Chapter 23    Sighs and Moans

Something was wrong with his prisoner.

Servius swore silently as he quickly made his way down the hall.  The man who had brought him the message from Tervanis scurried on before him, casting nervous glances over his shoulder.  Servius ignored him.

Garish met him at the doorway leading down to the cellar where the elf was being held.  The giant man’s face was blank and unreadable.

“Has someone sent for the Herbwoman?” Servius snapped as he approached the guard.

Garish merely nodded, then turned and silently opened the door leading down to the cellar.  Servius impatiently pushed past him and took the stairs two at a time, flinging open the door at the bottom and storming angrily into the small room.  He felt a brief flash of nervous surprise when he realized that his prisoner was no longer in the cage, but it faded quickly as he caught sight of the elven prince stretched out on the cold ground of the cellar a few paces to his left.  The elf’s eyes were closed, his face pale, but Servius could still make out the slight rise and fall of his chest in the dim light cast by two lanterns.

“What happened?” He demanded worriedly, striding over to look down upon his unconscious prisoner.  The two slashes on the elf’s cheek bones stood out harshly against his pale skin, and Servius could see the deep bruises and raw skin circling each of his wrists.  Beyond these, he could see no other obvious signs of injury.  “What is wrong with him?”

Tervanis glanced up at him from where he knelt beside the elf.  “I cannot be certain,” he said with his usual calm, “Yet I believe he is having some sort of reaction to the Svellon.  And perhaps a reaction to your cage as well,” he added carelessly.

“Explain!” Servius growled.

Tervanis shrugged.  “Svellon is designed to affect its victim for a certain period of time, depending on how much is ingested.  After this time, the drug’s affects fade, and the victim is left with no physical damage.  I have already told you that Legolas reacted strangely to Svellon.  I would give him the drug each night as we made camp, and through the majority of the following day, long after the drug should have faded, he would appear slightly ill.  Nothing as bad as now, yet perhaps since I have stopped giving him the drug—”

“You noticed him reacting badly to it before, and yet you continued to give it to him?” Servius cut him off, fuming.  He was expecting Aragorn to arrive within the city on any day, and if he lost his hostage now, it would mean years of planning wasted.  He would have to find some other way to destroy his hated enemy, and that thought did not sit well with him.

Tervanis gracefully rose to his feet.  “He had to be controlled,” he replied without emotion. 

Servius swore, then glanced down as his prisoner shifted on the cold stone floor and let out a low, pain-filled moan, his smooth features twisting in some unknown torment.

“Is there nothing else that could be causing this?” Servius asked, his gaze sweeping across the elf’s figure in a second search for injuries.  “He is more than just sick, he is in pain.”

Tervanis shook his head.  “He fell from his horse earlier on in our journey, and later, I was forced to shoot him in the leg when he attempted to escape.  Yet the injury on his back appears to have completely healed, and his leg is well on the mend with no sign of infection.  Garish was the first one to come down here since we brought him yesterday, and he says he found the elf twisting and moaning as if he were under attack.  He sent for me, and I, in turn, sent for you.  He was already unconscious when I arrived, yet when Garish and I moved him from the cage, he fought against us quite violently without ever opening his eyes.  He calmed a bit when we brought in the second lantern, but as you can see, he is still quite ill.”

Servius swore a second time, and fought back the urge to kick something in frustration.  This was out of his control, and he hated things out of his control.  At his feet, Legolas moaned again and began to thrash weakly, calling out something in a smooth, musical language Servius could not understand.  The elf’s call seemed to be one for help, the tone filled with desperation.

“What do we do now?” Servius asked grimly, more to himself than to Tervanis or Garish, who stood silently by the door.

“I suggest we move him out of here,” Tervanis replied quietly.  “I don’t think being trapped down here has helped his condition any.  He does not like darkness, of that I am certain.  We can put him in one of the upstairs rooms, and when the Herbwoman arrives, perhaps she can help him.”

Servius nodded reluctantly.  “We’ll move him upstairs,” he agreed, “Yet I want him heavily guarded at all times.”

“Of course,” Tervanis replied calmly.  “Garish, if you will carry him…”

The giant man moved forward, knelt on one knee beside the prisoner, and slid his hands beneath the elf’s shoulder and knees.  At his touch, Legolas’ thrashing increased, but Garish merely lifted the elf and firmly crushed him against his massive chest, stifling his struggles.  Rising to his feet, he followed Tervanis and Servius through a maze of doors, stairs, and hallways and at last into a sparsely furnished room with a single, tightly boarded up window.  Though the building looked small from the outside, it was actually quite large, with numerous rooms used by Servius’ guards or tradesmen.  This room was currently unoccupied, and the bed let off a light puff of dust as Garish lowered his burden down onto the blanket.

