Chapter Four

‘Don’t kick us again,’ Legolas said to himself, biting back his anger and resisting the urge to open his eyes and see the condition Aragorn was in. Even though the blows had not been overly hard ones, he still couldn’t be sure that the man was faking unconsciousness, as he was doing.

Aragorn was faking. He braced for another kick, which never came. He prayed that Legolas wasn’t hurting as badly as he was.

“I shoulda known these two couldn’t take it,” Hatch spat, clearly unhappy that the fun he had been looking forward to hadn’t lasted longer.

“What can you expect from such puny creatures, who don’t even have no chest hair,” one of the onlookers sneered, pounding his own chest, which looked more like a filthy, matted rug.

There was more laughter from the whole group.

“Throw ’em back in the cages,” Hatch instructed. “Maybe tomorrow we can get more enjoyment out of ’em."

The whole thing was a major disappointment to Hatch and the other trolls. All the other prisoners they had done this to had lasted longer. Maybe the lack of chest hair on these two did have something to do with their weakness.

Hatch kicked a log and stalked off. He wasn’t used to not having his way. He vowed that this would be the last time. These two would give him what he wanted before they died.

The two trolls with the ropes dragged Legolas and Aragorn back to their cages and unceremoniously threw them in. Their clothes were thrown in on top of them.

Aragorn landed on a particularly sore spot along his right side and bit his lip to stifled a groan.

Legolas landed face down on a small pebble that dug painfully into the skin right over a lower rib.

Neither one dared move until they were sure all the trolls had forgotten about them for the time being. They didn’t want to risk letting impatience cause them to be taken out again and have the whole episode they had just endured start all over again.

Finally, when all around the camp was silent, Aragorn risked opening an eye and saw that Pickett had not taken up his usual place in front of the middle cages. The ranger didn‘t know if Pickett was just slow in getting there, or if he had been relieved. Perhaps, Hatch thought that he and Legolas were lost to the conscious world, and didn’t need watching for the rest of the night.

The man slowly shifted so that he could look out across the camp and make sure Pickett or any other troll was not approaching. There were only two trolls in evidence, both tending the campfire.

Legolas’s face was hidden by his shirt, which had landed on top of his head. There was no movement from the wood-elf other than the slightly elevated rate of his breathing.

A large part of his friend’s back was visible, and Aragorn almost flinched to see it. He knew his own back must look very similar. It certainly hurt enough to make him believe it did.

Aragorn whispered Legolas’s name. If the elf was conscious, he would respond.

The blond archer slowly pulled his shirt back so he could peep out under the sleeve. His arm was laid out in front of him, so that’s all he could see. In an effort to let the ranger know he was all right, he lifted his fingers and moved them back and forth in a small wave. He realized that his hands were probably the only part of his body that didn’t hurt.

The elf wanted to reach down and remove the pebble that was really bothering him, but since he couldn’t see if Pickett was there, he couldn’t take the chance that the troll might be looking at him.

Legolas continued to look in Aragorn's direction and soon saw the man’s head rise up and nod. He released a long breath, when he heard Aragorn say, “No guard, so far”.

Legolas pulled his shirt all the way off of his head and sat up, deciding that even if he was spotted, it had been long enough since the ordeal that he hoped he would simply be perceived as having revived.

The pebble that hurt so much had not only made an indentation in his skin but had stuck there thanks to the blood that had run down from a cut just above it. He pulled the offending rock free and lay it down, though he felt like chunking it as hard as he could. He tenderly rubbed the sore spot. ‘That will make a nice bruise to add to the others,’ he thought.

Aragorn brought himself into a sitting position and did his best to examine his own cuts and bruises. He decided that collectively the injuries were not good, but luckily, there was no single one that he deemed serious.

Turning around to look for any nearby trolls, Legolas moved to the back, inside corner of his cage, as close to Aragorn as he could get. “How are we going to get out of these cages?” the elf whispered.

Aragorn jabbed his fingers toward the camp. “One of them has to unlock the doors for us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw Pickett approaching. In a hushed tone, he said, “Pretend to be sick.”

Not quite able to hear the soft-spoken words, Aragorn asked, “What?”

Slightly louder, Legolas repeated what he had just said, “Pretend to be sick.”

Understanding the ploy that the two had used before, Aragorn nodded. He lay down and began to moan and jerk his body, being careful not to roll onto his back.

When Pickett didn’t react, Aragorn moaned louder.

When the troll reached the cages, Legolas said, "Pickett, please get some water for him. He is sick. He no longer has the strength to fight off the illness.” Concern intensified in the elf’s words. “I have seen him in this condition before. He is near death.”

Legolas didn’t want to lay it on too thick, so he tried another tact. “If he dies, Hatch will be very angry. He stopped the game, because he did not want either of us dead, just yet.” Legolas paused and let his meaning sink into the dense troll’s head. If Pickett would open both cages, they had a chance to outmaneuver the troll and get free.

“Open my cage first, so I can help him,” Legolas said in a slightly demanding tone. This troll was used to taking orders, so hopefully he would respond to the elf’s command. When Pickett hesitated, Legolas added, “You needn’t worry about me trying to escape. I would never run off and leave him here alone. He is my brother.”

“He’s yer brother? I didn’t know that. You don’t look nothin’ alike.”

“We had different parents,” Aragorn piped up, unable to hold back on the joke.

“Oh,” Pickett said, nodding his understanding, even though, in truth, the joke had gone sailing way over his head.

Aragorn quickly moaned loud enough to take away any possibility that Pickett might have time to realize that he was being tricked. It didn’t hurt to be cautious, even with a thick-headed creature like this.

