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_____________________________________________________________ According to the book, Aragorn had some untold adventures when he was searching for Gollum. This is my idea for one of them. This takes place before the fellowship, but Gandalf and Aragorn have met. I figured the year to be 3016TA, about two or three years before the Council of Elrond. Chapter 1 - The Attack |
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| Chapter 2 -
Strange Behavior With the stranger’s blade still resting against his throat, Aragorn watched as his weapons were taken from him, and six Orcs lifted the heavy branch from his body. He cursed himself again. His mission was too important to be, perhaps permanently, delayed. Aragorn struggled to free himself from their grasp, but there were too many Orcs, and they held him firmly to the ground. Aragorn watched as the man withdrew his dagger and stood over the Ranger’s wounded side. He bent down to examine the wound but did not touch him. “Bring it over and prepare it,” he called to one of the idle Orcs. Then, turning back toward Aragorn, he said, “I am Felnorvard, commander here. It is only through me that you will receive care. Your wounds are not threatening your life, and they will be cleaned but not here.” Aragorn knew what it meant to have Orcs treat your wound. If it was too damaged it would be cut off or cut out. Everything else would be cleaned with dirty water and bandages and left to rot with infection. An Orc approached Felnorvard with a small bottle and cloth. After pouring its contents onto the fabric, he held it over the Ranger’s mouth. Aragorn twisted his head in every direction possible but could not escape. It was choking him! Every breath he took sent fire through his lungs. As his struggles increased, Felnorvard tried to comfort him by saying, “Be still or you will injure yourself further. Just breath deeply.” But Aragorn would not listen and only struggled more until he finally fell limp in their arms. ---------- Aragorn regained consciousness when he felt himself dropped onto the still muddy ground. “Remember your orders! No harm or it shall be your head!” a voice said. Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and at once wished he hadn’t. There were Orcs everywhere, and he was their captive. He had no idea how long it had been since he was taken, but the sun was much lower in the sky. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. Everything hurt. His left leg and side were throbbing. His whole body was sore from the many cuts and bruises from the fallen tree, but his throat was by far the worst. Every breath burned his lungs. Swallowing was painful, and he dare not try to speak. Whatever poison they had used on him had lasting side effects. However, his hands, even though they were bound behind him, did not hurt. Odd, Aragorn thought. Usually, Orcs bound the hands so tightly that they lost feeling within minutes. One thing more that I can use to my advantage. “So, you have finally woken up,” Felnorvard said as he led a group of Orcs to where Aragorn lay. “I had hoped that you would be asleep for a while longer, but no matter.” Aragorn struggled against his bonds to sit up but was restrained. “I am here to treat your wounds, Ranger. It is best if you stay where you are until I am finished.” Felnorvard sat beside Aragorn’s leg and slowly cut away the torn cloth, revealing a deep wound. As the Ranger watched, he grew more and more confused. He had never heard of someone being treated this way. The water was clean and several common herbs could be seen along with some Orc medicine. Still, Aragorn thought as he struggled again, making Felnorvard’s job all the more difficult. There is some deeper meaning to this, and they are still the enemy. Three Orcs laid their hands on Aragorn to keep him still as the man worked. Something was wrong with the entire situation, and it made the Ranger uneasy. Orcs didn’t heal wounds; they made them. One of the Orcs brought a foul smelling drink to Aragorn’s lips, but he pulled his head away, refusing it. “Drink, Ranger,” Felnorvard said, cleaning away some more of the blood and dirt from Aragorn’s wound. The Orc held the bottle closer to his mouth, but he still refused to allow such an evil potion into his body. Orcs had made it, and they used it to heal their own. The Orc turned to Felnorvard, unsure how to proceed. This is most unusual! Aragorn thought. Why do they not strike out against me? With such claws, it would not be hard for them. “Force him to drink it. But do not draw blood,” Felnorvard answered without looking up from his work. The Orc looked back at Aragorn, as if uncertain how to continue. It slowly reached down and took the Ranger’s jaw in its hand. Aragorn jerked his head back, refusing to comply with the creature. But that only made the beast angry, and it’s arm shot around the Ranger’s head, drawing him close. “Do not tempt me, Ranger,” the Orc growled, leaning close to Aragorn’s ear. “Drink.” It dug its fingers between Aragorn’s clenched teeth and, with great struggle on both their parts, pried his jaw apart. The Orc, then, forced the dark liquid into the Ranger’s mouth. Aragorn tried to spit out the fluid, but the Orc kept its hand firmly over his mouth. He struggled against the creature but was finally forced to swallow. At once, the pain in his lungs vanished but was replaced by an ache in his stomach. “Aragorn, you only make things worse for yourself. Lie still and allow me to treat your wounds. We have a long distance to travel, and you will need your strength,” Felnorvard said as he once again began cleaning Aragorn’s leg wound. Aragorn kept very still this time. Felnorvard had taken out his dagger and was using it to carefully examine inside the wound. “There are still pieces of wood in your leg. Infection will come unless they are removed,” the man said. He turned to one of the Orcs and took the potion and cloth. Aragorn began to struggle again, the memory of the drug still fresh on his mind. Why go to all of the trouble of knocking him out again? The last thing the Ranger wanted was to be unconscious in their presence. Orcs made him nervous, and hospitable Orcs made him question and worry. “No,” Aragorn said, speaking for the first time since his capture. Do not use such a foul potion on me again, he added silently. Felnorvard leaned closer to Aragorn, looking directly in his eyes. “The wood must be removed and the wound closed.” “Then proceed, but I will remain as I am,” Aragorn replied coldly. “Very well.” Aragorn took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and braced himself as Felnorvard began using his dagger to dig out the debris from his leg. ---------- Night soon came, and at last the procedure was over. The pain had been horrible, but Aragorn had refused to cry out. Felnorvard had spent almost one hour on his leg and another hour and a half on his side. Now, both were clean and wrapped in cloth. “We will begin our journey again in five hours,” Felnorvard said, cleaning the Ranger’s blood from his hands. “Sleep first and you will be given food when morning comes.” Aragorn was pulled to his feet but could not stand alone. Loss of blood had made him weak and his injuries did not allow him to put pressure on his leg. Orcs were forced to half carry, half