Chapter Twelve

The wonderfully warm and dark place where Aragorn had been residing for the past several hours began to fade away, as his conscious mind struggled to find the waking world. He was soon to regret that it did, because the first sensation that replaced the feeling of security was pain. His whole body was aching.

The next sensation was the very hard ground that he realized he was lying flat on . He groaned, because he was so hoping that he would find himself in his own soft bed in Imladris, being tended to by his father and brothers. It was a hope that he was forced to abandon in short order.

Knowing he would have to face whatever had put him on the ground in so much pain, Aragorn opened one eye. It was the only thing he thought he could move at the time that wouldn’t cause his body to rebel. After a moment, the other eyelid came up. Even with both eyes open, his vision was somewhat blurry.

Almost immediately Aragorn became aware of one particular pain that was more persistent than the others, ans that was saying something. It was his right arm. When he attempted to pull it out from under him, it gave a lively protest for his efforts. He groaned again.

‘How did I end up like this?’ he wondered. ‘Did someone beat me head to toe?’ It felt more like he had been placed in a box and it had been shaken without mercy.

Then he remembered. Legolas!

Aragorn looked around him, but his fuzzy vision kept him from seeing the elf anywhere. Blinking rapidly, the man was able to clear away the clouds. What he saw were the metal bars above and around him. His heart sank. ‘I’m back in one of the cages.’

Aragorn gritted his teeth, as he turned his head to the side in the hopes of finding Legolas lying beside him, but the elf was not there.

The ranger gritted his teeth even harder and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. The welts on his back stung, as his skin was stretched under the dried blood, which he could feel cracking. He did his best to ignore the pain and focus his attention solely on finding out where Legolas was. Had the trolls taken the wood-elf someplace else?

There was a moment of panic before Aragorn spotted his friend. Legolas was lying on his side in the next cage facing his way. He was dismayed to see that Legolas’s eyes were closed. He was on the other side of his cage and there was too much distance between them for any physical contact.

He wanted to find out how the elf was faring, but he was undecided whether he should try and wake him. Aragorn was sure Legolas needed rest, but it was also important that he have his wounds tended to, especially since the man had no idea how extensive they were.

The ranger didn’t have to think on the dilemma for very long. As he was watching Legolas, the elf began to stir. Aragorn waited for just a moment to make sure his friend was waking and not just shifting positions in his sleep. When he saw that the archer was indeed rousing to consciousness, Aragorn called his name. It wasn’t very loud, but he knew the elf could hear him.

Legolas did hear. He wanted to answer but was struggling to get his bearings. Like Aragorn, the first sensation he felt was pain, very intense pain. He didn’t know how he could have slept through such agony.

His body must have driven his mind to seek comfort in the depths of oblivion, though he realized that while he had been unconscious, he hadn’t really gotten any rest.

His chest was sore from the blow that Pickett had dealt him. His back stung and his head was pounding. However, it was his shoulder that commanded his immediate attention. It felt as if someone was holding a torch to it. Burning. That was the one thing he had been dreading, and now he was feeling its effects without the presence of any flames.

The elf heard his name being called again, a little more urgently. He didn’t want Aragorn to get upset, so this time he answered, as he opened his eyes. “I am awake.”

“Yes, but how do you feel?”

With a heavy sigh, Legolas said, “You do not want to know.”

“Then it must be far worse than I imagine, and believe me, that’s bad enough,” the ranger replied, knowing how reluctant the elf always was to admit to any hurts.

Trying to scoot over to the inside row of bars that their two cages shared cost the man a higher price than he would have paid for himself alone. It hurt, but he kept at it until he reached his goal.

“Can you make it over to me?” he asked Legolas, when he finally reached the bars.

Wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep and find what little comfort he might be able to gain from it, Legolas knew that was not a real option. He nodded and blew out a breath to prepare himself before making the effort to sit up. He made it, but it was a slow process that cost him, as well. More fire flared through his shoulder, down his arm and across his already hurting back.

