Well, since I made everyone wait three weeks for the last chapter, I figured the least I could do was get this one out a week early.  What do you think?  Good plan?  *G*

Chapter 11

           Somewhere in the distance there was a thumping sound, slowly growing louder.  It was beginning to annoy him because it cut through the darkness, drawing him back to painful reality.  It took Aragorn several minutes to realize the thumping was his own heart pounding in his chest and echoing in his ears.

            Everything was confusing him.  Parts of his face were cold and resting against stone while his nose and mouth were very warm and curiously sticky.  Aragorn argued with himself about whether to move or not.  The front of his face was throbbing and any movement would only increase it.  His chest and ribs ached -- from what, he could not remember. 

            Finally, reason won out, and the Ranger slowly opened his eyes.  He was lying face down on the floor, and from that vantage point, he could clearly see the body of Milena, still resting as if in sleep along the wall next to him.  He closed his eyes as the memories, emotions, and pain came rushing back.

            After a few moments, Aragorn forced his mind to continue on.  Nothing would bring her back, and there were other things that still required his attention.

It was extremely dark and shadows covered most of the room.  Aragorn had to resist the urge to make any other movement as his senses strained to catch any sign that he was not alone in the cell.  Everything was still muddled in his mind, and it was taking him longer then expected to focus.  But everything was quiet and still.  He was alone.

            After a few minutes, Aragorn swallowed hard and slowly pulled one of his arms out from under him, which helped to relieve some of the pressure on his sore chest.  There was a strange taste in his mouth and something coated the back of his throat.  He coughed softly a few times before willing himself to raise his head.

            As Aragorn lifted his face, he felt the stickiness of his own blood that had pooled on the floor from his injured nose.  He rolled over onto his back and groaned.  His face was caked with dry blood, and he prayed they had not broken anything.  He gingerly felt the area around his nose and was relieved to find that it was slightly swollen and very tender but not broken.  Glancing down, Aragorn could see that the Orcs had not been gentle during his recapture for there were numerous new scratches and bruises forming on his chest.

            Rayford was nowhere to be seen which Aragorn took to be a very good sign.  Perhaps the young man had been able to avoid the Orc patrols and Saruman’s magical traps.  Perhaps…

            Aragorn allowed his arm to fall from his face and land above his head.  All he wanted to do was rest, to sleep.  His problems disappeared when he slept, or at the very least, they became distant.  He didn’t have to worry about who was about to torment and abuse him.  He was not in pain, and no one around him was suffering because of him.  There, everything was peaceful. 

            Even with his eyes closed, though, Aragorn could not sleep.  His mind was racing with thoughts.  Would Rayford be able to escape?  Could he trust him to find help?  What evil did the Enemy have planned for him?  What would happen to those around him if he agreed to join with Mordor?  Aragorn lay there for some time.  With one hand, he gently massaged his thigh.  His earlier chase had caused the older wound to become aggravated, and it was beginning to throb again. 

            There was a new sound that was slowly growing louder.  Doors were being opened somewhere in the distance, and many feet were thundering toward him.  Great, Aragorn thought.  This was the last thing he wanted to deal with.  Couldn’t they just give him time alone?  What was the rush?  He wasn’t going anywhere.

            Aragorn didn’t move as the door to his cell was pushed open.  Maybe if they thought he was still unconscious, they would go away.  He could feel the vibrations in the floor as several pairs of feet moved to his side.  His eyes were closed so he didn’t know if they were Orc or human.  Someone knelt by his head, and the Ranger kept very still as he felt a gloved hand gently touch his face.  It was difficult to keep his breathing slow and even, but he knew his health and life depended on it.

            He forced his body to relax as the hand tilted his head to the side.  Aragorn prayed that they would believe him still sleeping and go away.  His body and mind needed time to process all that had happened to him over the past few days.

            When the hand suddenly gripped his injured nose, Aragorn could not completely stifle his cry of pain and surprise.  His eyes shot open and focused on the cruel smile of Felnorvard who was leaning over him.