“Garish, return downstairs and when the Herbwoman arrives, bring her to this room immediately,” Servius ordered.  “And bring some rope with you when you return.  I want the elf bound to the bed.”

The giant man nodded,  then turned and silently left the room.

“We should try to get some water into him,” Tervanis observed, “And perhaps some food as well if he wakes.  It has been nearly two days since he has had either.”

“The Herbwoman can see to it when she arrives,” Servius said dismissively, striding over to the window and peering through a small crack in the boards.  Of course, there was nothing to see but a narrow stretch of dark alleyway, and he impatiently turned back to the room.  Tervanis was standing over the bed, looking down at the elf with the same strange expression Servius had seen earlier.

“I hope he survives,” Tervanis whispered softly, his voice so quiet Servius had to strain to hear him.  “There is much I would learn of this elf and his people.”

Servius frowned, feeling somewhat disturbed by the assassin’s actions, and uncertain exactly why.  “He had better survive,” he snapped angrily, “Or I might have to send you to finish off the King of Gondor.”

Tervanis shrugged.  “That shouldn’t be too difficult,” he said lightly, at last moving away from the bed and it’s occupant.  Legolas was still moaning and shifting, but his movements were weak and sluggish, and Servius had no fear he would roll from the bed.

“Perhaps it would be more difficult than you think,” Servius replied tightly.

Tervanis glanced at him and arched an eyebrow.  “Oh?  As I recall, it wasn’t that long ago that Legolas told you that.  You didn’t seem to believe him then, have you now changed your mind?”

Servius was unsure how to reply to this, but he was saved from having to do so by the arrival of Garish and the Herbwoman, an older lady who smelled heavily of sage and other plants.  She appeared cautious and slightly nervous at being within the presence of one of the Guildmasters, and Servius gratefully turned his attention toward her.

“He is very ill,” he said smoothly, forcing his voice calm as he motioned toward Legolas.  Garish was already at the elf’s side, steadily binding the prisoner’s wrists and ankles to the posts of the bed.  “I don’t care what you must do, but I want him better within the next few days!  I will return to check on you shortly.”

Without a single glance at Tervanis, he turned and swiftly strode from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

****

Dar shifted in his sleep and let out a soft sigh, his head moving slightly on the pillow. 

Kenson gripped his son’s hand tightly, murmuring softly to him as Aragorn finished his final examination and readjusted the blankets around the lad’s slim form.  Kenson looked apprehensive, but relaxed when Aragorn smiled at him and nodded reassuringly.

“He will be fine, my friend,” Aragorn said quietly, softly laying his palm against Dar’s forehead.  “The herbs are already at work, and his fever is greatly reduced.”

Kenson let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders visible relaxing, and Aragorn could not hold back a small smile. Kenson had been assured several times within the last few hours that his son would live, yet his reaction each time was the same. At the slightest moan or sigh from the bed, the man would stiffen like a taut bowstring, and Aragorn would have to convince him once again that all would be well.

Aragorn glanced down at the figure on the bed and let out his own soft sigh.  He had hoped he would be able to speak with Dar before departing, yet now realized it would not be possible.  Dar showed no sign of waking on his own, and even if Aragorn should attempt to rouse him, it was unlikely the lad would be coherent enough to answer any questions.  At the moment, Dar needed rest above all else, and time to heal his wounds.

Unfortunately, time was not a commodity Aragorn had in abundance. It was nearing the noon hour, the snow had abated to small flurries long before, and it was past time for them to depart.

As if to punctuate the thought, a soft knock sounded on the door, and Gimli stuck his head inside the room.  “Aragorn, the men are all prepared.  We can be on our way as soon as you are ready.”  It was obvious the dwarf was more than anxious to resume their journey.

Aragorn nodded.  “Thank you, Gimli.  I will be down in a moment.”

Gimli nodded, then pulled his head out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“It seems it is time to say farewell,” Aragorn said to Kenson.

Kenson rose from his seat, a strangely intent expression on his face.  “You said my son would be fine?” he asked, then quickly waved his hand in the air before Aragorn could answer.  “Of course you did, and I shall not make you repeat yourself.”