He tried to remember if he had ever hurt so badly before, but thinking about it was too taxing. Such a comparison didn’t change how he felt now, so the exercise was a futile one, and he abandoned the effort.

Aragorn winced at the obviously painful progress the elf was making to reach him. He was frustrated to the point of anger that he couldn’t do a thing to help. He also felt a little guilty that he had asked Legolas to move at all, but he had deemed it necessary. He assuaged his guilt by reminding himself of that and the knowledge that healers often had to hurt in order to heal.

What concerned him most was the fact that Legolas was holding his left arm close to his body. Something was definitely wrong. He had known that Hatch had hurt Legolas’s shoulder in some way with the rope, but he hadn’t really known the extent of the injury, and of course, Legolas hadn’t told him..

When Legolas finally reached the bars, Aragorn looked intently at the elf’s left shoulder. “It’s dislocated, isn’t it?”

Legolas nodded. “Hatch did it when he first yanked on the rope.”

“And yet you used your arm to pull yourself up so you could kick him,” Aragorn stated flatly. He wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“It had to be done, although it does not look as though having Pickett as the current leader will be much better, if at all.”

“I had hoped he would let us off easy, but I don’t think that will happen. He wants to make up for what Hatch did to him, only Hatch is no longer here.” It was a thought he had had before, and nothing had happened to change his opinion.

There was no arguing with that logic. In fact, Legolas fully agreed with it. “We have to find a way out of here, Estel. I killed Hatch to save our lives. I do not think that has been accomplished yet.”

The healer in Aragorn came to the forefront. “Let me take care of that shoulder before we do anything else.”

Legolas looked at Aragorn with pain-dulled eyes. The only way to keep the resulting agony from happening was to move out of the man’s reach. He didn’t have the energy. Besides, he knew his shoulder would not heal on its own. It had to be put back in place or become irreparably damaged. He had noticed that his fingers were already beginning to go numb, and that did not bode well.

Feeling bad that he would soon be causing his friend even more pain, Aragorn apologized. “I’m sorry, Legolas. This will hurt.”

The elf looked at Aragorn with the unmistakable message that it already hurt.

Aragorn shrugged somewhat sheepishly. Then with a sigh, he reached through the bars and grasped Legolas’s left arm, using both hands to gently pull it toward him.

The elf bit down on his lower lip to keep from vocalizing the pain that movement alone had caused. He knew, however, that worse was about to come. He took a deep breath and then nodded.

Aragorn maneuvered the elf’s arm and popped it into place. At least, he thought it had gone back where it belonged. He wasn’t sure, despite his experience in doing this same procedure. “Does it feel any better?”

Legolas’s eyes, which were tightly closed, snapped open. It wasn’t the question itself that surprised him but the tone with which it was asked. There was uncertainty behind the words. The elf stared at Aragorn, who was forced to explain why he had to ask that question.

“The tissue surrounding the joint is swollen. I think the bone went back into place, but I can’t be sure. It should have been done long before the swelling set in, but circumstances conspired against us. You’ve had this before, so I was hoping you could tell.” Aragorn felt totally inadequate saying that. He was the healer, after all.

Clamping his jaw down hard, Legolas tried to move his left arm. It seemed to move a little easier, but the pain made it hard to tell. “I believe it is where it should be.”

Tears almost entered the ranger’s eyes, as he said, “Try to move it straight back. I hate to ask, but if this doesn’t get done right, there could be permanent damage.”

The elf had heard that before, so he did as instructed. It took him a moment to catch his breath from the strain of fighting the flaring fire again. Finally, he said, “It is in place.”

He carefully placed his arm back against his chest. His expression all but begged Aragorn not to ask him to try moving it again.

Aragorn nodded. “Keep your arm where you have it. The less movement from now on the better.”

“How are you doing?” Legolas asked. The inquiry was made more because of his concern for the ranger’s well-being than just turning the subject away from himself.