            “What’s the matter, Ranger?” Felnorvard growled softly, leaning closer to his captive’s face.  “A little sore from your failed escape attempt?”  With a malicious laugh, he seized the man’s nose again before rising to his feet.  However, Aragorn had been ready for the second abuse and barely flinched.

            There were four Orcs standing along the wall next to the door, and it surprised Aragorn that they did not come for him.  They simply stood there as Felnorvard paced back and forth in front of him.  Aragorn pulled himself into a sitting position and waited.  The more time they gave him, the better.  But the Ranger’s heart sank as Felnorvard took a mug from one of the Orcs. 

            The man drew a short dagger from his belt and crossed back to the Ranger’s position on the floor.  Aragorn did not move as Felnorvard knelt in front of him, staring into his eyes.  “How difficult do you want to make it this time?” the man asked as he brought his dagger to rest at the base of Aragorn’s throat.

            Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and with a deep sigh, parted his lips.  He had no desire to fight this man again against something so trivial.  The way his luck was going, he needed no extra troubles.  Besides, he thought as Felnorvard poured the liquid into his mouth.  This drug is having no effect on me.

            Felnorvard was smiling broadly as he finished emptying the fluid and said, “There!  That’s how it should be.  Much easier this way, don’t you think?”  With a slight chuckle, the man patted the Ranger on the cheek before rising to his feet.

            Aragorn swallowed hard, trying to get the taste of the liquid out of his mouth.  It was different this time; he could taste more of the odd drug in the water.

            The sound of footsteps drew Aragorn’s attention back to the doorway in time to see Saruman enter.  The older wizard was not smiling, and his expression seemed extremely solemn.  “Your actions had serious consequences, Aragorn, some that I don’t think you fully comprehend,” the wizard said.  As he completely entered the room, Aragorn could see two Orcs dragging a large object behind them. 

            Aragorn tried to keep his face completely expressionless and focused on Saruman as the Orcs dropped their burden at his feet.  But he could not help seeing.  It was the barely recognizable body of a man.

            “Your friend put up quite a struggle, but in the end, my Orcs were able to have their fun.  I’m afraid this is all they left of the foolish boy.”

            Aragorn looked down at the body, and the sight made his stomach jump into his throat.  Before him was the beaten and headless body of Rayford. 

            Aragorn pictured, in his mind, the battle that must have taken place.  He must have gotten lost by Aragorn’s extremely poor directions and overtaken by the Orcs.  He imagined Rayford turning to fight and refusing to surrender.  The Ranger pictured an Orc approaching the young man from behind and raise his sword for the kill.  He didn’t deserve that fate, no one did.  Had they just left his head lying among the trees, left for the animals? 

            He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out the images.  He didn’t care if the others saw him.  His emotions needed to be controlled.

            Aragorn couldn’t understand why they had brought the body back into the tower.  He didn’t have to see it to believe.  From the beginning, there had been little hope that Rayford would make it to safety.  He could look at the body no longer and forced himself to glare up at Saruman instead. 

            The wizard seemed very satisfied with the reaction Aragorn gave him.  “Let us see what progress you’ve made,” he said aloud to himself as the Ranger was pulled to his feet.  The Orc’s hands were still covered in Rayford’s blood and left deep red smears where they held him.

            Saruman raised his hand and placed his palm on the man’s forehead.  Aragorn tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go; he was held too tightly.  He realized that he was actually afraid of what the wizard would do.  No, he thought quickly.  If he wanted me dead, I would be.  There is no reason to be fearful of him.  I should not be afraid.

            Aragorn struggled to suppress the feelings of fear and doubt that were beginning to overwhelm him.  What was happening to his mind, to his control?

            Saruman’s hand began to glow a pale yellow where he was touching the Ranger’s face.  For a moment, Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated his mind on the wizard.  He didn’t know what it would accomplish, but something inside him ordered it.

