Thanks to Brenda G. and Elvenesse for reviewing!  Look for more author's notes at the end of this chapter!

Chapter 4

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.

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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.

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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.

TBC...

Notes:  Well, now we know who the "master" is.  This is a good point to give everyone a little bit more of an explanation since I didn't want to ruin the first few chapters. 

Technically, this story is slightly AU.  From what I understand, Saruman did not know of Aragorn's ancestry, but I guess I always found it a little hard to believe Gandalf didn't ever talk about him.  But anyway, I've talked to a few people who say that Saruman would have revealed him to those in Mordor.  That may be so, but for my story, and for any sequels I decide to do, Saruman either doesn't think Aragorn's important enough or wants to keep the knowledge to himself.  It just seems like something that wizard would do.  So, I just wanted to give everyone a little heads up on what I was thinking.

And on another note, like I said in chapter 1, this story is completed, but I'm currently re-editing everything before I post.  Right now, out of 17 chapters, I'm just finishing chapter 10.  So, you can expect regular updates (usually every Saturday or Sunday) until I catch up with myself.  But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.