Chapter 26    Valar, Keep Them Safe

“You want Aragorn to lose!?” 

Gimli’s enraged shout managed to jerk Aragorn out of his shock.  He stared at the white haired messenger in disbelief, wondering if he had heard the man correctly, praying that he hadn’t.  The thought of simply marching down into the pit and allowing the beast who had beaten his wife and killed his child pound him into pulp was almost too much to contemplate.  If it had been any other man Aragorn might not have found the task as difficult, but as it was, he felt a wave of outrage and defiance building within him.

The messenger was nodding in response to Gimli’s indignant demand, but his gaze remained fixed on Aragorn.  “Aye, you are to lose,” he stated a second time.  “You may, of course, refuse this task, but if you should do so the man standing next to your friend has been given the command to slit his throat.”

Aragorn felt his wall of defiance crumple at the man’s threat.  In his anger, he had forgotten for a moment exactly what was at stake.  His child was already dead, but now he was being given an opportunity to save Legolas.  He knew in his heart that there was very little he would refuse to do in order to save his friend.

The messenger must have seen the acceptance in his face, for he continued on with his instructions.  “My master also orders that you make the fight interesting.  The people of Norvil are quite fond of these events, and they would be most displeased if they did not believe you were trying your absolute hardest to win.  Make the fight interesting, or your friend will suffer the consequences.”

Gimli mumbled something dark beneath his breath, but Aragorn merely continued to stare at the messenger calmly, refusing to show his anger.  He hated being used for the amusement of another, yet Servius seemed intent upon playing his little games, and Aragorn had little choice but to go along with it.  He turned and glanced down into the pit where Kiesco continued to strut, waving his arms in the air.  The crowd was still cheering him, but it was becoming obvious that they were impatient for the fight to begin. 

Aragorn’s gaze moved from the pit up to the stand where Legolas still stood watching him, the penetrating gaze of the elf boring through him.  Gimli was right, Legolas did look ill.  He also looked worried, and as Aragorn watched him, he frowned and shook his head.  Aragorn smiled in return, gave a brisk nod, then turned and began fighting his way through the crowd toward the steps leading down into the pit.  He heard Gimli call out to him, but he pretended not to hear the dwarf.

Two men stopped him at the entrance to the pit.  They motioned toward his sword, their gazes dark, and Aragorn hurriedly unbuckled the belt holding the weapon around his waist.  One of the men reached to take the sword from him, but Aragorn took a step back and shook his head, unwilling to hand Anduril to a complete stranger.  Luckily, Gimli appeared at his side then and took the sword from him along with the dagger he pulled from the top of his boot.  Weaponless, Aragorn nodded to the two men and they parted to allow him entrance into the pit.

The crowd went wild as he stepped forward, screaming in anticipation.  Aragorn walked to the center of the hollow, his gaze locked on the gloating face of his adversary.   Aragorn was expecting someone from the sidelines, or one of the men who had stopped him, to come forward and announce the start of the fight.  Therefore, he was caught completely by surprise when Kiesco stepped forward and punched him forcefully in the side of the jaw, sending him reeling backward.

The fight had begun.

Aragorn stumbled back against the far wall of the pit, his vision blurring for a second.  When it cleared, he spotted Kiesco stalking toward him, a huge grin on his scarred face.  Aragorn waited as the large man approached, pretending the blow had dazed him far worse than it really had.  When Kiesco reached for him, Aragorn leaned back, allowing the wall of the pit to support his back and shoulders as he raised his foot and kicked the man full in the face.

It was Kiesco’s turn to stumble backward, blood oozing from a long cut to his lip.  He recovered quickly, however, his grin gone as he and Aragorn began to circle each other within the confines of the pit.

Aragorn watched Kiesco’s every move closely, the screams of the crowd fading to nothing but a buzz in the back of his mind.  His entire concentration was on his enemy.  Servius had commanded him to make the fight interesting, and Aragorn was more than willing to comply.  He might have to lose in the end, but Kiesco would still pay for some of the harm done to his family.

The large man leapt at him, goaded on by the impatient screams of the crowd.  Aragorn easily dodged the attack, landing a quick punch to Kiesco’s side as he darted away.  Kiesco let out an enraged roar and dove at him a second time, his meaty fists swinging wildly.  Aragorn ducked the blow aimed for his head, then moved in to land two fierce punches to Kiesco’s stomach.  The large man let out a loud grunt of pain before knocking Aragorn away. 