Aragorn smiled at him, but Kenson seemed too caught up in some internal struggle to notice.  He kept glancing between Aragorn and the bed, a torn expression on his face.

“Both Del and her daughter know what is needed for his care, and if anything unexpected should happen, they are more than capable of handling it,” Aragorn said firmly, thinking that Kenson was in need of more reassurance.

Kenson nodded slowly, then turned his gaze to meet Aragorn’s, obviously coming to some sort of difficult decision.  “In that case, my lord, Dar does not need me here,” he paused, his face twisting in pain before he careful forced his expression blank.  “At the beginning of this journey, I vowed to accompany you to the end and aid you in whatever way I was able.  I will continue on with you and Gimli.”

Aragorn looked at the determined set of Kenson jaw and the way he refused to even look toward the bed, as if afraid the sight of his son might lesson his resolve.  The King smiled.  “I thank you my friend, but I am afraid you are wrong.  You claim that Dar does not need you, and yet he does.  He will eventually wake, and having a familiar face will be of comfort to him.  Having you by his side will speed his recovery.”

Kenson looked relieved, though he struggled to hide it.  “But what of you?” he asked quietly.

Aragorn shook his head.  “Worry not for me.  I will have Gimli by my side, and Jeralk and the rest of the company near.  All will be well.  And now it is time I must depart before Gimli grows impatient and leaves without me.”

Kenson gave Aragorn a weak smile, then moved around the bed to clasp his arm tightly in farewell.  “I pray your journey is successful,” he said softly, gripping Aragorn’s arm tightly.

Aragorn nodded, “As do I my friend.  Fare thee well, and Valar willing, I will return soon with Legolas by my side.”

Kenson released him, and Aragorn turned and quietly left the room.

He found Del and her children gathered downstairs, Del attempting to pry a protesting Elsi from around Gimli’s neck.  Gimli looked somewhat ill at ease by the girl’s clinging, and his face showed a mixture of embarrassment and relief as he spotted Aragorn coming down the hall towards them.  Del appeared a bit relieved as well as she finally managed to pry Elsi loose.  Despite her friendly hospitality, Aragorn suspected the woman would feel contented to have her household return to a normal state of chaos once they were gone.

They thanked Del, said farewell to the children, then hurried outside and through the snow to the barn.  They found Jeralk and the men waiting with the horses already saddled and ready to go.  Even Shandarell was saddled, though the soldier holding his reins was rubbing a bruised jaw and casting the horse a wary look.  Fandon, Edan, and Emnar all stood at the far end of the barn.  Kitten and Dove appeared as two giant mountains behind them, waiting patiently to begin the journey.

Aragorn caught Jeralk’s gaze and nodded, and the captain immediately shouted out the order to mount up.  Two soldiers aided Gimli up onto Shandarell’s back, while Jeralk led Cierno over to Aragorn. 

Off to one side, Delran was being firmly tied to his saddle, his gaze nervously shifting between Gimli and Aragorn.  Aragorn had considered leaving the man behind with two of the soldiers, yet had ultimately decided against it.  Delran would remain with Jeralk and the rest of the company, and if the little man caused any trouble, Aragorn had given Jeralk permission to deal with him in whatever way necessary.

“Fandon believes we can make the Harod road by nightfall,” Jeralk said quietly from beside him, jerking Aragorn back to the task at hand.  He reached over and took Cierno's reins from the captain, freeing Jeralk to mount his own horse.  “Edan says that is where he and his brother will leave us.  We will be traveling away from the mountains for a time, and the drifts should not be so bad, so we will not need the Gemnis to clear a path for us.  After we reach the road, we will have about a day’s travel before we come to the border and your plan goes into affect,”

Aragorn nodded in understanding, then gracefully mounted Cierno and scanned the barn in search of Fandon.  He spotted the man standing by the large doors to the barn, ready to close them after the company had left.  He moved Cierno over to the man and reached down to clasp his arm.

“You have my thanks, and the thanks of my men for your hospitality.  You will be repaid for you kindness.”

For the second time, Fandon waved away the comment.  “We don’t get guests around here very often, and it’s a real pleasure as long as they’re the right sort!  I wish you luck finding those men who robbed you!”

Aragorn nodded his appreciation, straightening in the saddle.  “You have aided us greatly, and once more I give you my thanks.”

Fandon nodded, and with a final glance behind him to make sure his men were ready, Aragorn signaled Edan and Emnar to lead the way out of the barn.  It was time this journey was brought to an end.

TBC