Thanks Ithilien!

Chapter 16      Torment in Small Doses

“I do not understand.  Why Dar?  Why have they taken my son?”

Aragorn let out a silent sigh, wishing with all his being that he had an answer for the distraught man sitting before him.  This was at least the third time Kenson had asked the question.  The man was obviously in shock, something which Aragorn could understand completely. 

“I do not know, Kenson,” he answered gently, laying his hand down on the man’s shoulder where he sat in the large chair between he and Faramir. “Yet I promise you we are doing everything we can to find out.  Dar and Legolas will be found.”  Aragorn grimaced, wishing he could have made his voice sound a little more confident.

“Whoever has taken them, has taken them for a reason,” Faramir continued, also placing a hand on Kenson’s shoulder.  “That reason will eventually be made known to us.  We need only be prepared and…”  Whatever Faramir was going to say was lost as the doors to the Great Hall suddenly swung open.

Aragorn looked up with a small frown.  Shortly after Kenson had arrived he had informed the guards that he did not wish to be disturbed, and he knew that they would not disobey him without just cause.  His heart told him that trouble was now entering his Hall, and his eyes immediately searched out the source of that trouble.  The two guards, a short, wiry man, Eowyn, and finally Gimli all filed into the Hall.  Aragorn groaned softly when he saw the last of these, for the look on Gimli’s face justified all his fears.  The dwarf looked as if he was about to do battle, and Aragorn had no doubt who his intended target would be.  He had been expecting another confrontation with the dwarf, yet he inwardly flinched at the timing.  An argument with Gimli was all he needed to make a bad day worse. A lot worse. 

“My Lord Aragorn.”

Eowyn’s voice jerked Aragorn from his private musings, and he turned to face her while still watching Gimli from the corner of his eye.  He had to admit that the dwarf did seem to be doing much better, with no sign of falter in his short steps.  Perhaps he would….

“I apologize for disturbing you,” Eowyn continued, giving a small bow, “Yet there is a matter which I believe needs your attention.”

‘Blasted dwarf couldn’t even wait until morning’ Aragorn thought crossly,  returning Eowyn’s bow with a short nod of his head.  “No apologies needed,” he answered softly, “Yet perhaps if the matter is one that can wait until morning…”

“He says he know where Legolas is, Aragorn!”  Gimli erupted, striding further into the room, his hand gripping the air next to his belt where the haft of his axe would normally rest.

Aragorn turned to Gimli with a small start.  He had known the dwarf would interrupt, and yet his tired mind was having a hard time computing exactly what Gimli had just said.

“What?” he asked dumbly.  “Who…?”

“HIM!!”  Gimli exploded, striding across the room to grab the small man standing between the two guards by the elbow.  The man let out a terrified squeak, but Gimli just ignored him.

Aragorn stared at the small man, his heart thrumming wilding within his chest.  Why hadn’t he seen?  He had noticed the wiry man when he had first entered, but now he was mentally kicking himself for not paying closer attention.  It seemed he was far more exhausted than he had thought.  ‘If I do not seek rest soon, I will find myself doing something extremely foolish.  Arwen always said I lose some of my reasoning when tired.  For that matter, Elrond often warned me…’

His mind was wandering again, and with a jerk Aragorn forced his thoughts back to the present.  Everyone was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his next move. 

“You know where Legolas is?” he demanded of the small man, moving forward slowly, his mind coming into sharp focus.

“That is what I just said!” Gimli muttered in exasperation, but Aragorn merely ignored him, intent on the man in the dwarf’s tight grip.

“If this is true, then I suggest you speak now, and speak truthfully,” he warned softly, coming to a halt directly in front of the man.

The small man looked nervous, his gaze flying between Aragorn and Gimli, his expression switching between smugness and terror.  “It is indeed true,” the man whispered in a high pitched voice.  “I am a messenger sent from the man who has taken your companions.”

“And what is your message,” Aragorn demanded coldly, leveling the man with a glare that had him struggling to back away.  However, Gimli and the two guards were quick to prevent that.  “Where is Legolas and Dar.  Speak quickly before I loose all patience with you and allow Gimli to beat the information from your lips.  He would be more than willing, I assure you.”  Gimli grunted and took a step closer, causing all color to drain from the small man’s face.