The two began circling again, watching each other warily.  Kiesco was wise enough to realize that Aragorn was too quick for him, and so he began trying to herd the smaller man against the pit walls, obviously hoping to trap him with nowhere to go.  Aragorn realized what Kiesco intended, and did his best to keep the fight in the center of the pit.

Minutes seemed to drag into hours.  Aragorn managed to land the most blows, but his punches were quick and lacking any real amount of strength behind them.  Kiesco, on the other hand, only managed to land a few punches, but with each, the blows sent Aragorn reeling.  Both men were soon breathing in panting gasps as they kept up their game of circle and attack.

The crowd was getting impatient.  No real damage had yet been done to either fighter, and the people were thirsty for blood.  Aragorn managed to ignore their screams until a large stone, tossed from the sidelines, struck him in the back, sending him stumbling forward. 

Kiesco took advantage of Aragorn’s dropped guard and charged forward like an angry bull.   He threw Aragorn against the wall of the pit, held him there with one hand, and began slamming his other fist repeatedly into the King’s right side.  Aragorn would have been finished right then and there, but his fighter instincts immediately took hold.  There was a pause as Kiesco hesitated in his attack, attempting to readjust his grip on his opponent.  Aragorn used that moment to send his fist flying into the other man’s nose with as much force as he could muster.  Kiesco immediately released him, stumbling back with a dazed look on his face.

Aragorn gulped in several deep breaths, ignoring the fierce pain in his side as he tried to maneuver away from the sides of the pit.  Lucky for him, his blow had carried enough force to stun Kiesco, giving him the precious moments he needed to recover.

The two men faced each other again, Aragorn leaning slightly to his side to protect his injured ribs.  Kiesco fared little better, a bloody giant with a silent trail of red running down his face and onto his chest.  Kiesco’s glare was furious, but his tone was mocking as he taunted Aragorn.

“Is that the best you can do,” he spat angrily, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand.  “Why, even your pretty little wife put up more of a fight than you have!  Oh, how I enjoyed feeling her soft flesh give beneath my fists.  She was quite a beautiful thing, and if I had had more time….”

He never finished his sentence, for a wave of white-hot fury had enveloped Aragorn, making him forget everything but the monster who stood before him.  He let out a wild yell and charged Kiesco, intent on nothing else but bringing down the beast who had dared harm his family.

Kiesco’s eyes widened in surprise, for obviously he had believed Aragorn too badly injured to attempt such a daring maneuver.  He put up his arms to block Aragorn’s blows, but it was to no avail, for nothing could stop the King’s wrath.  Aragorn attacked the large man with every ounce of strength remaining in him, completely oblivious to the violent blows he received in return.  His fists slammed into flesh again and again, until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, and still he attacked.

Aragorn was unaware of what finally brought him to his senses.  Perhaps it was a shout from the crowd, or maybe it was due to the fact that he was now facing towards the stands where Legolas still stood, surrounded by guards. But it was as if someone had suddenly poured a barrel of ice-cold water over his head.  He ceased his attack as quickly as he had started, stumbling back from Kiesco in horror.  The scarred man was swaying dangerously on his feet, and Aragorn knew if the man fell, Legolas would surely be killed.

“Kiesco, you are a weakling coward!” he shouted in an attempt to rile the other man back into the fight.

Kiesco shook his head, sweat flying from his hair and face, his eyes glazed with pain.  He managed to straighten, however, and Aragorn let out a small sigh of intense relief.  The full impact of what he had almost done was beginning to settle upon him, and he suddenly felt ill.

Kiesco let out a strangled cry and lunged at Aragorn, his movements sluggish and sloppy.  Aragorn put up his arms in a pretense of trying to block the other man, but he made no move to get out of the way.  Kiesco slammed into him, and both men went flying backwards.  Aragorn sensed the wall of the pit looming up behind him a second before his head impacted with the hard dirt with a sickening crack.  Stars exploded across his vision, then just as quickly faded as the world went black.

******

Legolas could not contain his cry of alarm as he watched Aragorn and Kiesco slam into the side of the pit.  Both men went crashing to the ground, but a moment later Kiesco pushed himself to his hands and knees, then surged to his feet.  Aragorn, however, remained still and motionless upon the ground, bright crimson blood coating the side of his face.  Legolas felt helpless and weak as he stared down at his friend.

The crowd was going wild, and Kiesco, caught up in their enthusiasm, began to kick at the motionless figure at his feet.  He was still unsteady from the beating Aragorn had delivered, and his blows lacked his full strength, but regardless Legolas felt hot anger surge through him.  He jerked forward, mindless of the guards surrounding him, intent only upon doing something, anything, to aid his friend.