drag Aragorn to the edge of their camp near a large tree. They released their hold, and he slumped to the ground. His arms were then bound securely, but not painfully, in front of him. Aside from his two guards, he was left alone, but Aragorn had no intention of sleeping that night. It was very dark, for he was on the outer layer of the Orc-camp, and everything grew quiet as the night wore on. The forest was always silent when evil was about, and that night was no exception. Aragorn was left lying flat on his back near the tree, and with nothing to look at except the stars above, he closed his eyes. But he was doing anything but sleeping. Thoughts were racing through his mind as he tried to understand his captors’ treatment. There was nothing normal about anything that had happened. Aragorn had seen many things in his years in the wild, and he had seen his share of battles against Orcs. The recent events compared to nothing in his memory. He had nearly forgotten about his quest for finding the creature, Gollum. Of course, Gandalf had warned Aragorn about strange activity dealing with the Enemy, however he had not been told exactly what it was. I can not bring my heart to believe that this is what Gandalf meant, Aragorn thought. He hinted to a darker evil, and I can only think that this whole affair is a false face. And so the rest of the night passed uneventful. ---------- Aragorn's eyes shot open, and he cursed himself. He had fallen asleep, and now Felnorvard had his hand on the Ranger’s shoulder, waking him. “Do not look so surprised, Ranger!” Felnorvard said with a slight laugh. “The herb that I applied to your wounds contained a sleeping agent. Not many could have resisted its effects for long. You were asleep for almost three hours.” Aragorn slowly raised himself to a sitting position as Felnorvard handed him a plate of food. “This is food that I eat, not from the Orcs. I know you don’t want it, but one plate is the same as three cups of the Orc draught. That is what will be forced into you if you do not eat.” As he turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, “You have one hour to finish it” Aragorn started to dump the food on the ground in protest of his capture, but he stopped himself. Staring down at the plate, he sighed. A decision had to be made. Not eating meant that he would have to drink the Orc's potion, but eating would mean submission. But, perhaps feigned obedience would give him an edge. Besides, the food looked and smelled good enough, so Aragorn swallowed his pride and quickly finished it, finally aware of his hunger. |
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| Chapter 3 - The
Escape The band of Orcs traveled hard and fast for three days, stopping only when absolutely necessary. Since his leg was still sore and would not carry his weight, Aragorn was forced to ride. With his hands tied behind him, Aragorn sat in front of Felnorvard on his large, black Mordor horse. He had slept very little for his experience as a Ranger told him to remain vigilant in times of uncertainty. Very few people, however, can remain awake for such long periods of time. When the land became more barren and rocky, Aragorn had a much harder time staying on top of the beast. As the steed began to descend the bank of a dried riverbed, he began to slide off, and Felnorvard had to hold the Ranger in place. Pulling away from the man’s touch, Aragorn shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. It was almost impossible to sleep while riding. He could not lean forward for fear of the horse’s strong neck slamming against his face, and he could not lean back with Felnorvard so close. “You must rest,” Felnorvard stated, as if he read Aragorn’s mind. “There are still many days ahead of us, and I can not keep holding you in the saddle.” Aragorn had spoken very little since his capture. Felnorvard had tried to make conversation over the past few days, but he was ignored. “Why is it that you remain alert? You have slept no more then myself,” Aragorn finally replied, trying to shake off his weariness. “You do speak! I was beginning to think that you had become mute!” Felnorvard laughed and brought his arm around Aragorn again, holding him steady. “It is a gift from my master. He rewards those who are loyal and faithful. I will sleep very little between here and our destination, which will make for faster travel with the Orcs. Here,” he said and moved back in the saddle, giving Aragorn more room. “Lean back on me to rest. It will be easier that way.” Aragorn remained where he was. He would not be tempted by this man’s deceptive kindness. “Where am I being taken?” Aragorn asked, changing the subject. Strange times called for strange approaches. Perhaps my questions will not bring me to harm, Aragorn thought. Under normal circumstances, he would not have dared to ask since it was far too easy to anger Orcs' friends. “To see my master,” Felnorvard replied simply. It was worth a try, Aragorn thought as the horse climbed over some large boulders. This time, he managed to keep himself in place without assistance. However, he overcompensated on their descent, and Felnorvard was forced to support him. The terrain grew increasingly barren and rocky and after an hour, all of Aragorn’s strength had left him. I will need all of my strength when I escape and sleep is the only way to obtain it, he thought. And the longer I wait to leave, the farther I will have to backtrack. Putting aside his fear of what was to come, Aragorn allowed his eyes to close and his head to fall back. Felnorvard had been watching the Ranger’s internal struggle for sleep for some time. He knew that it was only the other man’s pride that had kept him awake, and he smiled to himself as Aragorn’s head fell backwards onto his shoulder and his body relaxed. Now they would be able to make up some lost time. He signaled to the group to increase speed. ---------- Two more uneventful days passed, and Aragorn was feeling his strength return to him. When the group stopped for meals, he was able to test his weight on his leg and found that he could walk further every time. According to Felnorvard, they were still several days away from where ever they were going. More then enough time to escape, Aragorn thought as he was, once again, placed back upon the Mordor-horse. He had been working hard over the past few day to loosen the ropes binding his wrists. He now felt confident that when the time came, he would be able to break them. Everyday, after several hours on horseback, Aragorn noticed that Felnorvard lowered his guard over him. It would be then that he would strike and escape. As the hours passed, Aragorn, once again, leaned back against Felnorvard and closed his eyes. After forcing his body to relax and allowing his head to fall to the side, Aragorn could feel the man behind him become more relaxed as well. All he had to do now was wait for the next stop. For what seemed like an eternity, Aragorn waited. Finally, he felt the horse slow its pace and stop. The air felt cool, and Aragorn knew that the sun was setting. They were stopped for their late evening meal. This made it more difficult to escape the Orcs since they were well equipped at hunting at night. His only hope was to gain enough of a head start to lose them. That will have to be a risk that I take. I will get