“Khand!  They have been taken to Khand,” he cried, attempting to twist away from Gimli’s hold on him.

Aragorn took a small step back at this information, turning slightly to look over his shoulder at Faramir.  The Steward merely frowned, shaking his head wordlessly.

“Khand,” Aragorn whispered, more to himself than to anyone in the room.  It was the last place in the world he had been expecting, and the name filled him with a sick feeling.  Khand was hardly in the best of terms with Gondor at the moment.  He turned back to the small man, the intensity in his gaze enough to cause even Gimli to take a reflexive step back.

“Why?” he asked simply.

The little man gave a small shrug. “I do not know why they was taken, only that those were our orders.

“Where?” Aragorn demanded harshly, not caring that the small man looked about ready to collapse.  “Where in Khand are they being taken, and who gave the orders for their capture?”

Despite his terror, the little man managed to straighten, his face taking on a resolute expression.  “I cannot tell you where!” he stated, his voice firm.  “For if I did, I have no doubt I would be dead or clapped in irons within the blink of an eye.  Instead, I will take you there!”

“Take us there?” Aragorn repeated softly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

The small man did not back down.  “Yes!  I will lead you to your friends as long as you swear to let me free once I have.”

“It is a trap,” Faramir said softly, speaking up for the first time as he approached the small group.  “This man was sent to lure you into a trap, Aragorn.  We must be wary.”

Aragorn nodded, never taking his eyes off the small man.  “It does indeed sound like a trap,” he said quietly.  “A trap I do not quite understand, yet those are the most dangerous.  What makes you think that we would fall for this ruse,” he asked the little man quietly.  “What makes you think we would follow you into Khand?”

Gimli stirred and appeared about to speak, but a quick look from Aragorn silenced him.

The small man did not answer right away, but when he finally lifted his eyes to meet Aragorn’s, there was an unholy light glittering in their depths.  “Because,” he answered simply, “If you do not, they will both die!”

*****

Blood.  It was everywhere.  Both his own blood, and the blood of the men he had killed.  It splattered the front of his tunic and stained his tightly bound hands, turning them a deep crimson color.  It trickled down the side of his face from a small cut above his left eye, and seeped heavily from around the shaft of the arrow still embedded in his leg.  Its sharp smell permeated the air, tainting the cool evening breeze and filling the nostrils of all those around with its foul odor.  It was the smell of death, and it was making him sick!

Legolas clenched his jaw firmly and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other despite the burning pain racing up and down his injured leg.  He had not realized exactly how far from the camp he and Dar had managed to get, and now found himself wondering if he would be able to make it back.  He was beginning to feel extremely lightheaded, and the ground in front of him was starting to blur and tilt dizzyingly.  He knew that it was due to loss of blood that he was feeling so weak, yet he had no way of stemming the heavy flow down his left leg.  Walking was certainly not helping the injury any, and yet he was hardly being given a choice.  It was either walk, or be dragged.

A hidden root snagged at his boot, causing him to stumble forward and land awkwardly on his knees.  An explosion of pain shot up his injured leg at the sharp impact, and for a horrible moment he thought he might black out.  Dark shadows clouded his vision, and he found himself gasping desperately for air. 

“Keep moving!”  The order came from one of the men walking directly behind him and was accompanied by a sharp blow to the side of his head.

Gritting his teeth in an attempt to fight off the pain, Legolas struggled to regain his feet and keep moving all the while his leg was insisting that he remain precisely where he was.

“Get up, elf!” The gruff voice came again, once more accompanied by a stinging slap.  Legolas had nearly managed to pull himself to a standing position, but the blow almost sent him sprawling once more.

“You are a fool if you believe striking me is going to get me on my feet faster,” Legolas ground out through clenched teeth, attempting to find his balance on ground that simply did not seem to want to remain still.