Tervanis, who had obviously suspected such a move, was quick to kick Legolas’ legs out from under him, sending the elf crashing to his knees.  Yet Legolas still struggled forward, ignoring the guards rushing in to hold him.

A sudden roar drowned out even the shouts of the crowd, and an instant later, Gimli appeared in the pit.  Legolas watched in wonder as his short companion strode forward, grabbed Kiesco’s arm, jerked the man around to face him, then slammed his fist into his stomach.  Kiesco staggered back, and though Legolas had not thought it possible, the crowd grew even wilder.

Gimli was obviously in a rage.  The dwarf tossed his cloak away, then stormed toward the swaying Kiesco, murder in his eyes.  The crowd let out a gasp as Gimli’s form was revealed, but just as quickly they began screaming out their encouragement, always hungry for new blood.

Kiesco, already considerably weakened from his fight with Aragorn stood absolutely no chance against the enraged dwarf.  Within a matter of seconds, he too lay unconscious upon the dirt floor of the pit.

Legolas watched as Gimli hurried over to Aragorn and knelt by the King’s side.  Two men were entering the pit to drag away the unconscious fighters, but they seemed reluctant to approach the furious dwarf any sooner than necessary.  They moved to take care of Kiesco first.

Gimli glanced up from Aragorn’s still form, his gaze seeking Legolas.  Their eyes met, and Legolas could tell the dwarf was torn.  It was obvious Gimli was tempted to come to him, yet at the same time he was reluctant to leave Aragorn.  Legolas shook his head at his friend, trying to silently convey to the dwarf that he would be fine and that Gimli should not try to free him.  Gimli surely knew any attempt would be hopeless, but Legolas knew his friend was stubborn enough not to allow that to keep him from trying.

Gimli reluctantly nodded, though his face darkened when Tervanis and another guard lifted Legolas to his feet and began leading him away.  Legolas offered his friend a final encouraging smile, and Gimli managed a small smile in return before Legolas was led around to the far side of the stand where Merton stood waiting for them.

Legolas expected the Guildmaster to be angry over Gimli’s interference, but the man only looked smugly pleased.

“That has to have been one of the best fights I have ever seen,” he crowed proudly, as if he had personally won the victory within the pit.  “I believe your friend will be somewhat sore come morning,” he added with an evil grin.   “I wonder if he will be willing to complete the next task.  If he does not, dear Legolas, I fear your time is nearing an end.”

Legolas hid his anger and returned the man’s stare with a cold one of his own.  He said nothing, and after a moment Merton was forced to turn away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Bring him,” he muttered, before starting off down the street, Legolas and his guards trailing along behind.

*****

“Aragorn, it is time to wake up.  Rise, my friend, for the hour is growing late.”

Gimli cursed when his efforts to rouse his friend proved futile.  Aragorn was apparently going to wake up when he chose to and not a moment sooner. Gimli knew it was impossible for him to carry or drag his friend all the way back to the Sleeping Dragon, yet staying where they were was also out of the question.  Two men had dragged Aragorn to a small, open-faced tent erected on the far side of the courtyard, and though no one had bothered them there so far, Gimli knew it was only a matter of time.

Gimli had carefully checked his friend from head to boots for any broken bones or serious injuries.  Aragorn had a nasty gash on the side of his head, and no small amount of bruises marring his face and chest, but beyond that he did not appear seriously injured.  Gimli knew it was the wound to the head that had knocked Aragorn unconscious, but until they returned to the inn, he had no way of properly tending the man’s injury.  In the meantime, he merely sat with his friend’s head cradled in his lap and his axe within easy reach, waiting for Aragorn to decide to wake up.

Gimli was not an especially patient individual, a flaw for which Legolas had repeatedly tried to cure him, to no avail.  Each passing minute felt like hours to the waiting dwarf, and in no time at all he was mumbling curses beneath his breath and threatening Aragorn with all sorts of dark tortures if the man didn’t wake up, and wake up soon! 

“Come, Aragorn,” he muttered darkly.  “I know what a hard head you have.  The blow could not have done too much damage.  You are merely trying my patience.  I swear, you are as bad as the elf!”

Aragorn shifted in his arms and let out a soft moan.  Gimli immediately began shaking his friend in an effort to rouse him.  He tried to be gentle, but suspected he had failed when Aragorn muttered, “Gimli, if you do not stop shaking me, I will use your own axe to lob the head from your shoulders.”

