CHAPTER 29. A VILLAIN CAPTURED

Aragorn descended at a sprint into the depths of the White Tower, hurrying down the spiralling stone staircases to the darkest, lowest point of the citadel – the solitary cells. Only the vilest criminals ended up in this place: murderers, deserters, kidnappers, traitors. Aragorn noted sourly that the man he came to see very nearly fit into all of those categories.

He could feel the adrenaline and thirst for blood pumping through his veins; his pulse had quickened and now drummed madly in his neck. He would later feel guilt at breaking his vow with Gimli, but as he ran, he was too preoccupied to feel anything of the sort. A thousand images flashed through his mind at once, with all the speed of a hummingbird's wings, so that it was impossible for him to focus on a single one. Legolas flared repeatedly through his thoughts, and Beregond, and all of the harms the latter had inflicted on the former, and blood, so much blood…

Aragorn stumbled as his feet reached flat ground – he had arrived at the bottommost level, not realizing in his state of distraction. His head rushed dizzily, and he reached out for the wall for support. His breaths were short and shallow, not caused in the least by the running.

"Lord Elessar?"

He whipped his head around and caught the surprised glare of a guard, who had approached him in concern.

"My lord, are you ill?"

"Ill?" Aragorn repeated, realizing at last the visible extent of his agitation and straightening up immediately. "Nay, I am perfectly well. I, er… I am merely here to interrogate the prisoner that arrived from Rohan a short while ago."

"But he has only just arrived, he cannot yet be due for interrogation – " the soldier questioned pointedly, but his king's glare, sharper and colder than a shard of ice, was enough to remind him of his place. "Oh, of course, my apologies. This way, my lord."

The soldier led the way along the narrow corridor. The sparsely spaced torches on the walls served as a source of light, albeit a feeble one, but they did nothing against the chill that emanated from the very stone surrounding them. The soldier stopped abruptly before one of the iron cell doors, and the ring of keys in his hands clanked noisily as he fumbled in the darkness. A moment later Aragorn heard the lock click, and the soldier stepped back with a small bow. The king nodded his appreciation briefly and stepped inside, pulling the door shut after him with the screech of rusted fixings seldom forced into use. He heard the key turn in the lock behind him.

The figure crouched on the far side of the room looked up at the sound, and began to laugh lowly.

"A visit from the King – aren't I fortunate?" he murmured dryly.

Aragorn strode forwards wordlessly, eyes slowly adjusting to the light as he scanned the space around him; he had never before had occasion to visit these cells in person. The jail was deliberately large, so that it left its inhabitant isolated and dwarfed – an ant in comparison to the huge space. The walls, floor and ceiling were all of the same dark, cold stone, and only a narrow slit of a window gave the room a dim stream of light. It was so cold that Aragorn could see his breath curl in front of his face, like the reaching tendrils of some deep-sea monster.

"You never notice just how charming these cells are until you find yourself in one, do you not think?" Beregond commented conversationally, watching Aragorn as he took in his surroundings. "I used to patrol these prisons, when I was in the Guard of the Citadel. Once a jailer, now a jailbird – but that is the irony of life, is it not?"

Aragorn was now close enough that he could see through the dimness. The man was chained to the wall farthest from the door, bound in shackles by the wrists. His body was casually slumped, his face smug, and he wore the darkness like a cloak; Aragorn had never seen a person so suited to their surroundings as this dark and evil man, in this dark and evil place. Yet he noted with a stab of satisfaction that his face was laced with bruises – bruises that he himself had inflicted.

They will not be the last, either, if I have my way with this monster, Aragorn thought aggressively.

"Have you fallen mute?" the man queried tauntingly, breaking the king away from his violent thoughts. "It is like talking to a wall, almost impolite, really –"

"For once in your wretched life, hold your tongue." Aragorn spat, restraining himself to prevent him from swinging a kick at the man. "I have no wish to listen to your ramblings."

"I rather think that you are lying – to yourself, if no one else." Beregond returned, cocking his head and smirking slightly. "Why are you here, then, if not for my 'ramblings'?"

"Perhaps I am merely here to see the very type of madman that would even entertain such a thought as to harm a perfectly innocent being in the way that you have." Aragorn enunciated with cold precision.

"Perfectly innocent? I doubt that very much, if he is a friend of yours." Beregond replied, his chains clinking as his shoulders shook with gentle laughter.

"That is high talk, from a coward and a traitor." Aragorn snapped. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails drew beads of blood in his palms.

"A matter of perspective." the man replied with a shrug. "I know many that would say the same of you."

"It is hardly a matter of perspective - you were a soldier who deserted his post, and who attempted to spark a rebel attack on your own city! For that alone I should have you whipped until the bones on your back stand out – "

"My, my, what a temper!" Beregond exclaimed, eyebrows raised, amusement playing in his eyes. "That is not a very becoming trait, especially for a king."