His comment earned him a third blow, this one directly between his shoulder blades, hitting the still healing bruise from his incident four days earlier.  All hope of finding his balance gone, Legolas toppled forward, unable to stop a small cry of pain as his wounded leg slammed into the ground, the shaft of the arrow snapping cleanly in two, its head burrowing even deeper into his thigh.  Rough hands reached down and grabbed his elbows, and the next thing he knew he was being dragged the rest of the way back to the camp.

‘Wonderful work, Legolas,’ he silently berated himself.  ‘Your pride may now be sated, but your dignity has flown with the wind!’

It was a relief when they finally reached the camp and he was allowed to slump down to the ground once more.  A thousand stars danced in front of his vision, and it felt as if his leg had been set on fire.  The smell of blood was growing stronger with each passing minute, and his lightheadedness had long since progressed into a drowsy weakness that stole over his entire frame, making even the slightest movement a difficult chore.  He barely noticed when the men rebound his feet, then moved off a few paces to warily stand guard.

Legolas let his head slump to the ground, allowing his eyes to slowly drift shut in the hopes of stilling the wild pounding at his temples.  Everything had happened so fast, and his mind was still attempting to catch up with all the recent events.   The mad dash for escape, the fight with Tervanis’ men, his recapture—all were beginning to blur together hazily in his mind.  Only one thought remained clear.  Dar.  Whatever the cost might be to himself, Legolas considered it well worth it if Dar managed to escape. 

Legolas heard the sound of approaching horses and knew that Tervanis had returned to the camp.  He did not bother opening his eyes, yet from the sounds that reached him it was obvious that the men were walking while using the horses to carry the bodies of those he had slain.

“What do you want us to do with Mastano and Kalen?” one of the men asked Tervanis, his voice drifting over from where the two dead men lay.

“Load them onto the horses with the others,” Tervanis replied shortly.  “We will take them down to the river and dispose of them in the morning.”

No sooner had this command been given then Legolas heard the quite steps of someone approaching the spot where he lay.  Forcing his eyes open he rolled awkwardly to his back and watched as Tervanis moved over to him, crouching down a few feet away.  He waited expectantly for the man to say something, but Tervanis merely watched him silently, his expression unreadable.

‘Two can play at this game,’  Legolas thought grimly, meeting the man’s gaze squarely and refusing to show any hint of the weakness he was currently experiencing.

When Tervanis at last spoke, it was not to Legolas but to the two men standing guard behind him.  “Go and fetch me two flasks of water and some clean strips of cloth from my saddle bag,” he ordered quietly. 

The two men nodded and quickly hurried off to do as they had been instructed.  Tervanis turned his attention back to Legolas.  “I am going to remove the arrow now.  Do you intend to fight me?” he asked calmly.

Legolas regarded him for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“A wise choice,” Tervanis said smoothly, looking up as the two guards returned with the requested items.  “Hold him down,” he ordered the men as he moved forward to kneel next to Legolas.  One man moved to Legolas’ shoulders, while the other took a firm hold of his legs. 

Legolas lay quiet within their grasp, staring up at the darkening sky.  He felt Tervanis take hold of the shaft of the arrow where it protruded just above his left knee, and it was all he could do to force himself to remain perfectly still and relaxed.  Even knowing what was coming, he could not keep his body from jerking violently against the grips of the men holding him as Tervanis swiftly and deftly yanked the arrow free.  A fierce wave of pain shot up his leg, and though Legolas managed to choke back a cry of pain, he could not hold in the deep moan that tore from him.  He was floating somewhere on the brink of unconsciousness as Tervanis swiftly cleaned and bound the deep wound.  A moment later a flask of water was pressed against his lips, and he opened his mouth and drank the liquid greedily.

Several long minutes passed as Legolas fought against the pain, his eyes tightly clenched shut, his hands balled into tight fist where they lay bound behind him.  The world seemed to be spinning crazily, and it wasn’t until he had taken a second long drink from the offered flask that his heart stopped pounding wildly and his vision began to clear.  He opened his eyes to find Tervanis still kneeling beside him, a strange expression on his dark face.

