Chapter Eight

The raven-haired woman began leading the elf and the ranger down a long corridor and then turned into a doorway to the left. Just before moving out of sight of the Easterlings, she turned to face Grath. “Go around to the rear entrance and from there go to your rooms. You know the way. I will have someone bring your evening meal. We will talk later.” Not just the words but Allaura’s tone, as well, was a clear dismissal.

Grath frowned. He did not like being sent away like this. That had never happened before. In the past, after he had taken those he had brought here to the lower levels, the lowest being the most unpleasant of dungeons, he had been treated, if not cordially, at least with a semblance of gratitude for a job well done. He had always dealt with this woman, but he had the feeling that she was not the one in charge here, not the one who had hired him.

Knowing there was nothing he could do now but obey, Grath turned to lead his men outside on their trek around to the back of the building. He was not surprised when the doors opened by themselves, as if they, too, were ushering the men out of the building.

As he walked, Grath shook his head. There was something about these two captives that was different from all the others. They weren’t being treated the same. It had been implied that they were guests, and that made no sense to him. He had brought rangers here before, but this elf was the first of his kind that Grath had ever captured. He shook his head again. It couldn’t just be the elf. There had to be more to it than that.

He had no idea how many others may have been hired to do the same thing he and his mean were doing---bringing prisoners here. This place could be bursting with them, although he had never seen any others during the times he had come here. The dungeon always appeared to be empty, but it was a large place, so what outsider could know for sure.

He also had no idea why prisoners were being brought here or what was being done with them. None of his business, he reminded himself. Not the smartest of men but also not stupid, Grath knew enough to keep his curiosity to himself. If he stuck his nose in where it had no business being, he might find out firsthand what was happening, and he was sure that wouldn’t be a good thing.

Thinking again of the elf and the ranger, Grath decided it didn’t really matter what happened to either of them. Tie them to a stake in a black hole with the rats or put them up in the master chamber on silk sheets and feed them honey. He figured it would end up being the former, but it was all the same to him. He had been hired to do a job, and he had done it. Now he just wanted his reward, so he and his men could leave this place. Staying here longer than necessary gave him the creeps.

By the time all these thoughts had played out in the man’s head, he and his men had reached the rear door, gone in and made their way down to the second of the lower levels, where the servants rooms were located and where he and his men were to wait for their food and an eventual summons for him.

Upstairs, the raven-haired woman had led Legolas and Aragorn into a small side room that had a sofa lounge in the center covered in black satin. She pointed to it and then looked at Legolas. “You may lie down there.”

Legolas did not need a second invitation. He sat down and then lowered himself onto his back, being careful to avoid putting pressure on his wounded shoulder.

The softness of the small cushion under his head and the sofa under his body together with the sweet floral scent that emanated from both almost put him to sleep immediately. However, he forced his mind to stay alert. He was not ready to leave his friend alone and unarmed with this woman just yet. He almost laughed to think that he felt Aragorn would be at a disadvantage with her. Best not reveal that little idea to the ranger.

“My name is Allaura,” the woman said. “This castle belongs to my husband’s family. It is called Ravenlore.”

Legolas had never heard of it before, and yet that name, for a reason he could not identify, made him shudder.

Since there seemed to be more black furniture around than any other color, Aragorn thought that Ravenlore was an apt name for the place.

Eying Aragorn, the woman said, “See to your friend, and I will go and bring some bandages and tea.” Allaura swept out of the room.

While Aragorn took his pack from his shoulder and began rummaging through it, he said, “She mentioned a husband. I imagine he’s the one who Grath has been referring to, the one who is paying him to bring us here.”

Legolas had to force his mind to stay with the ranger by concentrating very hard on his words. He answered, “I would assume so.”

