Middle Earth Continues Turning, part 7 (F/A NC-17 slash, mpreg)
Another installment of the soapy angst-fest. Some dark themes in this chapter, folks.
Aragorn sat by Hope's bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest in sleep. His darling had been awake just long enough for his kiss tonight, before the sight of her tears made him ask Wena for the sleep-draught to ease Hope's pain.
"She is healing, Lord Elessar. Her leg still pains her, but the wound is clean and there is no danger to her life."
"I know, Wena," he replied. "It's not that I fear for her. I'm upset because I make you keep her awake, despite her pain, until I am free." Wena came closer and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It is selfish of me, but I cannot bear for both of them to ..." He couldn't continue, for not even before Wena would he weep. Not yet, not this night.
"Go to Frodo, my lord, and know that I will care for Hope."
He nodded and rose, picking up the walking-stick he needed to support him, and with a last caress to his daughter's sleeping face he turned to the door. He wanted to go to Frodo, more than anything. His only comfort was curling next to his love on their bed, and holding him, watching the smooth face so motionless beneath the heavy bandages wound around his head.
This was his time to be with Frodo, but tonight, Aragorn couldn't immediately seek the haven of his rooms and be with his love. That thought only fueled his anger as the King prepared for an onerous duty, following the corridor to the back of the Citadel, limping past the kitchens and servant quarters, and slowly making his way down the stairs that led to the wine cellars and storage rooms.
In the third such room, he lit a candle and found the doorway carved into the stones behind the last wine rack. He removed a key from around his neck, and unlocked a passage that led further down, long narrow stairs cut into the mountain itself. Aragorn had taken this path only twice before, and he clearly remembered how, that first time, he'd vowed never to use this room and its facilities.
He could smell the filth before he entered. Naldur the carpenter was still strung up, naked, dried blood from old lash wounds marring his back and legs. His carpenter-assistants were cowering against the wall, also naked, chained hand and foot. They cried for mercy with parched throats, for Aragorn had ordered them neglected this day, hoping the lack of food and water would terrify them.
It seemed successful. He ordered water and bread brought, and two of his guards left via the official entrance to this section of the dungeon to seek what he required, while the other two moved the carpenter to the rack. The man's screams and pleas fell on deaf ears, for the guards here knew their duty, and all Aragorn required to steel his heart was the memory of Hope's bruised face, and how it felt to watch over Frodo's still form for two endless days now.
Aragorn had a chair brought so he could rest his leg while he once again questioned the assistants. By the time he finished his interrogation, their meager food had arrived, and he had time to consider what each had said. It was now obvious these men had no information. The head carpenter had been the one who built the reviewing platform and positioned it that day, and a witness had remembered seeing Naldur set the bench for Frodo and Hope himself.
Aragorn rose and stood to the side, watching as the two assistants wolfed down their bread and drank from the bucket. When he signaled for them to be released, neither man understood his intentions. One soiled himself and collapsed on the stone floor, believing he was about to join Naldur on the torture rack. But soon enough the guards had removed them, leaving Aragorn with his prisoner -- the truly guilty man.
"Mercy, majesty," the man begged in a hoarse whisper.
"Did you show mercy to my daughter? You deserve to be flayed, Naldur, and left for the crows to eat." As he spoke, he began to crank the huge wheel, just the noise of it making the guards jump and the prisoner cry out.
"I ... the wood was faulty!"
"You're a liar and a murderous traitor. We found the rope you used to pull out the support post, fool. Do you know the penalty for attacking the Steward?"
"Lord King, my family..."
"If you don't confess everything, I'll have them brought here and tortured before your eyes. I'll order my guards to make sport of your children, male or female." He turned the wheel again and saw the pull in Naldur's arms and legs as he gasped in pain. "I'll put them in a cell with the lowest, most dangerous prisoners in the dungeon."
"You won't," the man gasped. "You wouldn't. But if I tell you who hired me, he will kill my family." Aragorn loosened the wheel for just a moment, studying Naldur's face. Perhaps this was the truth, at last.
"If I arrest him he cannot harm your family."
"He told me ... he has powerful ... friends. My children are innocent!"
Aragorn turned to the guards at the door. "Is Naldur the carpenter's family in custody, Randir?"
"As you ordered, your majesty. They have been given rooms in the guest wing, and four guards watch them in rotation."
"Give him water." He paused while the man noisly drank from the guard's hand. "Do you understand, Naldur? Your family are safe, for now, in my custody. But if you don't tell me the truth, I'll release them and spread the rumor that you've confessed. Then they will surely die. Now speak."
"My lord..." He stopped, then groaned. "It was Eritor, lord King, who paid me."
"His payment does not excuse your crimes." He turned the wheel and felt satisfaction at Naldur's cry of pain. "You accepted that money to attempt murder."
"My lord... I thought it was the only way--"
"There can be no justification for what you did. If you feared Eritor, you should have gathered your family and come to the Steward immediately."
"But I couldn't, majesty. He told me... no, I cannot. If I repeat his foul lies you will strike me dead this instant. I know it..."
"What did Eritor say?" The man gasped, and Aragorn quickly gave him another dipper of water, waiting impatiently while he choked and reached for more. "Speak," Aragorn ordered, holding the water away from him. Nalur sobbed, took a breath, and continued his confession.