“Please help him,” Legolas pleaded in his most compelling tone. He briefly thought about his vow that he would never beg for anything. This, he rationalized, was different, since it was mostly a put-on, though serious in intent. “I will not tell Hatch. I promise. I just want to save my brother.”

Pickett looked around to make sure there were no other trolls around, especially Hatch. He saw none, so he went over to a large barrel and filled a wooden bowl. He took it back to the elf’s cage and unlocked the elf’s door. Pickett stood back, seemingly unwilling to get close enough to be touched. Legolas got up and walked out slowly, hands in the air.

Pickett opened Aragorn’s cage and handed the bowl of water to Legolas, as he entered.

Pickett had been told that these two were to be kept in separate cages, so the thought of locking them in together, even temporarily, never entered his mind. The golden-haired one with the funny ears would help his brother and then be put back in his own cage. The dark-haired brother would be all right and none of the other trolls would be the wiser. Simple logic from a simple brain.

As Legolas knelt down beside Aragorn and helped him to drink, he was well aware that the door was wide open, offering a very tantalizing invitation.

The problem was that Pickett was standing next to that open door. Could Aragorn get to his feet, and the two of them get through the door before the huge creature reacted and slammed it shut? Compounding their problem was the fact that the opening was narrow enough that they would have to go out one at a time. Whoever went second would be in danger of being caught.

The dilemma was soon solved, as Pickett moved into the opening, evidently to get a better look at what was going on inside.

“Curses on his curiosity,” Aragorn mumbled, so low that only the elf heard him.

Leaning forward, Pickett asked, “Is he better?”

“A little,” Legolas replied in a frustrated voice. “But I will need to stay with him for a while.”

“Oh no. You cain’t do that. Hatch says you two need to be in yer own cages.” He pointed to Legolas, “You got to go back.”

The two friends looked at each other in total dismay. They had been so close. So very close.

“We will just have to wait for another chance,” Legolas said in Sindarin.

“I hope it comes before they decide to have more fun,” was Aragorn’s disappointed grumble.

“Let us hope.” To the troll guard, Legolas said, “I need more water. I have to clean these wounds.”

“Hatch always says that dried blood stops it from leakin’ out.” He looked proud that he had imparted important knowledge to these two, who he deemed ignorant of the right way to heal a wound.

“The wounds should be cleaned,” Aragorn informed the troll, as the healer in him came to the forefront.

Pickett shook his head. “Hatch says that’s not right. Dried blood works ’cause I seen it. You drink the water,” he looked at the ranger, “an’ you get back in yer cage.” He was now staring at Legolas.

When the frustrated elf didn’t move, Pickett jabbed his finger at the archer. “Come on, you.” Then in an attempt to show this defiant captive who was boss, he added, “Just ’cause yer ears are dee-formed don’t mean you can do what you want.”

Aragorn had to grab Legolas’s arm to keep him from spinning around and punching the troll. He gave his friend a warning look. “You are usually the one that has to stop me from doing something foolhardy.”

Legolas clenched his teeth and nodded before standing up and moving toward the door. He may have been able to hold back a physical reaction, but as he went back to his own cage, he couldn’t hold back a piercing glare that forced Pickett to turn his head away.

*~*~*~*

Once things had settled down with Pickett back at guard duty, Aragorn, who had put his clothes back on, did his best to get some sleep. He knew that his body needed the rest to try and replace the strength that had been whipped and dragged out of him. The lack of food didn’t help any, either.

He lay diagonally across the cage, so he could stretch out flat. He noticed that Legolas had donned his own clothes and was standing with his head slightly bent and staring out at the trees several yards behind them. Aragorn knew how much solace the elf got from his beloved trees, wherever they were found, so he didn’t want to disturb him by speaking.

The ranger’s back and sides still stung in places, but taken all together, the wounds were more of a dull ache than outright pain. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

As for Pickett, he was remembering not to show sympathy toward these captives. However, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel anything at all. In fact, he felt a little guilty that he had either hurt or insulted the poor deformed prisoner by what he said and what had been done to him and also his brother. Still, he wasn’t about to actually say he was sorry. That was another thing that Hatch had taught him. Do what you are told, and don’t expose weakness by showing regret, unless the apology was made to Hatch himself, of course.

Picket edged his way over from his usual place in front of the middle cages to stand in front of the elf’s small prison. He mistakenly felt that the deformed being would appreciate his presence, since he couldn’t be allowed to stay with his brother.

Even though his mind was concentrating on the trees, Legolas heard the scraping noise the troll made as he sidestepped closer to him. Curious, the archer moved toward the front of the cage. As he did so, he stumbled and fell forward. He reached out but instead of grabbing one of the bars for support, his right hand slipped between two of them and onto Pickett’s tunic.

The huge creature was totally oblivious. He didn’t hear a thing nor did he feel the elf’s hand on him.

Aragorn had finally fallen asleep and also didn’t see the elf stumble. He would have been very worried, if he had seen such an uncharacteristic occurrence from the normally sure-footed wood-elf.

Legolas quickly straightened up and moved away from the troll. He looked down at his hand, as if expecting to see it covered in the grimy filth that covered the troll. However, it wasn’t grime that he saw.

*~*~*~*

Across the camp, in the largest of the huts, Hatch was thinking. He may have been the smartest of the forest trolls, but even so, his powers of reasoning were limited. It didn’t matter though, because whenever he thought about torture, he knew what he was doing.

The troll leader realized that because the prisoners didn’t take to the whipping game very well, he needed to come up with another game of torture. It had to be something painful yet wouldn’t kill or disable them over much.

Hatch began to sift through his memory for the various games they had used in the past on other prisoners. Then he hit on the perfect one. It was slow, painful and wouldn’t kill, at least, not until he got tired of these two and chose to end the game.

TBC