no other chance, he thought as Felnorvard gently leaned Aragorn forward against the neck of his horse. It is strange how he takes so much care not to wake me now only to have me thrown to the ground later. He lay very still and listened as Felnorvard moved away. For a few brief moments, Aragorn would be left unattended before the Orcs came to take him from the horse. Now was the time to act. Testing the strength of the ropes one last time, Aragorn pulled hard and broke free. Quickly reaching for the horse’s reins, he commanded the creature forward. Racing through the Orc-camp, the horse dodged and jumped its way around the startled Orcs. They had suspected nothing, and Aragorn quickly used it to his advantage. He even managed to grab a small sword and strike out, defending himself and the horse from the Orcs. He was making remarkable progress while meeting with minimal resistance. The edge of the camp was in sight. The horse bounded over the last remaining sentinels and escaped into the darkness. Aragorn knew he had no hope of escape being out in the open so he guided the animal toward a nearby clump of trees. He desperately hoped that it was thick and dense enough to conceal him from the Enemy. Aragorn road hard, but in the darkness, he had no idea which direction to travel. Going against all of his instincts, Aragorn had to flee blindly, only hoping that he was not heading in the wrong direction. He swore softly as he began to make out the thunder of many feet behind him and to his right. Having quickly regrouped, the Orcs were close behind him, and Aragorn could not travel as fast as he would like. There were many small trees that blocked the path, and the horse slowed too much to round them. He could see them in the shadows now and could feel arrows flying past, some coming dangerously close. Aragorn had a sinking feeling that this would not end well. He urged his horse faster and faster, but it was still too slow. Arrows were flying all around him now as they drew closer. Aragorn quickly wondered if he should abandon the horse. Even injured, he could make better speed alone, but he would not get the chance to act. Aragorn cursed his luck as he heard the unmistakable sound of arrows connecting with flesh. They had hit the horse. The beast crashed to the forest floor in mid-stride, and Aragorn was thrown, landing face first in the dirt and rocks. He could feel the blood begin to flow from his nose and mouth. Ignoring his pain, Aragorn struggled to his feet and ran, not having any time to waste. Unfortunately, his sense of direction had been lost and within minutes he was, once again, surrounded by Orcs. Even though he was becoming dizzy, Aragorn took a defensive stance. As Orcs tend to do, they came one by one, and Aragorn was able to defeat several of them, though not as easily as he would have liked. Suddenly, a voice called from the darkness, “Hold! Completely surround him but remain still!” It was Felnorvard. “That was very foolish, Aragorn!” he growled, moving to the inner edge of Orcs. “Drop your sword, surrender yourself, and no harm will come to you!” I find that very unlikely, Aragorn thought as he weighed his options. Thirty Orcs against one injured man was a lost cause, and there was no where for him to flee. He would have to surrender. Aragorn allowed the heavy sword to slip from his fingers and fall to the ground with a dull thud. Immediately, the Orcs were upon him. Aragorn expected to be beaten or whipped for his failed escape attempt, but they just held him, waiting for further instructions. He kept still and allowed them to grip his arms, waiting to see what would happen next. Felnorvard came and stood in front of the Ranger. “That was very foolish,“ he repeated. “Luckily, we have more horses that…” Aragorn suddenly spit a mixture of saliva and blood in the man's face, causing him to stop mid sentence. The Orcs’ grips tightened as Felnorvard stood glaring at the Ranger. He slowly reached down and taking Aragorn’s cloak in his fist, wiped his face. Aragorn had little time to react when the man quickly drew his dagger and pressed it dangerously against his throat. The Orcs began to snicker as the Ranger’s head was forced back, revealing more and more of his throat. As the blade bit into his skin, Aragorn could feel a small amount of blood slide down his neck to his shirt. So far, he had not been able to provoke any violence. Perhaps now I will see their true face, Aragorn thought. But Felnorvard checked himself and lowered it. Instead, he brought his hand up and touched the Ranger’s dirty and bloody face. “The rocks have not been kind to you,” he said as he probed the other man’s blood covered nose and cheekbone. When Aragorn did not pull back or cry out, Felnorvard continued. “I do not think you have broken anything, for which you should be thankful.” With a sly smile, he turned and nodded to the Orc-group. “Perhaps now it will be a bit more difficult for you to escape.” Aragorn did not struggle as his arms were pulled behind him and bound, nor when a cloth was placed over his eyes. For the time, he had fought and lost. Now, he wanted to keep whatever dignity he had left. He was, after all, more then just a common Ranger. He had lost this battle, but luckily the war was not over; it had only just begun. ---------- Several more days passed and Aragorn continued to grow stronger. He was now forced to ride with Felnorvard. There was no getting around it. The Orcs would not carry him, by the order of their commander, and the Ranger could not keep their pace with his vision restricted and arms bound behind him. So, Aragorn spent his days in silent thought. He hated not being able to see and more then once, wished the Orcs had just beaten him instead. He felt completely helpless, something the Ranger was not accustomed to. He went where the horse led, and no amount of twisting or leaning made any difference. Aragorn was always tense when they rode for he strained to hear everything around him. Felnorvard could sense the other man’s uneasiness and smiled inwardly. In two days, they would reach their destination, and even he didn't know the Ranger’s fate. Felnorvard attempted to make conversation with his prisoner, but Aragorn never responded. He was lost in his own thought and concentration. Even though he was never permitted to remove the blindfold, his instincts told him that they were still traveling east, though he knew not whether northward or southward. He could also tell that they occasionally passed under trees, but never for any length of time. With two more days of travel, Aragorn knew they would not be able to reach the confines of Mordor. Could we reach Rohan in two days? he asked himself, but mentally shook his head. But I know those people, and they are not open to evil, Aragorn argued. He had been doing a lot of that lately, arguing with himself. He had tracked the Enemy in that part of Middle Earth for several years, and he knew of no strongholds this far from Mordor. These are strange times indeed. If the people of Rohan have given in to the shadow, then Gondor will also fall, followed quickly by the rest of Middle Earth. That can not be allowed. Aragorn also had time to think on the strange behavior of his captors. He remembered when his many wounds were tended, and the words ‘false kindness’ came into his thoughts. They