When Two Worlds Divide (On Hold)

Chapter 5 - Ambushed and Alone

Sorry about the slow updating! Please comment if you read this to let me know what you think!

The title says it all. If you don't like violence, then maybe skip part of this chapter! I'll put another warning just before it starts! If you didn't already realise, this chapter contains violence, but it isn't much.
Enjoy...

Aragorn stumbled. Again. He was tired, cold, hungry, and absolutely sick to death of falling over every five steps. Oh, and speaking of being sick, he thought miserably, that's another thing I can add to my list. It was true. He had a headache, a raw throat, an aching chest, and he couldn't stop coughing. And to top it all off, he was shaking all over. This couldn't get any worse. He thought with a frustrated sigh. I mean, what's the point of even trying anymore? I may as well just stop now.

He considered the prospect for a while. But then the dream came back to him, and he picked up his pace, desperately trying to prevent a meeting with Elrond. His confused and panicked mind didn't register that Elrond barely ever left Rivendell, nor would he ever stray as far as Aragorn had come unless in great need. And so Aragorn continued to walk like this for a long while, until he was crawling on his hands on knees, and eventually resorted to dragging himself along the floor. Finally, he could go no further, and collapsed helplessly on the floor. Curled in a heap, shaking violently and retching helplessly, Aragorn welcomed unconsciousness when the blackness came for him. And with it, the nightmare. Only this time, it was worse.

Estel sits high in the branches of a tall tree. The beauty of Rivendell before him stuns him, and for a while all he does is sit there, content to soak in the peace that blankets this place. His home.

Trapped in the dream, Aragorn struggles to control what is happening. Tries to climb down and run as far away from here as possible. But his body is unresponsive. And in his dream, he continued to be Estel, to look at Rivendell and know that it is his home. Even though Aragorn knows it is not.

Estel smiles happily as he sees Lord Elrond approaching. His father. His father, who loves him, who accepts him, no matter what. His smile brightens as he realises that not one, but two elves approach. This time, Arwen accompanies her father.

Aragorn struggles to run, to do anything. He knows what is coming. No, he cannot hear it from her. He cannot...

But Aragorn can't control the dream. And is forced to watch though Estel's unknowing eyes as the horrific scene plays out before him once more. Forced to watch as not only his father, but his love, turn their backs on him and abandon Estel once more.

When he awoke, Aragorn was trembling and gasping for air. For a long time, he just lay there, his cloak twisted around him, trying to regain control of his breathing and clear the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him.

Eventually, he was able to breathe again, and the dizziness had calmed, if only slightly.  Aragorn was cold. Colder than he'd ever been in his life, and all he had to prevent it was a tattered, soaked cloak. Which, obviously, didn't work.

By dusk, Aragorn could hardly walk. Damn. He thought. Why can't I just walk forever and just forget that they rest of the world even exists? But he couldn't. At least three things were currently invading his world. Cold, hunger, and illness. Not very positive. Aragorn thought, not particularly caring if his situation was positive or not. He was mortal, as he had been painstakingly reminded by Elrond after his confession about Arwen, and so he would die eventually anyway. Why not now? Aragorn was a murderer, but he didn't care. He was cold and hungry, but still he couldn't bring himself to care. In fact, the only thing that sparked any feeling at all was thoughts of Arwen and Elrond. Because Aragorn simply could not see the point in caring about this whole forsaken world anymore.

Pausing briefly to catch his breath at the top of a steep hill, Aragorn suddenly tensed. The forest around him had fallen silent. Instinctively, he dropped into a low crouch in shadow of the trees around him, hoping to be shielded from view. Only, it was too late to hide now.

Ok, this part is slightly violent, but not much. Enjoy...

Aragorn felt a blinding pain in his right shoulder and looked down in shock and horror to see a dull silver blade protruding right through from where it had been forcefully stabbed into him from behind. He supposed be should feel lucky that it had not hit the bone, but he didn't. Mainly because the end of the dagger appeared to be stained black by some foul substance. Aragorn recognised it at once. Morgul poisoning. Of course. It can always get worse.

Swearing quietly in elvish, which was quite a feat, as it was usually such a beautiful language, he twisted around, despite the pain it caused him, grimacing as he found himself nose to nose with a cruel looking orc. Fumbling for his dagger, he managed to kill the beast, only to find himself surrounded by many more of the creatures. A wave of despair overcame him as, unable to cope with the searing pain caused by his sudden movements, he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

The next thing Aragorn remembered was waking up the next morning. His shoulder hurt terribly, and his mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. He probably couldn't speak either, but that didn't matter, as he had no intentions of doing so anyway. When he opened his eyes, he found his vision blurry and was unable to focus on anything. A huge headache had formed behind his eyes and the light caused him great pain when he looked at it, despite the fact that it was barely dawn. Closing his eyes and barely suppressing a groan, Aragorn focused his other senses on his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was.

The first thing he found was that his hands were bound tightly. Testing them, he realised that there was no way he was going to break fee of them that easily; it was thick, coarse rope and was bound so tightly that he was having difficulty feeling his fingers. By shifting slightly, he also found that he was lying on the hard earth, crushing his injured shoulder. Hissing at the pain even the slight movements caused, Aragorn reached up with his bound hands and probed the area around the blade still sticking into his shoulder.

To his dismay, he found that he had been correct; the dagger had carried Morgul poison. The skin around it was inflamed and hot to touch. Aragorn could feel the raised veins where they stood out, and he knew that they would be black with the poison they carried. Moving his fingers clumsily nearer to the wound, he had to resist crying out in agony at the intense pain that shot through his arm as he felt the tattered skin and the way it was peeling out away from the dagger, leaving only raw skin behind. Groaning softly despite himself, he rolled over onto his front in order to relieve the pressure from the wound.

His eyes shot open when he heard a loud voice in his ear. "Well look who's awake. Now we can have a bit of fun!" Aragorn felt rough hands hoisting him up and his unfocused world swayed as he was forced to stand. Or rather, he was held upright, as his legs were so weak they refused to support his weight. Aragorn could feel the fever taking hold of him, but could do nothing to stop it now. He bitterly regretted his inattentiveness earlier, but his mind was quickly drawn off that and back to the present as the orcs finished tying his hands to a high tree branch, holding him up so that his feet barely brushed to floor. Then, they began their 'fun'.

Please comment and vote if you enjoyed! Sorry about the cliffhanger but my next couple of chapters might not focus on Aragorn so be prepared to wait a while! *Looks guilty*. Bye!