Legolas studied him carefully, a slight feeling of unease beginning to sweep through him.  He had expected Tervanis to be angry with him, furious at his attempted escape.  Indeed, Tervanis had certainly been angry with him before.  Now, however, if Tervanis was angry, he was doing an admirable job hiding it.  Instead, his look was one of…interest, something which caused the skin on the back of Legolas’ neck to crawl.  The only interest Tervanis had ever shown him before was that of a captor making sure his captive was well secured. 

“Do all elves fight as you do?”

Legolas blinked, unable to hide his surprise as he turned to face the assassin.  The question was the last one he would have expected, and it took him completely off guard.  He stared at the man without answering, unsure which it was—his ears or his mind—playing tricks on him.  He finally decided it was his mind, for at the moment he was imagining that Tervanis was looking at him with an expression very much akin to respect on his face. 

Legolas still felt slightly dazed and confused, and the pain from his leg was making it hard for him to focus.   At last he decided to answer Tervanis’ question with a question of his own.  “Where are you taking me and why?” he choked out, hating the weakness he heard in his voice.

Tervanis cocked his head to one side, and Legolas felt sure that he was going to at last see some of the anger he knew must be simmering inside the assassin.  Instead, to his surprise, Tervanis answered him.

“I am taking you to Norvil, in Khand.   The reason?  Because that is what I am being paid to do.  Paid quite handsomely.”

Legolas stared at the assassin, still shocked that the man had bothered answering him.  Tervanis’ tone had been conversational, even friendly.

“Who is it that is paying you, and what does he want of me?”  If Tervanis wanted to chat, Legolas was more than willing to oblige.  He would learn all he could from the man, and then hope to find a way to use the information to his benefit.

Tervanis actually laughed at the questions.  “Ahh, but I just answered two question of yours, and you have yet to answer mine.  That is hardly fair, don’t you think?”

Legolas frowned.  “What interest is it of yours to know of the fighting ability of elves?” he challenged softly.

Tervanis shrugged, lifting his palms up.  “Never before today have I seen anyone fight with such skill as you.  I was merely curious as to whether all elves fight thus, or whether you are special.”  Tervanis voice was innocent and curious.

Legolas decided that this conversation was full of too many surprises for his liking.  Whether intentional or not, Tervanis had just complimented him.  His words explained his new attitude toward Legolas, as well as his brief expression of respect earlier, however, they did nothing to relieve Legolas’ growing feelings of unease. 

“All elven warriors are taught to fight from the time they come of age,” he finally responded cautiously, attempting to make his answer as vague as possible.  “I have had more experience than some, and less than others.”

“And yet you are a prince, are you not?”  Tervanis asked slowly, his eyes distant.  “You are a lord of your own realm?  Much more care would have been given to your training.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes and said nothing, for Tervanis had not been asking a question but merely making a statement.  Several long seconds of silence followed until Tervanis at last seemed to snap back to the present, his eyes returning to Legolas and a small smile lifting his lips.

“I am taking you to a man named Servius, and truthfully, he does not want you at all, but your friend, the King of Gondor.”

This answer only caused even more questions to flood Legolas’ mind, yet before he could open his mouth, Tervanis rose to his feet and spoke first.

“You have cost me six men today, Legolas.  I warned you before not to defy me, and now you will need to be punished.” 

The switch in topic and attitude was so abrupt that Legolas found himself once more taken completely off guard.  ‘I think I liked it better when he was ignoring me,’ he thought glumly.  ‘No surprises.’

Tervanis reached into his robe and pulled out a small green vial, a cold smile contorting his face into a cruel mask.  “This is Svellon, a common drug within Khand.  It contains the juice of the Yavak weed, a plant which grows in the shadows of the Ephel Duath.  In large doses it can be lethal, yet in smaller portions it is merely…” he paused as if searching for the right word, “…unpleasant,” he at last finished, his smile growing even wider.

Legolas instinctively drew back, his jaw unconsciously clenching tightly shut.

“For this first night,” Tervanis continued, his eyes glittering, “I will only give you an extremely small dose.  You have already lost much blood and are very weak.  I would not want to accidentally kill you.  However, we still have at least four more days of travel after crossing the river Poros before we reach Norvil, and I promise you will be well acquainted with the drug before we arrive.”