acted not like a changed Enemy but a restrained Enemy. He could still feel their evil and hatred every time they came near him. Aragorn felt certain that Felnorvard was the only thing keeping him safe from torment and abuse. They were trying to deceive him, and the Ranger had no idea why. Now, there was no chance of escape. There were very few Rangers this far south and the Riddermark had enough troubles on their eastern borders. Aragorn knew that his chance had come and gone. There was nothing left to do but wait. So, two more days passed uneventfully. ---------- The company slowed their pace for the last hour of their journey, and Aragorn was forced to walk. Since his arms were bound behind him and his eyes covered, the Ranger’s steps faltered often, as his feet managed to catch on every rock and branch on the path. An Orc’s strong grip, however, was never far behind, forcing him back to his feet. But, Aragorn also had to deal with the pain in his legs from ridding horseback for so many long days and nights. He generally enjoyed hours on a horse, but those required muscles had been inactive too long to deal with the present abuse. The pain would pass soon enough, and all Aragorn could do was hope Felnorvard didn’t notice his slight limp. “At last, you will know and feel the power of my master,” Felnorvard whispered to him. Felnorvard had stopped him in front of something large, for Aragorn could feel that the wind had shifted. It was somehow colder now and seemed to swirl all around him, as if it was circling something; even the rays of sun were cold. Aragorn could hear that most of the Orcs were falling back and leaving the group. They were filtering away; away from whatever building they had come to. Felnorvard placed his hand on the back of Aragorn’s neck and guided him forward. Everything grew quiet and still as they climbed up a long staircase. Aragorn could hear nothing except the rapid beating of his heart and his own shallow breath. If Felnorvard’s hand had not been on him, he would have believed himself to be alone. For ten minutes, they quickly made their way up the corridors. Aragorn longed for the blindfold to be removed. He would never be able to find his way out and escape. I can not afford another failed attempt, Aragorn thought as they turned another corner and stopped. Perhaps now I will find out the truth. I can only hope the cost is not too high. Two great doors were opened, and Felnorvard guided the Ranger inside. After several paces, Aragorn’s legs were knocked out from under him, and he found himself on his knees, bowing to whoever was in the room with him. Aragorn began to struggle until a deep voice rose from the far end of the room. “Wait! Let him rise and remove his bonds. That is no way to treat a guest.” So, Aragorn’s arms were quickly freed and his vision returned. |
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| Chapter 4 - The
Truth is Revealed After being in darkness for so long, Aragorn struggled to adjust his eyes to the bright room. Resisting the urge to rub his sore wrists, he, instead, quickly surveyed the room. At first, he couldn't tell where the voice had come from. Then, moving from the shadows, appeared a tall, older man. He was dressed in long white robes and walked with a staff, however it did not appear to support him. If this had been another time and in different company, Aragorn would have thought him to be a kindly grandfather. Now, however, there was evil radiating from him, and every step the old man took caused the Ranger’s breath to quicken. Aragorn's face remained expressionless as the old man stood in front of him, looking him over. His eyes lingered on the scrapes on his face and his blood stained clothes. “I had given you explicit orders. Why were they not followed?” he asked Felnorvard, never taking his eyes from Aragorn. “No, Master!” Felnorvard cried, his voice fearful. “Never was a hand raised against him! He received the wounds during the storm and in an escape attempt!” “Is this true?” the old man asked Aragorn. Like many things over the past several days, this new situation made the Ranger uneasy. He had been called a guest, however Aragorn was not ready to trust their words. Ignoring the question, Aragorn proposed his own. “Who are you, and why was I brought here?” The old man stared into the Ranger’s eyes and replied, “Your questions will be answered in time but first, mine.” Aragorn sighed as he realized he would not win this battle either. “It is as he said. I was not abused by their hands.” “Very well,” he said cheerfully. “Please, Aragorn, join me for a meal.” The old man turned and exited through a large wooden door. Aragorn was surprised by the offer but had no intention of doing anything until his questions were answered. However, Felnorvard was still behind him and pushed the Ranger forward, saying, “You heard the Master; move!” Aragorn was shoved across the room, through the door, and into a large dining hall. The center table had three places set with the old man already seated at one of them. He gestured for the Ranger to join him, but it was Felnorvard’s hand that forced him forward into a seat. It had been many years since Aragorn had seen such wealth. The dinner plates looked to be gold, and the goblets were silver, lined with small jewels. Everything sparkled in the candlelight, for the sun outside had set. Even the food that covered the table looked rich and colorful. There were several kinds of fruits and greens that Aragorn did not recognize. Jugs with red wine and white juices lined the center of the table surrounded by a variety of meats. There were exotic sweets and spices everywhere, and Aragorn sat transfixed. It was the old man’s voice that drew the Ranger’s thoughts back to the present. “Which do you prefer: fowl, boar, beef, or venison?” Without waiting for an answer, a servant, who Aragorn did not see enter, put some meat on his plate. The Ranger eyed the food uncertainly. He was far from starving, but had eaten nothing since early that morning. Everything smelled wonderful, but he didn’t want to show that he was open to corruption. Aragorn needed to show them that he would do what he wanted, when he wanted. Felnorvard began to eat after his ‘master’ had started. Both men seemed to be enjoying the food and paying little attention to the Ranger, who sat quietly. Aragorn watched the two as they ate, trying to figure out this situation. He had seen no guards, and he was not bound. There seemed to be nothing keeping him from getting up and walking away. He was not foolish enough to try, but the thought had occurred to him. He would wait until he got answers. Nothing was as it seemed, for instinct told him that this was no harmless old man. Even though he was looking at his food, Aragorn could feel the man’s eyes somehow watching him. Trying to ignore his feelings, the Ranger looked around the room. The walls and floor were made of dark stone that Aragorn had only seen once before. It was produced north of Mirkwood in the Grey Mountains. To have an entire room or building constructed of it, the owner would have to be of great power and importance. Aragorn looked up and saw a ceiling far above him with large metal and stone artwork jetting out from the walls. This is but one room, Aragorn thought as he noticed several open doors leading away in