            As the wizard’s hand began to press harder against him, Aragorn opened his eyes only to see a scowl forming on the wizard’s face.  At this, Aragorn began to struggle again.  He had no desire to find out what was causing Saruman to grow angry.

            Suddenly, as if by some unseen force, Saruman’s hand shot back from the Ranger’s head.  Aragorn watched silently, trying to figure out what had happened as the wizard stormed back to Felnorvard’s position on the far wall.  Although the Ranger could not hear the entire conversation between the two, he was able to pick up most of it.

            “My lord?” Felnorvard asked, noting the frustration creeping into the wizard’s expression.

            “He is no longer progressing in his treatments,” Saruman said angrily.  “By this point in the doses, his mind should be completely ready to accept anything I suggest.  Any more drug would kill him, and I am not ready for that yet.”

            “Perhaps he merely needs more time for it to completely enter his system,” the man offered. 

            “Yes, perhaps,” the wizard said as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth in thought.  He stared into nothingness as he considered all his options.  He did not want to give up his prisoner, but if the Ranger would not cooperate, he’d have no choice.  “I will wait until sunrise tomorrow.  You, Felnorvard, will gather a company of Orcs to be ready to leave at that time.  If Aragorn is not ready by then, you will depart with him for Mordor.  He will make a wonderful gift to the Dark Lord.”

            Felnorvard hesitated slightly at Sauron’s title but quickly replied, “Yes, Master.  As you command.” He turned and briskly exited the cell.

            Aragorn had seated himself back on the floor during his captor’s discussion with his head bowed.  Over the years, he had learned that if people thought you weren’t listening in on their conversation, they were more likely to continue talking.  Now that everything was quiet, however, he found his mood was much too sorrowful and distressed to raise his head.  Even as Saruman stood before him, the Ranger did not move.

            “I have enjoyed our little time together, Aragorn,” the wizard said, his voice showering a feeling of superiority.  “But I am afraid that nothing can last forever.  I’m sure you will be more cooperative for the Dark Lord.”

            Saruman then left Aragorn alone with his thoughts.

----------

            Aragorn had no way of knowing how long he’d been sitting there, but the aches in his muscles told him it had been a while.  Everything was becoming a blur in his mind. The past several days had blended together to the point where he no longer knew or cared what had happened and when.  He kept his eyes tightly shut and his head down.  He did not want to see the bodies that occupied the room with him.  They were a constant reminder of his failure. 

            There was no sound in the room except for his own shallow breathing and the pounding of his heart.  Sometimes an insect would fly by his ear, but he would pay it no heed.   He could not stop thinking about the next day.  They were going to take him to Mordor.  Aragorn searched his brain for any positive outcome of this new turn of events but could find none.  Alone and without a weapon, he could not overcome and escape from an entire troupe of Orcs.  It was a death sentence to him for sure, but it was also a disaster for Middle-Earth.  The Elves continually told him his heritage must remain a secret at all cost.  The consequences were unimaginable.

            “Strider.”

            Aragorn’s head shot up, and he quickly scanned the empty room.  Someone had softly called his name, but no one could be seen.

            Thinking that perhaps he had imagined it, he lowered his head to rest in his arms once again.  The cell was quiet, although Aragorn remained alert.  Could this be another one of Saruman’s tricks?  As he sat there, Aragorn got the feeling that someone was watching him.  Having not heard anyone come in, he knew it was impossible.  Yet, he slowly raised his head.

            He gasped.  Sitting against the far right wall of the room, he could see the faint outline of Milena.  Aragorn jerked his head to the left at where her body was supposed to be.  Sure enough, her corpse was still lying where it had been placed.  A shudder coursed its way through his entire body.  He looked back and saw her sitting very still, just staring at him.

            Aragorn wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.  She was obviously a spirit of some kind.  He had heard of such things happening before, usually the result of some foul craft.  He wouldn’t put it past Saruman to pull this poor girl’s spirit from where ever its final resting place was.

            Aragorn could not speculate longer because a new figure was beginning to take shape.  He swallowed hard as he recognized Rayford.  Would they speak or merely sit there and haunt him?