Legolas jerked wildly as he suddenly felt hands closing down on him, pushing him firmly to the ground and holding him there.  He tried to struggle, but in his weakened state the men easily held him pinned securely on his back.  His leg screamed in protest, and Legolas was tempted to follow suite.  The pain had just been beginning to ease, but now it flared again, hot and angry.

“Do not struggle, Legolas,” Tervanis said softly, kneeling down by Legolas’ head and reaching out to grasp his chin tightly.  “You will only bring more pain down upon yourself.”

Legolas wasn’t listening, for Tervanis had taken the cap off the vial and its strong smell was already beginning to make him sick.  There was no way he was going to let any of that liquid be stuffed down his throat without a fight! 

Tervanis’ fingers dug forcefully into his jaw, attempting to pry his mouth open.  Legolas resolutely clenched his jaw, refusing to give in to the pain, breathing heavily through his nose while still struggling weakly against the men holding him down.

The struggle went on for several minutes with neither side willing to give in.  At last, with an exasperated curse, one of the men reached down and roughly punched Legolas wounded leg, directly over the bandage.

It was too much.  Legolas’ mouth automatically opened in a cry of pain, and before he could close it again the neck of the vial was forced inside, the horrible liquid spilling down onto his tongue.

Legolas’ entire body convulsed, for the contents of the vial tasted even fouler than it smelled.  He automatically swallowed, wanting nothing more than to rid his mouth of the horrid taste.  Yet his throat and stomach accepted the liquid no better, and he began to gag.  A flask of water was pressed to lips, and he accepted without thought, gulping down the liquid in the hopes of destroying the clinging taste within his mouth.

“You should not have struggled, Legolas,” Tervanis said smoothly, rising to tower over the shaking elf.

The fact that the assassin had used his proper name instead of the customary ‘elf,’ was completely lost to Legolas.  The men holding him down released him and rose, but he did not move, lost within his own pain.

“The drug should take affect soon,” Tervanis spoke from above him, his voice sounding distant.

“Sir!  Kiesco has just returned.”  This voice came from behind Tervanis, and Legolas fought for the energy needed to turn his head.  He had not heard the horses approaching, yet he was hardly surprised by this.  His gaze immediately flew to the large man riding at the front of the group, and his heart began to thunder wildly within his chest at the look on Kiesco’s scarred face.

“I take it you found the boy?” Tervanis asked coolly, moving away from Legolas and approaching his captain.

“We found him alright,” Kiesco chortled, the glee in his voice turning Legolas’ stomach more violently than the drug had a moment before.  “He almost reached the river,” the large man continued, obviously taking great pleasure in retelling his story, “But we managed to trap him on a ledge.  He had nowhere to go!  It was just like trapping a coney in a hollow log, eh boys!”

“He is dead then?” Tervanis asked.

“You can’t get any deader!” Kiesco responded with a laugh.  “I figure his body will reach the Bay in about three days!”

Legolas couldn’t have been more stunned if the man had kicked him in the stomach.  He stared at Kiesco with wide eyes, his breath coming in harsh gasps.  His entire body was beginning to shake violently, whether from the drug he had been given or his shock over the man’s words, he was not sure.  Nor did he particularly care.  He had been sure that Dar would escape, had not even considered the possibility that the lad would be caught.

The pain in his leg suddenly seemed small and insignificant compared to the overwhelming grief washing through him.  His shaking grew even more violent, and it suddenly felt as if a torch had been taken to every nerve ending in his body.  His muscles cramped painfully, and he rolled into a tight ball, his eyes squeezing tightly shut in agony.

“No,” he whispered brokenly.  “Oh Valar, please no!  Not Dar!”

The pain was growing in intensity, rocking his body with its force.  He bit his lip, unaware as the warm blood flowed into his mouth.  A small, gasping moan was followed by another, and then a third, each building in volume.  He felt certain that his body was about to explode, and yet even worse than the pain was the despair washing over him. 

‘I am sorry Dar!  So sorry!’

The thought was lost in a haze of pain, a dark shadow descending upon him.  With a final broken sigh, Legolas slipped with agony into the darkness.

Gradually, gratefully, he felt and knew no more.

TBC