different directions. And with the hike to reach it before… Something so large is not easily concealed. Aragorn called upon his memory of the area. “It is impolite not to join your host for a meal, Aragorn,” the old man said, breaking the Ranger’s concentration. Servants were coming back to clear away the now empty plates and bowls. “But no matter, it is time to retire for the evening. Come, Felnorvard will show you the way.” Aragorn waited to rise from his seat until Felnorvard was directly behind him. He did not wish to spend the night in a dark dungeon, but neither did he want to begin the up and coming interrogation. It puzzled him that the old man would wait until morning to question him, since he obviously went to a lot of trouble to capture the Ranger. The strange thing was that Aragorn could think of nothing that he knew that would be useful to the Enemy. He needed answers, but it did not appear as if he would get them that night. The old man exited to the right while Aragorn and Felnorvard went left. As the two men walked through the narrow, winding passages, the Ranger toyed with the idea of escape. Even though Felnorvard was the same height as he, Aragorn was by far quicker. A well-placed blow would drop the man in a second. But where would he go from there? He had no idea which direction was the exit. Aragorn knew that he would, once again, only have one chance, and he would not waste it. There were far too many risks, and the chance of success was small. He would wait for a better opportunity. “You will sleep in here tonight,” Felnorvard said as he opened a large door. Aragorn stared inside. This was no dungeon. “A room fit for a future king,” the other man said as he pushed Aragorn into the room. Just before he closed the door, he called over his shoulder, “Someone will be by shortly to see to your needs.” Aragorn stood just inside the door. What is this game they play with me? he thought. The room was beautiful. There was silk of every color hanging from the walls, and artwork hung in between covering every inch of the stonework. The large fireplace was already lit, and it cast dancing shadows through out the room. The large bed in the far corner was covered in deep violet blankets, the color of a king. Even the chairs were downed in violet cloth. As Aragorn moved around the room he noticed a set of clean clothes lying on a chair. He looked down at what he was wearing. His clothes were filthy and still stained with blood. It was then that the Ranger noticed a small window. Leaving the clothes, he hurried over and leaned out. Even though it was dark, Aragorn could see the features of the land, thanks to a bright moon. Looking down, he saw that his room was high above the ground, for he could see the tops of the trees. Looking up, there was twice as much building above. This was no castle, as he originally thought. It was a tower, for there was no extension to the right or left; there were only trees. With a deep sigh, Aragorn turned away from the window and made his way to the bed. The room was far too high to risk escaping through the window. The Ranger sat on the bed and rested his head in his hands. He was growing more certain of where he was. An elderly man who was not so elderly, a large tower somewhere, hopefully west of Rohan; this was Isengard. From everything Gandalf has told me, this is no evil place. But why does he command Orcs? Perhaps I am mistaken, Aragorn thought, shaking his head. Gandalf had spoken very highly of his Order’s leader. Actually, while he had been in Orthanc, the Ranger had been treated with kindness, however there were Orcs here as well. Orcs were always in league with the Enemy; Orcs were the Enemy. Suddenly the door to his room opened and Felnorvard entered. “Is there anything you require before tomorrow morning?” Aragorn did not answer at first. How was he to respond? Was he a prisoner of the Enemy, or the guest of a great wizard? Should he be grateful for the offer or suspicious? Finally, he said, “I would like to clean my wounds again. Could I have some water and bandages? Some healing herbs would be helpful as well.” His tone of voice was cold and unfriendly, but he had decided it was best to take advantage of the strange situation. Felnorvard nodded and said, “They will be brought to you.” He then turned and closed the door. Aragorn could clearly hear the click of the lock turning. Not so friendly after all. ---------- Within the hour, someone, a servant, Aragorn guessed, brought him the supplies he had requested. He sat on the floor and carefully laid everything out in front of him. They had given him a generous supply of herbs; everything he could ever need or want. Some of them were extremely difficult to find this time of year and had wonderful healing properties. Aragorn reached into his shirt and pulled out a small cloth pouch. He always kept a small supply of herbs on him in case of emergencies, but now it was nearly empty. This would be an excellent this opportunity to refill it. His many years in the wild had taught him the value of being prepared for anything. After taking a sample of everything before him, Aragorn stripped off his filthy shirt and slowly pealed away the bandage covering his side wound. It was healing nicely. He placed one of the herbs in the palm of his hand and with a little water, worked it into a paste. It stung as he applied it to the wound, but that was a good sign. It showed that there was no infection and if it was kept clean for the next few days, should heal completely. His leg was a different story. After tearing a large hole in his leggings, Aragorn could see that the wound had not healed at all. The days of riding horseback had kept the wound open and allowed dirt to enter. Even the old bandage Felnorvard had applied had not been enough to protect it from infection. Luckily, it was not a deep wound and would not impair his ability to walk if treated immediately. Setting his jaw, Aragorn began to clean out the inflamed wound. He slowly scrubbed away the caked-on blood and dirt. It was important to work all the way down to the bottom of the cut, because that was where the infection would fester and spread. After applying another thick paste and wrapping his leg, Aragorn used the remaining water to clean the rest of the mud and dirt from his body. He was filthy but determined not to use the new clothes provided. Over the past hour, Aragorn had heard someone moving around in the corridor outside his door, and it made him nervous. His instincts as a ranger, told him to remain alert as long as possible. Aragorn moved toward the door and placed his ear upon it. Whoever had been there had moved off, but the Ranger was sure they would be back. The man placed his hand on the handle of the door and tested it. As he had suspected, it was locked. He was still a prisoner and whether this truly was Isengard or not, he could not ignore the facts. Running his fingers through his hair in frustration, Aragorn made his way over to one of the chairs and sat down. He refused to spend the night in the bed. He felt that, to do so, would show weakness and submission. No, he would wait the night out in one of the chairs. As soon as he had settled down, Aragorn knew he would not be able to stay awake. His weariness from the past days had finally caught up with him. Aragorn then decided