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Chapter 5

            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.

TBC...