            This question was answered when the young man’s spirit spoke.  “Strider, I thought you would keep me safe?” 

            The simplicity and bluntness of his statement caused the Ranger’s heart to break.  “Forgive me, my friend,” he said, fighting once again his rising emotions.  What else was there to say? 

            “I trusted you; we both did,” Rayford said, motioning to his cousin.

            “If I could have done it any other way, I would have!  I know it’s my fault you both lost your lives.”  He tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.  “I should not have involved you.”

            “You used us,” Milena’s spirit said softly.  She was still staring intently at the Ranger.

            The two spirits said nothing more after that, but Aragorn continued to talk.  He noticed that at some point, a child appeared in Milena’s arms.  He had asked if it was her dead child, and she only nodded. 

            He repeatedly asked for their forgiveness but would get no response.  They would only sit very sill and quiet, watching him and listening.  So he just talked.  He spoke of everything to them, his childhood, his years as a Ranger, and the future he hoped to have.

            Aragorn’s one way conversation exhausted his remaining strength until he could no longer keep his eyes open.  His head sank to his chest as much needed sleep finally over took him.

----------

            Aragorn awoke to the sound of metal grinding against metal.  He had slept until dawn, and now they were coming for him.  He quickly looked around his cell and found that the spirits had gone.  All that was left were their lifeless bodies.

            He quickly closed his eyes and turned away.  The events of the previous evening had emotionally drained him.  He felt defeated, though he refused to show it to the Enemy.  He would have to gather his strength, no matter what.

            He didn’t even look up as the Orcs entered and pulled him to his feet.  He was still sore from his rough treatment over the past several days, and he was unable to suppress a soft groan.  It did not surprise him when they pushed him into the corridor and down the long staircase at the end of the hall.  They were going to deliver him to the Dark Lord, and there was nothing Aragorn could do to stop them.

            They continued twisting along their path for several minutes until they reached the front entrance of Isengard.  Saruman was there waiting, along with Felnorvard and a dozen Orcs.

            Aragorn did not even struggle as the wizard approached and once again placed his palm on the man’s forehead.  Saruman stared deeply into the Ranger’s eyes but did not like what he saw.

            “It is not to be,” he said, finally lowering his hand.  “It would appear, Aragorn, that your stay here is at an end.”  Saruman motioned his hand, and Felnorvard stepped forward, holding a length of rope and some cloth.

            “We wouldn’t want you trying to escape again,” Felnorvard growled into the Ranger’s ear as he pulled the man’s arms behind his back. 

            Using the rope, he firmly secured Aragorn’s hands.  The Ranger winced in pain as the rope bit into his skin and threatened to cut off the circulation, but he did not struggle. 

            With a deep sigh, Aragorn also allowed Felnorvard to cover his eyes with the cloth.  This will make it extremely difficult to escape, he thought as the other man gave the ends one last tug to make sure it was secure. 

            While his predicament had always been serious, Aragorn now had to be concerned about how his capture would effect the rest of Middle-Earth.  There was a huge difference between being the prisoner of Saruman and being a prisoner of the Dark Lord Sauron.

            Every reasonable opportunity to escape would have to be taken, and the only plus was the long distance they’d travel.  Weeks on the road would hopefully provide numerous opportunities.  But the blindfold would prove a problem.  Just like it had been on his journey to Isengard, it was going to be difficult without his vision.

            “I would like to see you escape from us now, Ranger.  This time, we are under no orders to accommodate you,” Felnorvard whispered before allowing the Orcs to move in.

            Although Aragorn could no longer see, he could feel Saruman approach.  “It is a shame that we could not become allies, Aragorn, because together, with the Dark Lord, we would go undefeated.”

            “Joining with you was never an option for me,” Aragorn replied softly. 

            “So be it.”

            Aragorn felt himself being lifted by his bound arms and positioned between two large Orcs.  The group started down the road to Mordor to deliver Aragorn to the Dark Lord himself.

TBC