He stayed the ranger’s movements, when he reached out and wrapped his long fingers around Aragorn’s arm and then stared into his eyes. “I am sorry, Estel, but I cannot stay awake.“ His gaze intensified. “There is an air about that woman I do not trust. And I do not think she is ignorant of her husband’s dealings. Watch your back, mellon nin.” Against his will, the elf’s eyelids drooped until they were almost closed.

Aragorn knew there was no use in trying to keep the archer awake. He really didn’t want to, if it meant Legolas would get the rest he needed so much. It also meant that he could change the elf’s bandages without hurting him.

Allaura returned a few moments later. She set the tray containing three ornately engraved silver cups, a matching silver tea pot and honey and cream in two small matching silver bowls. Beside them was a large roll of clean, white cloth. Seeing the elf’s eyes closed, she sighed. “I see he has fallen into elven dreams.”

“He has been shot twice and then pushed beyond endurance. It’s a wonder he remained standing as long as he did.” There was a definite edge to the man’s voice.

“He is strong,” Allaura commented calmly.

Aragorn thought the woman was implying that Legolas’s strength made all that had happened to him minor occurrences. He took exception. “Yes, he is, but even the strength of elves cannot overcome serious wounds and rough treatment unless they are given a chance to recover.”

“You misunderstand me, young ranger,” Allaura said with a smile. “I merely meant that hope should be held onto firmly, when dealing with the Eldar.”

“I have dealt with them far more than you may think,” the man stated, his tone only slightly less confrontational. “I would never lack hope where they are concerned. As for Legolas, he is one of the strongest elves I have ever known.”

Allaaura, who had been pouring tea from the pot into one of the cups, asked, “Do you wish honey and cream in your tea?” When Aragorn nodded, she put a little of both into the tea and stirred it with a silver spoon. She then handed the cup to the man.

She was not surprised when, after taking it, Aragorn held it to his nose and sniffed the contents. Light laughter greeted the move. “I assure you there is nothing in that cup but the finest tea available and a bit of cream and honey.”

Aragorn looked up from the cup and stared into the woman’s dark eyes. “We were brought here as prisoners, no matter how much you may wish us to believe otherwise.” Without so much as a blink, he added, “I do not trust you.”

“Fair enough.” Allaura took the cup from the ranger’s hand and drank some of the tea herself. “I hope you do not mind drinking after me. I am not ill in any way, and this is the only way I can show you there is nothing of harm in the tea.”

Drinking after someone, who he was fairly sure was healthy, did not bother the man. As a ranger in the wild, he had, out of necessity, put far worse things in his body. He and Legolas often shared the same water skin. Of course, he knew Legolas well. He knew this woman not at all.

Deciding to take the chance, he nodded. He soon found his cup back in his hand, and he took a swallow. The tea was smooth and sweet and had a strong tea flavor. He didn’t doubt that it was the finest available. He couldn’t help but smile, as he pronounced it, “Delicious.”

He looked down at Legolas, half wishing the elf was awake to enjoy the tea, cream and honey being his favorite flavorings. Still, his friend needed rest more than he needed tea.

Aragorn took a few more swallows. While doing so, he studied Allaura’s eyes. They were veiled, and he couldn’t read anything there that would tell him what he wanted to know. Abruptly, he asked, “Why have we been brought here?” The question was as direct as it could be.

There was no reaction on the woman’s face that Aragorn could see, but he did notice the tiniest of hesitations, as she put her own cup to her lips. After she took a sip, she set the cup down on the tray sitting on the table in front of her. Regarding the man across from her, she said, “You are convinced you and the elf are prisoners here.”

“I know it.”

Allaura sighed. “I guess then there is no reason to try and convince you otherwise.”

“None. Why are we here? Legolas and I both have the distinct impression we were singled out for this ‘honor’ rather than just being caught randomly.”

“That is not the case, though I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

Instead of explaining her answer to that none-to- veiled accusation, Allaura reached out and took the bandages still sitting on the side of the tray. “Tend to your friend.” The statement was a command. Gone was the soft voice of someone trying to make a friendly impression.