to let down his guard and fall asleep. He had no doubt that what was to come would be worse then what had passed, and he would need all of his strength. ---------- Aragorn awoke with a start and jumped from his chair; someone was at the door. The click of the lock had been what pulled him from peaceful slumber. The Ranger struggled to quickly free himself from the hands of sleep. His vision finally focused and his head cleared just as the door opened. Felnorvard stood in the doorway and called in to the Ranger, “It is time to break the night’s fast, and the Master is waiting. Come.” Something about the man’s demeanor had changed since they had arrived. He was now quieter, more reserved, and difficult to read. Perhaps it was because of the presence of his master, but Aragorn no longer felt overly threatened by the man. It would be easy to overtake him and capture his weapon. The Ranger knew that his chance for escape was fast approaching. Aragorn said nothing as he maneuvered his way through the room’s furniture and to the door. However, he stopped a few feet away and stared into Felnorvard’s eyes. Aragorn could still see the fire and hatred that burned there. Nothing had changed, then, since their journey; the eyes always betrayed a person’s true feelings. “Go,” the other man said as he grabbed a handful of Aragorn’s shirt, and with a violent shove, pushed him down the corridor. Aragorn tried to take a mental note of everything they passed. It was difficult since most of the doors were shut or dark and all of the halls appeared the same. Everywhere Aragorn looked was cold dark stone with very few decorations, the complete opposite of his own room. They turned corner after corner, and the Ranger began to feel as if they were trying to confuse him. He no longer knew which direction they traveled, and he would not be able to make it back to his room unaided. After turning down several more hallways and descending a flight of stairs, Felnorvard finally halted him and opened the door they now stood before. Once again, Aragorn was forced forward into the center of a large stone room. The old man was there, waiting. Felnorvard moved to Aragorn’s right side and bowed low to his master. The Ranger remained as he was. Anger began to etch itself on the man’s face as he rose, saying, “You will show him the respect he deserves, Ranger!” Aragorn had not been expecting the blow to his midsection that followed, and he doubled over in surprise and pain. The man was obviously not as quiet and reserved as Aragorn had believed. He would not make the mistake of underestimating him again. Felnorvard grabbed a handful of the Ranger’s hair and forced his head down toward the floor. Aragorn’s knees gave way from the pressure, and he sank to the ground. “Hold,” the old man said and walked over to help Aragorn back to his feet. “You may leave us now, Felnorvard. You have done enough.” He leaned down and offered the Ranger his hand. Aragorn knew it may be dangerous to refuse his help, but he also wanted to show the old man how much he disapproved of his capture. The Ranger picked himself up off the floor and stood tall before the old man. If this was indeed the wizard Saruman, the man knew he must tread lightly. An angry wizard was not pleasant to be around. “Very well,” he said slowly, noting Aragorn‘s refusal. “Please join me for a meal. You have fasted longer than I, have you not?” It was true. Aragorn had eaten nothing since the morning before and was now hungry. Deciding to see where this would lead, Aragorn followed the man into the adjoining room where a meal had been prepared and set on a table. “Please sit. We have much to talk about.” Aragorn did as he was told and waited for the old man to speak again. There was still a chance this was just a misunderstanding. It was difficult to believe that Saruman the Wise could be corrupted by evil. Besides, the Istari were sent to Middle-Earth to help resist the Dark Lord Sauron. It just wasn’t possible for him to be an ally of the Enemy. The old man suddenly spoke. “You know who I am. I can see it in your eyes.” Aragorn took a deep breath. If he was wrong, then the mistake could prove deadly. “I have my suspicions, but I know not for certain.” It was a poor answer but a safe one. They sat quietly as the food was served to them. Aragorn’s plate was filled with fruits and bread, and he became aware of just how hungry he was. He weighed his options silently. He could refuse to eat again, but these were uncertain times. If his suspicions were true, then this could be his last meal for a while. On the other hand, wizards do strange things, and it was still possible that he was a guest. If that was the case, it was rude to refuse his hosts kindness. “You are very quiet, Aragorn. I trust you had a restful night?” he said as he began to eat his meal. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” the Ranger said, looking up from his plate. “I do not know your name, yet you know mine.” Still eating his breakfast, the old man said, “I’m sure that Gandalf has told you about me. I am Saruman, and you are visiting Isengard. But you already knew that.” Aragorn lowered his head with a sigh; it was as he feared then. All is not lost, he thought to himself. There is still a chance that this is not what it seems. “You have been fighting against the Enemy for many years now, have you not?” he said, changing the subject. Yes, he had. Aragorn had spent much of the last fifty years in the wild. It was hard to believe that it had been that long. During that time, he had spent many years following and hunting Orcs, but these past eight years, he had been helping Gandalf. He had spent so long hunting for Gollum that he had begun to fear that the creature would never be found. Seeing that the Ranger would not answer, Saruman continued. “You know that they are growing in strength. Over the past decade the forces of Mordor have increased their power, and soon they will strike out against all who stand opposed. You know this too.” It was not a question but Aragorn replied, “I have feared as much. There are more Orcs abroad now then there ever have been.” Why is he telling me this? Aragorn thought to himself. Why is he telling me what I already know? “The Dark Lord is calling all of his allies to him. Very soon, we must decide which side to take.” Saruman drew out the last sentence so its full meaning was understood. Aragorn’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What do you propose be done then?” he asked although he feared he knew the answer. “The Dark Lord has grown powerful and continues to grow. No one will be able to stand in his way.” Saruman sat up straighter in his chair and stared deeply into the human’s eyes. “He knows that the One Ring will be found, and it will only be a matter of time before he knows its location.” He paused. “We must join with him, Aragorn.” Aragorn tried not to look as surprised as he felt. So this is it then. Evil has corrupted the Wise, and all of Middle-Earth will suffer because of it. Aragorn did not let his emotions show to the wizard. What was he to do? If the Dark Lord indeed knew of the One Ring then it was imperative that Gollum be found quickly. “Why should I be part of this alliance?” he asked, spitting out the last word as if it were a curse. “You are heir to the throne of Gondor. With