hope that when news comes, it brings good tidings, and not ones of despair."
~~~{###}~~~~
Tirion drifted out of unconsciousness and was immediately made aware of a searing pain in his thigh. He looked down at the patch of skin and winced immediately - the wound was bloody and deep, and whilst the arrowhead had been pulled out, it was quite clear how it had been inflicted. Only vaguely did he recall receiving the injury; he had lost consciousness before he had time to register the event.
"W-where am I?" the soldier murmured to himself, eyes searching the darkness in vain. "Who's there?"
There was no response but the cold silence of the rocky walls. His military training finally having some input on his actions, he observed contentedly that whilst his wrists had been bound, his ankles had been overlooked. Tirion hastened to his feet, sending a sharp stab of pain to the arrow wound, before crumpling back onto the cave floor.
Of course, he thought angrily. Why bother tying the feet of one who cannot walk? It would be like covering the eyes of a blind man.
"Who's there?" he called out again, his voice shaking ever so slightly from pain and disorientation.
Straining his ears, Tirion heard voices approaching from a distance. He pulled himself into a sitting position, determined to minimize his vulnerability in front of these apparent foes. The flickering of a torch came into view, as did a man in the worn and aged cloth of a soldier. He was tall and defined, and his face was one of solemnity and cold indifference, as if hardened by years of brutality. He was the kind of man, Tirion noted, that would instill fear on the battlefield.
"Ah, you have awoken." he noted, his voice icy and professional. "I suspected you would soon enough. Your wound was not deep, after all. I ordered my men shoot only to injure, not to kill."
He speaks as if expecting gratitude for his compassion! Tirion thought furiously. Not deep? I would inflict such a wound upon him, and see if his words ring true!
But his training had taught him to hold his tongue, and so not a word passed his lips. His eyes followed the man cautiously as he paced before him.
"You see, Tirion, I did not want-"
"How do you know my name?" he snarled, more from shock than anything else.
"I know much about you, my friend." the man replied in a poor attempt at a warm, friendly tone. "We have met, you see, even fought alongside one another. Surely you must recall?"
"We are not friends, nor are we comrades. Only a foe would seek to wound and kidnap me, without provocation or reason." Tirion responded smoothly.
"Perhaps that is so, but then, it was not without reason that you were brought here." his captor stated measuredly.
"No?"
"No. You were tracking a path left a few days back. I want to know why."
"I am in no position to divulge such information." Tirion answered immediately.
"Do not be a fool, Tirion." the man said warningly.
"Do not speak to me as though we are old friends!" he snapped.
"Oh, but we are old friends! It hurts me that you do not remember me." the man said, a look of mock insult on his face.
"Be done with the games, then, and tell me who you are." Tirion said shortly, patience waning.
"No." the man replied simply. "You will remember me, ere the end."
Something in the cold sureness of this statement made the hair on the back of Tirion's neck stand on edge.
"If you must be cryptic, then so be it, though I would have you know that I am naught but your hostage. I implore you to treat me like it." Tirion requested boldly.
"With pleasure." the man said, a gleam in his eyes. "So, soldier, who were you sent after? Why?"
"I do not possess that information." he lied, a feigned look of blankness on his face.
"Nay? Then what, I wonder, is this?" his captor asked, pulling from his pocket an envelope, the wax seal of the King of Gondor clearly visible on the parchment.
Tirion swallowed nervously, but remained silent. The man broke the seal and began reading the letter, his face losing composure as he read on, until at last he finished, his face one of suppressed rage.
"This letter is intended for a Legolas Greenleaf - who is that?" he asked quietly.
"I see not how it matters." Tirion returned brazenly, and received a sharp kick to his injured leg as reward. The solider hissed in contempt.
"It will do you more harm than it is worth not to answer me." he warned.
The man hesitated, then, deciding it could do now harm, answered. "He is an Elf - a great hero in our lands, and a close friend of the King."
"An Elf, you say?" he queried.
"Yes, of the Woodland Realm, if my deductions are correct. That bloodline is supposed to have blond hair, is it not?" the man added faintly, as his wound made his head feel light and spacey.
His captor made a retching noise, halfway between a scowl and a triumphant woo. "I did not realize... But now, of course, I recall..."
Without another word of explanation, he turned on his heel and stalked off the way he had come, taking with him the only source of light, plunging the soldier into impenetrable darkness.