The ranger did just as he was told, though he preferred not to think of it as giving in to a command, since he needed to do it anyway, and clean bandages were being offered. Finishing off his tea with one last swallow, he set his cup on the tray beside the woman‘s and took the cloth from her hand.

Allaura stood up. “I will return shortly.” She stood up and walked out of the room, seemingly not worried about leaving the pair alone. She obviously felt the same way Grath had; no escape attempt would be made, as long as the elf was too weak to get very far.

Before the woman had even crossed the threshold, Aragorn’s attention was on Legolas. He gently turned the elf over more on his right side to give him easy access to the elf’s shoulder. He was glad the elf did not stir.

Working as methodically as he always did, Aragorn removed the sling, pulled the outer and inner tunics down and began unwinding the cloak strips.

Once the wounds were exposed, Aragorn took a good, long look at them, probing them as gently as he could. Both, especially the cauterized one, were an angry red color, yet both showed signs of beginning to heal. Being familiar with elven wounds, he knew the burned area may leave a bit of a telltale scar, but the other wound would not. None of the other wounds the elf had received through the years had ever scarred. Burns were different, but he hoped the elf’s smooth, flawless skin would remain so.

After wrapping Legolas’s shoulder again with the clean bandages, more for extra protection than anything, he replaced the tunics and the sling.

Smiling down at Legolas, Aragorn was once again grateful to the Valar for saving this most treasured of friends. He lightly brushed the elf’s slightly disheveled hair into place with his fingers. “You will be much better when you awaken.”

With nothing left to do and no where to go, Aragorn poured himself another cup of tea, flavored it with the cream and honey and then began to walk around the room and examine what he found.

Besides the sofa, there were four chairs in the room, all with black satin fabric covering them. Aragorn briefly wondered if Allaura had gotten her dress from the same material. He laughed and shook his head. What a silly thought.

There were large windows along the right side of the room, looking out onto the manicured lawns and the edge of the forest that covered most of the valley. There was a wistful look on his face, as he thought about him and Legolas running across that green grass and into the trees to freedom. ‘Later,’ he thought. ‘We will be able to do that later.’ He didn’t want to think about what awful things might happen between now and then.

Turning back to face the room, his attention was drawn to a large painting in an ornate gold frame. It was mounted over the mantle of the huge fireplace that covered a good deal of the wall to the right of the doorway.

Sipping his tea, the ranger walked over to stand under the painting. He couldn’t believe he had not noticed it before, but then he thought about what had been on his mind since he and Legolas had entered the room.

The painting was the portrait of a woman in a black satin dress. She had long raven-black hair and dark eyes. The woman was clearly Allaura. It appeared to be painted in this very room. The woman was wearing a blue gemstone, possibly a diamond, on a gold chain. Dangling almost to her shoulders were matching blue earrings.

Such jewelry was impossible to miss, so Aragorn was sure Allaura hadn’t been wearing it earlier, but then why would she? It was not something you wore every day. A gift from her husband perhaps?

However, it wasn’t the jewelry, the black dress or the portrait itself that held Aragorn’s attention. It was the eyes of the woman staring down at him. And that was the point; those dark eyes seemed to be looking into his very soul.

Aragorn turned sharply, when he heard a noise behind him. He was a bit unsettled to find that Allaura was standing within three feet of him. He may not be an elf, but he did have superior hearing and good instincts for a mortal, gifts of his elven blood, thinned out over the centuries though it may be. How had she gotten so close without him being aware of her presence?

He didn’t trust her. Legolas didn’t trust her. She could have buried a knife in his back, and he wouldn’t even have known it was coming. That notion frightened him. Yet he knew that he and Legolas must have been brought here for a specific purpose. Allaura wouldn’t have taken them into her home, allowed him to tend to Legolas’s wounds, only to kill him where he stood. She needed them both healthy. But what did she want with them? Why were they here?

TBC