you leading them, in alliance with the Dark Lord, the forces of Mordor could sweep through the land and Gondor will be safe. They would follow you if you asked them.” Aragorn knitted his brow in confusion and frustration. “I will not betray my people for the suffering of others. Gondor will never fight with Mordor.” This conversation should not be happening. “You would be saving hundreds of your people if you join with us,” the wizard countered. “To the ruin of others. I will not have their blood on my hands.” “But you would have your own countrymen’s blood?” he asked calmly. Aragorn kept silent at this. He would never turn Gondor into the tool of the Enemy. “You know what will happen when war comes. Gondor, along with the rest of Middle-Earth, will fall. You could save them by claiming what is yours and leading them for the winning side.” Saruman saw the stubborn resolve in the Ranger’s eyes and decided to switch tactics. “You want the power that only the Dark Lord Sauron can give. It is in your blood.” That was the very idea that Aragorn continued to struggle with. He would not keep silent anymore, but he could only argue what his friends claimed was true, and he hoped was true. “My ancestors fought against Sauron! It was because of them that Middle-Earth lived in peace for this long.” “But you forget why the Ring was not destroyed. Isildur knew the power of the Ring. He was drawn to its side like you are now. You should not fight what is your destiny.” “The Ring betrayed Isildur and killed him. I am not bound to his fate and should correct his error, not continue it.” Aragorn had been telling himself this over and over since he was told of his true ancestry some sixty years before. He would not bring any more shame to Gondor or his family’s name by joining with the Enemy. “It would be wise for you to agree, my friend,” Saruman said, sensing that he would not win the Ranger over so easily. “All you would need do is claim the throne and declare Mordor your ally.” “What does Gandalf say of this?” Aragorn could feel the situation growing more tense by the minute. He had a growing fear that this day would not end well. “Gandalf is a fool and can not see what is in front of his face. He knows of my opinions on the matter,” he lied. That can not be or else I would have been warned of this, he thought, shaking his head. “I will never allow Gondor to stand side by side with Mordor. It is evil that you speak of, and I will have no part of it.” Aragorn decided to test his luck and added, “And since I am your guest, I thank you for your hospitality but must take my leave at once. I have a long distance to travel.” Aragorn rose from the table and quickly made his way to the door he had entered. Taking the handle, he pulled the door open. Felnorvard was waiting on the other side and lunged for the Ranger’s arms. Aragorn had been surprised by the man’s sudden appearance and just barely ducked out of the way in time. Retreating back into the room, he steadied himself for the upcoming struggle. A curse escaped his lips as six or seven large Orcs filed into the room as well. He was not going to make it out of the tower, this time. Aragorn had no weapons, and it would be impossible to fight them off with just his fists. He would not go down quietly, however. The Orcs rushed him, and Aragorn was quickly overwhelmed. He managed to knock out one or two, but they quickly tackled him to the floor. His breath was knocked out as four heavy Orcs landed on top of him. Pain shot up through his leg, and he feared that the impact had reopened the wound. He tried to kick himself free from the group but it was no use. There were too many of them. He could feel a few of them slowly climbing off the pile and reaching for him. Struggling harder, he tried to keep his arms just out of their reach. He wiggled his way further out from under the Orcs, but he knew not what it accomplished. He was trapped and cornered, again. “Off lads!” one of the Orcs said. Aragorn could feel the weight lifted from him, but as he tried to raise himself, a metal-toed Orc boot connected with the side of his head. The force of the kick threw him onto his back. The Ranger’s vision blurred and began to spin. He willed himself to stay conscious as Orcs hauled him to his feet. He could see a figure moving toward him. Aragorn struggled to focus his eyes, but they would not obey. He could feel his own warm blood running down the side of his temple and into his right eye. The Ranger knew that he would not be able to see out of it until the blood was washed away. “Take him back to his room to think my offer over,” Saruman said to Felnorvard. As Aragorn was taken back through the corridors of Isengard, he knew that he would never see the beautifully decorated room he had spent the night in again. They were descending too many stairs to be going back to that room. After what seemed like hours, the group halted in front of a small wooden door. They opened it and threw the Ranger inside. Aragorn’s head was still swimming from its recent abuse, but he knew exactly where he was. He was in a holding cell, a dungeon of Isengard. |
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| Chapter 5 - Let
the Games Begin Aragorn didn’t know how long he had been in the cell. It seemed like days. No one had come for him, and the Ranger didn’t know whether to be grateful or not. He did not want to draw attention to himself, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be forgotten either. Aragorn sat on the cold floor with his head resting on his knees. There was nothing else he could do. He had wandered around awhile but quickly found the room to be bare. There was no window, and the only source of light was through a small bared hole in the door. Aragorn shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position. He had fallen asleep several times over the last few hours, but now he was merely restless. The Ranger brought his hand down to his injured leg and sighed. He had managed to stop the bleeding again, but he worried about infection. He had plenty of herbs in his emergency pouch, but without water, most of them were useless. The thought of water drew Aragorn’s attention to his own thirst. His captors had given him no food or water since breakfast, and the Ranger was beginning to feel a pain in his stomach because of it. Aragorn could hear that he was not the only prisoner of Isengard. Somewhere beyond his cell door, he had heard someone cry out. It was not a cry of pain, exactly but of frustration, and for that, Aragorn was thankful. The last thing he wanted right now was to listen to the torture of another. Every once in a while, he could hear the quiet but unmistakable sound of another person, and it was unnerving, like hearing a ghost. The Ranger sat quietly, listening to everything that was going on around him. It was good for him to get this chance to clear his thoughts and prepare himself for whatever was to come. Being raised in the House of Elrond had taught the man the value of serenity in one’s mind. He began to quietly sing to himself the elvish chants and lyrics of old. They quieted him and calmed his troubled thoughts. His thoughts drifted back to his childhood when Elrond had first told him about his true ancestry. He had only been twenty years old, barely more than a child. The thought that he