“Better than you, I think.”

“That is not saying much, is it?”

“No,” the man had to admit. “I guess it isn’t.” It wasn’t for the first time that Aragorn thought that the two of them made quite a pair when it came to being injured at the same time. Wouldn’t Lord Elrond and the twins be in familiar territory, if he and Legolas could show up in Imladris right about now. Oh, how he wished they were on their way there.

The elf and the ranger were sitting side by side, with their shoulders touching in between the bars. The physical contact gave each of them a measure of comfort.

While Aragorn’s thoughts were of home, Legolas’s were of a more practical nature. He was studying the cages. It beat thinking about pain.

The trolls could not lock the cages with the key missing, a key that the elf had buried in the woods. Just leaving a guard to watch them didn’t seem to be a very good idea. So they had tied the doors shut with heavy ropes, wound around a number of times and then knotted several times. There was also a guard. He was facing them but didn’t seem to be paying them any attention.

The cage that Legolas now occupied was the one he and Aragorn had been in before, so it was the one that had the elf’s second knife buried in it. Ordinarily, he would have retrieved by now, but he didn’t think he could drag himself over to where the blade rested. He absolutely hated being this weak. It went against his very elven nature not to be strong and in control.

Aragorn had stopped daydreaming about Imladris and his family and had started watching Legolas. When he saw the elf clench his fist, he also saw the tension in the elf’s whole body and knew not only his frustration but the reason for it. “You will heal soon enough,” the man said.

“We have to get out of here, and I cannot even reach my knife,” the elf said unhappily.

“We will both do whatever is needed, mellon nin.” He smiled at the archer. “Those trolls have secured the doors with ropes. It should be easy enough to cut through them.”

Despite how he felt, Legolas smiled back at the ranger. “I know we will, Estel.” His tone was pure stubbornness. “I know we will.”

Legolas reached over with his good hand and grasped Aragorn’s arm. The ranger in turn put his hand over the elf’s. It was at moments like these that the true friendship the two enjoyed was expressed, and it didn’t need words to accomplish it.

*~*~*~*

In Hatch’s hut, Pickett sat on the bed his former leader used. He looked around him. He had spent his entire life in this camp but had never set foot in this house before. He wondered how many others could say that.

“This is mine now,” he said aloud. “All mine.”
He liked hearing his own voice say that.

Pickett had lived in another hut shared by two other trolls. He had slept on dried grass like this he sat on now, but it had not been on a frame. The grass had just been piled up on the floor in a back corner.

This place was also neater than his other hut had been, though only a troll could make that distinction. Pickett grinned. This was one of the rewards to being leader, a nicer place he didn’t have to share with anyone else.

The doorway suddenly darkened, and Pickett looked up to see Tack standing right outside. “What you want?” the new leader growled.

“You wanna eat out here with us or in here?” the other troll asked somewhat timidly. He hadn’t forgotten what had taken place when Pickett had seized control. In fact, even asking the question was Tack’s attempt to get on Pickett’s good side.

Pickett thought about telling Tack to bring him his food but thought better of it. He decided it would be better to sit among all the others and show off his new-found superiority.

He didn’t answer Tack. He simply got up and walked out of the hut, noting that the other troll moved out of his way. Pickett had seen others do it to Hatch. He had certainly done it. Now they would do it to him. He was definitely going to like being leader.

As Pickett approached the fire, he looked past the gathered group, who were waiting for him before beginning their meal.

His gaze fell on the cages, and he was glad to see that both captives were there, as was the guard he had appointed to watch them.

Walking up to the cages he looked at the two brothers. “You two are gonna die tonight. First we’re gonna have fun.”

If he was hoping to see fear on the faces of Legolas and Aragorn, he was disappointed. Neither captive showed any emotion. However, if he had been aware of the knots that the two had in their stomachs, he would have been pleased.

Pickett turned and left the two beings to think about their impending torture and death.

TBC