With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 29: Black and Orange

At first, there was only unending black. Soon a pale light flickered within those depths that grew quickly into flames licking hotly at his senses. Suddenly, he was no longer in Orthanc but amid the fire. And he was not alone.

A faint whisper passed through his thoughts that sent shivers down Aragorn's spine; the voice grew stronger in his mind until the Ranger heard Black Speech brimming with contempt. Aragorn's blood turned to ice.

The Dark Lord laughed and whispered his name. Aragorn steeled himself against the pull into Shadow, but he was already weary and soon his strength waned. He could feel Sauron watching him, looking into and through him. Sauron was inside him then, and the sensation of Sauron's gaze along his veins, under his skin, and into his being sickened him. He sought in vain to escape the hold, and Sauron's amusement intertwined with his invasion.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he hissed, the words filling Aragorn's mind, "spawn of Isildur. Weak was your ancestor, and weak are you. Through you shall I have my vengeance."

Aragorn fought to gather his strength and banish Sauron from his spirit, but it was as if he struggled in quicksand. He found himself engulfed further by the flames, covered further by the filth of Sauron's touch. Soon he could hear naught but the sound of Sauron's voice and the flames that burned but would not consume him.

Suddenly, he was flying backwards through the air. There was a dark wall in front of him that tilted, his back hit something hard, and then he fell, crashing into another hard surface. As the impact reverberated through his body, he stared at images before his eyes that made no sense, as heavy breathing echoed in the space. Eventually light and dark coalesced into Saruman among the shadows of the room.

"So, Dúnadan," Saruman said, his voice demanding more than Aragorn's attention. "Where is your pride now? Where is your arrogance? Your honor? Do you see now that we must do what circumstances call upon us to do? You have felt the touch of Sauron, have you not?

"You interest him, but he desires Gondor more. I ask you what you value more-your precious honor or a free Gondor? If you hope to salvage something of your lands, you will see the wisdom of my plans and ride for me. Fight for me, and fight for Gondor! It is plain you have no other recourse. Gondor has no other hope!"

The wizard stepped forward, leaning over Aragorn as he yet worked to catch his breath. He caught snippets but not the whole of what Saruman said. Sauron, yes, he wanted him, and Gondor too. Sauron would wage war against Gondor, and soon. And Saruman now wished to stop the Dark Lord? Salvage your lands, he had said. Fight for me, he had said. Fight for Saruman? No, he had said fight for Gondor...

"Gondor...," he panted, trying to still his trembling limbs. He would always fight for Gondor, with his dying breath.

Saruman smiled. "Gondor. Perhaps you are not as feeble-minded as your ancestors, after all. Yes, we will ride to Gondor."

Aragorn looked at Saruman with confusion. Ride with him to Gondor? No, he must be confused. He closed his eyes. He was so weary. He could not recall such overwhelming weariness.

Eventually, he heard the wizard retreat and order orcs to drag him to another room, where they left him to sort out the world again.

How did Saruman drain him so? A memory flitted across his mind, but it would not stay put and escaped him. He dared not sleep, for his dreams were often worse than the visions Saruman gave him. Or were they visions of another sort? As his mind cleared, he felt the niggling of knowledge clamoring for attention. But his fatigue was too great and he unwillingly slipped into uneasy dreams.