was the only heir of Isildur and to the throne of Gondor had scared him terribly. Over the years, he had grown to accept his destiny, wherever it would lead him. The one warning that was always present in his mind was that no one must know of his true heritage. He knew the Enemy would hunt him if they ever discovered the truth. Now, it was possible that the slip of his tongue would cost him his life. He cursed himself for his weakness and thoughtless action. Such thoughts were quickly put aside as Aragorn heard voices outside his door. The Ranger did not rise from the floor as the door swung open, revealing Saruman. “Since you have had time to reconsider my request,” the wizard said, drawing closer to the man. “What say you now?” Aragorn calmly looked up at him. Although he knew of the wizard’s great power, he did not frighten him. “My answer stands, wizard. I will never betray myself or my people to the Dark Forces of Mordor the way my ancestors did.” “Very well,” Saruman said, turning back toward the door. “You will do as I request, given time.” With a wave of the wizard’s hand, Felnorvard and the Orcs that had been guarding the door entered and crossed over to Aragorn’s position on the floor. He sighed as the Orcs pulled him to his feet and held his arms. So it begins, he thought as Felnorvard drew his sword and placed the tip under the Ranger’s chin, biting into the soft flesh. Then, using his dagger, Felnorvard sliced through both cloth and flesh on Aragorn’s chest. Aragorn gave no outward reaction, but his mind cried out in surprise and pain. This should not surprise me at all, he thought as the Orcs stripped away the Ranger’s shirt to reveal the long bloody streak of the other man’s blade. I will receive no kind treatment here. They discarded the man’s cut tunic and bound Aragorn’s hands in front of him. Violent hands pushed him forward, down a long hall, and into a new room. His arms were pulled above his head and secured to a beam near the ceiling. Saruman entered and approached Aragorn, stopping when their faces were only inches apart. “I am not as foolish as you believe,” Saruman said. “The Dark Lord will sweep across the land and destroy everything that opposes him. You know this. Nothing will be able to stop him.” Aragorn decided that it would not be possible to make his situation any worse, so he responded. “I think you’re wrong. You want me to give you Gondor because you know of their strength. It will be the alliance of Rohan, Gondor, and all free people that will defeat the armies of Mordor.” Saruman’s eyes narrowed and his hand shot across the man’s face, splitting his lip. It was true. Gondor had grown very strong, and along with the armies of Rohan, they could withstand and triumph over Mordor. The Ranger finally understood why he was taken. The Enemy was worried about the growing strength of Gondor. They needed him to cooperate, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t settle for him dead. He was still in terrible danger at the hands of Saruman. The wizard turned back to Felnorvard and said, “You can have him for one hour. Teach him what it means to be the enemy of the Dark Lord, but do not kill him or cause permanent damage.” “It will be my pleasure, Master.” With Saruman leaving, Felnorvard motioned forward an Orc holding a long whip. Aragorn kept his face expressionless as the Orc glared at him, waiting for his human commander to speak. “You had the chance to experience my master’s kindness and generosity, but you refused. Now, I get the opportunity to show you what happens to all who oppose him.” He took the whip and brought it up to Aragorn’s eyes, giving him a better view of it. The strips of leather that hung from its end were covered with bits of metal hooks. It would tare whatever skin it touched. Felnorvard watched the Ranger’s face, looking for signs of fear. While the man’s expression did not change and his breathing remained slow, Felnorvard saw something in the other man’s eyes. It wasn’t quite fear, but it showed that Aragorn’s mind wasn’t as calm as his face. “Your eyes betray you, Ranger,” Felnorvard said, handing the whip back to the Orc. Aragorn opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sting of the whip against his shoulder. He choked on his words and squeezed his eyes shut. “What, Ranger? No witty response? I said your eyes show your weakness.” Another blow landed to the small of his back, and Aragorn clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth began to hurt. The whip bit into his shoulder again, and the Ranger fought against the urge to cry out. It was tearing the skin from his body and he could feel his blood slowly creeping down his back toward the floor. After a half dozen more lashes, Aragorn’s head hung limply on his bare chest. Blood flowed from the welts on his back and shoulders. Darkness threatened to overcome him, but he fought it. He would not give in. Felnorvard’s fist connected with the side of the Ranger’s head, causing his vision to swim. “Wake up, Ranger. I’m not finished with you. My hour is not yet up.” Aragorn tried to shift his weight, looking for a more comfortable position. His arms burned from being forced to support his weight. He had tried to keep his legs under him but could not. Now, his entire body was being supported by the ropes binding his wrists, though he lost the feeling in them long before. Felnorvard traced his finger down the Ranger’s chest and stopped on the bandage covering his side wound. The man’s fist closed on the fabric and ripped it away. Aragorn sharply drew in his breath as Felnorvard reopened the wound and probed the tender flesh. His breath was coming quicker now, and the darkness once again threatened to overtake him. “Yes, that’s right,” Felnorvard said, watching the pain sweep over the his captive’s face. “I am in control now. My master has other plans to persuade you to join him, but right now, you’re mine.” Felnorvard dug his finger deeper into the Ranger’s side, and a quiet moan involuntarily escaped Aragorn’s lips. Even with his eyes tightly closed, Aragorn knew that the man was pleased. “What was that?” he asked, leaning so close that Aragorn could feel the man’s breath by his ear. “Did you say something? You really must speak up.” Felnorvard laughed as the Ranger tried to pull away. “No, no. You can’t get away from me that easily.” Another stab of pain shot through Aragorn’s chest, and he nearly cried. A low moan was all he would allow himself. He could not catch his breath, and his side was on fire. Felnorvard would not remove his fingers from the wound, and he felt he would die from the pain. It was incredibly unnerving to feel someone moving around inside his chest. Finally, Felnorvard did remove his now blood covered hand and placed it on the Ranger’s cheek. Aragorn closed his eyes in disgust as his own blood was wiped on his face and hair. “You’re not as talkative anymore, are you?” Felnorvard landed a blow to the Ranger’s unprotected ribs and then took a fistful of hair, tilting the man’s head back. Before Aragorn knew what was happening, a fist came out of nowhere and connected with the base of his neck. The last thing he remembered was seeing the evil smile of Felnorvard. Then he succumbed to the darkness that had been slowly creeping up on him. |
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