Aragorn ignored the jibe. "Yet you call me a traitor and a coward, and for what? Ascending to an empty throne, a throne that was and is my birthright? For petty, imagined wrongs I supposedly dealt you? You cannot truly be so much a fool as to cause this anguish and pain and bloodshed as mere recompense for such mere, supposed slights."

"Gondor was far better off without you. I suspect that fact is not exclusive; undoubtedly most things are better off without you." he added pensively. "The Elf, for example – "

"Do not dare talk about him." Aragorn snapped harshly, grinding his teeth audibly.

"Oh? Do I detected a certain area of sensitivity when it comes to the creature?" Beregond queried mockingly. "I will admit, I did not realize the strength of your association when I first ordered him be followed – I knew that you had been comrades in the war, of course, but I did not think it more than a relationship of convenience. Had I known you were so close, I should like to have had a considerable amount more fun with – "

"Hold your tongue, before I slice it from your jaw." Aragorn threatened, and he suddenly found that his hand had indeed strayed to his scabbard and removed the blade, which glinted sinisterly in the dim light.

"Does it ever get tiring, wearing your heart so foolhardily on your sleeve?" the prisoner asked with a sigh. "You make it so very simple to provoke you - I could tell you any number of things that would send you to madness! Do you care to hear it? For I feel it should be known that the Elf grovelled at my feet scarcely after the first blow, begging for mercy, so spineless is the pathetic creature."

"That is a lie." Aragorn hissed venomously.

"Perhaps you are right." he shrugged. "But is it then also a lie that I offered him an escape, one that he did not take? He was barely strong enough to stand, you see, let alone walk – "

"Listen to me, you cretinous bastard." Aragorn growled lowly, stepping forwards so that their faces were no more than a foot apart. "There is only one thing that is currently preventing me from slitting your throat and watching you bleed out on the floor. Make no mistake, I would take the utmost pleasure in doing so."

The king strode back slightly, face twisted in contempt.

"It is not moral righteousness that protects you from me, nor pity, nor humanity." Aragorn spat, with a hatred so seething that it seemed to tremor in the air. "Would you care you to know what keeps your life intact?"

Beregrond narrowed his eyes slightly, but did not speak.

"The only reason I do not slay you here and now is because Legolas, the very Elf you beat and maimed and tortured to the verge of death, would not possibly stand for it." Aragorn stated. "He is dearer than a brother to me, and I know his mind well enough to know that he would never allow harm to come to a prisoner, no matter their crime - not that filth like you deserve such mercy."

The man simply gazed at Aragorn for a moment, before rolling his eyes lightly. Aragorn's fury swelled inside him like a tidal wave, and suddenly he had gripped the man by the collar, holding him close as he snarled:

"I wish to make it quite plain that the friend of mine you tormented mercilessly was without question the greatest being I have ever seen roam this land. And whilst his good heart may prevent me from carving you into pieces as I so direly wish to do, it will not stop me from throwing you into the darkest, dankest prison cell I can find. Make no mistake - I will personally see to it that you spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in chains."

Aragorn let go of Beregrond abruptly, and it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction as the man recoiled, gasping for breath with eyes wide and fearful.

"You can do whatever you wish with me – imprisonment, torture, death, it matters not." the man rasped, chest heaving. "Where I fall there are ten more men like me, ready to rise up and rebel. You will never sleep peacefully, you will never escape from the justice you have brought upon yourself. And, perhaps most fittingly, you will never look Legolas in the eye again."

"You are wrong." Aragorn returned sharply. "Legolas will live – "

"You know that is not what I mean." Beregond cut across, with a very deliberate squint. The subtle smirk had returned to his face.

Aragorn hissed impatiently and turned his back. He could feel the heat rushing beneath his skin, as though his blood were set to boil. He was suddenly aware that if left alone for much longer with the man, he would be unable to contain his rage. Every fiber of his being still wanted to turn back around and rip him to pieces, but he refused to give Beregond the satisfaction of seeing him further enraged. As he neared the doorway the steel screeched open, and Aragorn quickly took his leave, slamming it shut behind him.

When he turned to face the corridor, it was not the guard but Gimli who met him.

"Oh, it is – " Aragorn began in surprise, until his mind caught up with his mouth and his tone switched to one of irritation. "It was not necessary for you to venture down here and supervise me, Gimli. This is not the first prisoner I have had to interrogate - I am perfectly capable of controlling myself."

"Is that right, eh?" Gimli returned fiercely, observing the droplets of sweat on his brow with an air of skeptic mistrust. "Besides, I did not come to oversee you; I trust your judgment, even if you do not deserve it."

The pang of guilt that Aragorn had been awaiting hit his stomach, but the jibe seemed unintentional, and Gimli continued:

"No, Faramir merely bid me fetch you. They have already begun their work, of course, but no doubt they will wish to speak with you –"

"Who, Gimli?" Aragorn cut across sharply.

"How many urgently awaited parties have you?" the Dwarf returned brazenly. "The Elves, of course. They have arrived."