Aragorn made the threat with his eyes still closed, but as Gimli ceased his shaking, the King slowly opened his lids.  His blue gray eyes looked slightly dazed, and Gimli thoughtfully gave him several long seconds to blink away the cobwebs before trying to push him into a sitting position.  “Come, Aragorn, we must return to the inn.  It is not safe here.  How do you feel?”

Aragorn grimaced, his left arm moving down to wrap protectively around his ribs.  “Bruised,” he answered simply.

Gimli snorted.  “You’ll feel worse tomorrow,” he predicted grimly.

Aragorn gave him a disgruntled glare.  “Thanks for the encouragement,” he muttered darkly.  “Would you stop tugging on my arm, I am getting up as swiftly as I can!  For what reason must we rush?”

Gimli sighed.  “We are not safe here,” he explained again, using a tone that suggested he was instructing a thickheaded child.  “At the moment everyone seems too interested in the pit fights to bother us, but I am sure that will eventually change.  I would prefer we be well away from here before then.”

Aragorn nodded, then suddenly jerked upright, his head swinging around wildly.  “Legolas,” he gasped, lurching to his feet.  “Gimli, do you…”

“He is gone, Aragorn,” Gimli interrupted, reaching out a hand to steady his swaying friend.  “They led him away shortly after you were knocked unconscious.  I wanted to follow them, but I could not leave you.”

Aragorn sighed, obviously trying to hide his worry and disappointment.  “What about Kiesco?” he asked, wincing as he raised his hand to probe at the bruises on his face and at the side of his head.

Gimli scowled, unable to hide his anger.  “You need not worry about that beast bothering us again any time soon!” he stated angrily.

Aragorn looked at him curiously, but before he could question the dwarf further, the white haired messenger who had led them previously now appeared in their clear sight.  Gimli muttered something dark beneath his breath, then moved to stand slightly in front of Aragorn until his friend could regain his balance.

The messenger ignored Gimli, but bowed slightly to Aragorn.  “My master congratulates you on the success of your first task,” he stated simply.  “He sends his men to escort you back to the inn where you will be contacted mid-day tomorrow with the instructions for your next task.’

“And how many more tasks am I to complete before my friend is set free?” Aragorn demanded, moving forward to stand next to Gimli.

“You will be given tasks until you prove yourself worthy,” the messenger replied.

Gimli snorted loudly, but both Aragorn and the messenger ignored him.

“Why not give me instructions for my next task now?” Aragorn asked.

“You will be given your instructions tomorrow,” the messenger insisted.  He waved behind him, and four men stepped forward from the crowd.  “These men will see you safely back to the inn.”  With these words, the white haired man turned and strode away, disappearing into the thick mass of people.

Gimli glared at the four men standing in front of him.  “We can get back to the inn on our own,” he growled.

None of the men answered him, but they didn’t move away either.  Gimli took a step toward them, intending to prove that they didn’t need assistance, but Aragorn’s hand on the dwarf’s shoulder stopped him.

“Let them accompany us, Gimli,” Aragorn said softly.  “As you said before, these streets are not safe at night.  I fear someone might see my injuries and use that as an excuse to attack us.”

“I can protect us against any attack,” Gimli argued, gripping the haft of his axe tightly.

“I am sure you can, my friend,” Aragorn replied gently, “but wouldn’t it be easier if you didn’t have to.  Lay down your pride and let these men see us back to the inn.  Now where is my sword?”

Gimli sighed in defeat, then motioned behind him to where he had laid Aragorn’s sword and dagger.  The man went to fetch them, and Gimli couldn’t help but notice that Aragorn’s movements were stiff and slow.  It was obvious his friend was in pain, but Gimli knew Aragorn would never complain.

“Let us get back to the inn quickly,” Gimli suggested, moving closer to Aragorn to offer his support should his friend need it.  “Perhaps we can get some rest before we face this next task of yours, whatever it may be.”

Aragorn nodded, and the two started forward, the four men spreading out to form an arc around them.  Gimli knew that morning would come all too soon, and that whatever task Aragorn was given, it was not likely to be pleasant.  He was just as sure that Aragorn would need his assistance, and he was determined to be prepared to help his friend in whatever way he could.

Yet despite his determination, Gimli could not keep his doubts at bay.  He could not fight back the sinking feeling that things were going to get a lot worse, and that he would be powerless to help the two people he held as dear as brothers. He, Aragorn, and Legolas were all caught in a dangerous current of madness and revenge, and as he moved through the dark streets, Gimli kept repeating a single prayer over and over again.

‘Valar, keep them safe.’

TBC