"He told me Lord Frodo had been unfaithful to you. Eritor claimed the Rohirrim king was Frodo's lover, sire, and the girl his bastard child. He said that you'd learned the truth, and ordered this very public accident to rid you of them both. He claimed the gold came from your treasury, and I believed him, for Eritor has been in disgrace -- where else would he get such a sum? And he told me if I ever said a word, my family..." He began to sob, then, and Aragorn moved away lest he forget himself, and injure the man in his rage.
"Randir, take a squadron to Eritor's house. Arrest him, and anyone in the house with him. I don't believe he has any family, but he may have allies there, conspiring with him. Bring them here and lock them in this chamber tonight, chained to the wall. And burn Eritor's house when you leave." The guard looked startled but obeyed, and Aragorn motioned to the remaining men to release Naldur. "Take him to his family, let them clean him up. They all remain under guard until further notice."
Then he was alone, his anger melting away and disgust returning. He'd had no choice, but even if he had, he might have tortured that man. Aragorn didn't think there were any limits on his behavior when Frodo and Hope needed protection.
He was still pondering this as he painfully walked back up the stairway, and found himself wishing for someone to discuss this situation with him. Unfortunately, his best advisor and the person he most wished to speak to was Frodo. He trusted his love's judgement and wisdom, and felt those gifts had been taken from him just as brutally as Frodo's health had been ripped away by the collapse of that platform.
Aven and Wena assured him Frodo was healing, though he hadn't yet moved or spoken. Wena claimed she could sense his spirit, and those of the children in his womb. His own powers were useless in Frodo's case, but soon, he hoped, Wena would be proven correct. Then he would have Frodo back again, to speak with him, love him, and advise him. But he knew that even Frodo couldn't be impartial on this topic for he, too, would only be able to see that Hope had been seriously injured, and their unborn children could have been lost.
Even Wenathen was in a rage over this treachery, and the same was true of Gimli. Either of them would cheerfully slit Eritor's throat if they learned what he'd done. Perhaps if Faramir or Legolas were in Minas Tirith -- but, no, they both loved Frodo and Hope, too. And surely Aragorn asked enough of all his friends and allies as it was. They were completing his unfinished business in south Gondor, and Aragorn could not escape a judgement that was King's responsibility. He'd been born and raised to deal with such problems, though he'd never thought to be so personally involved in such horrors.
He'd arrived on the main floor of the Citadel while lost in these thoughts, and he quickly followed the corridors to his suite of rooms. When he entered, all was as quiet and still as it had been the previous nights. Aven rose and bowed, and the other healers scattered, giving their king privacy.
Frodo was clean and so very pale in the candlelight, breathing deeply -- was there a difference? His eyes seemed to be moving beneath their lids. "Aven? What has changed?" He turned to the healer, who was smiling more cheerfully than Aragorn had ever seen before.
"He is waking, my lord. Sit with him, and call to him if you have the strength. Or just speak to him, and help him find his way back." The healer placed a bell on the table and made certain Aragorn saw it. "Ring this if you need us, or when he wakes."
When Aven left, Aragorn sat on the bed and took Frodo's hand in his, his head still reeling. A sudden knock on the door roused him, and he called "Enter," not moving from the bed. He wondered if that was because his leg ached, or because he was finally near Frodo.
A guard walked in. "King Elessar, Captain Randir thought you would wish to hear this report immediately."
"Go on," he ordered.
"Eritor's house was empty, Lord King, and he has fled the city. Randir ordered the squadron mounted to pursue him from Minas Tirith, and they have departed."
"Very good. Is there more?"
"Only that we burned his house and all its possessions, majesty, as you ordered."
"Thank you. Dismissed," Aragorn said. He knew he should feel rage, but when the door finally closed, he sank down on the bed next to Frodo, pulling the lax body into his arms. He tucked Frodo's head under his chin in a pathetic imitation of how they often would spoon together after lovemaking. "Frodo, love. Come back to me now, I need you."
There was no response -- he truly hadn't expected any. But his heart still beat faster with anticipation at last, and he found it easy to sing softly in Frodo's ear, a song about life and springtime and happy expectations. When his voice grew tired, he simply rocked Frodo and whispered words of love.
"Aragorn," Frodo sighed, and at first Aragorn thought he was still asleep, and dreaming of their loving. But then the arms that had been motionless tightened in an embrace, and Frodo's lover finally released the tears the King could not shed.
TBC
Aragorn sat by Hope's bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest in sleep. His darling had been awake just long enough for his kiss tonight, before the sight of her tears made him ask Wena for the sleep-draught to ease Hope's pain.
"She is healing, Lord Elessar. Her leg still pains her, but the wound is clean and there is no danger to her life."
"I know, Wena," he replied. "It's not that I fear for her. I'm upset because I make you keep her awake, despite her pain, until I am free." Wena came closer and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It is selfish of me, but I cannot bear for both of them to ..." He couldn't continue, for not even before Wena would he weep. Not yet, not this night.
"Go to Frodo, my lord, and know that I will care for Hope."
He nodded and rose, picking up the walking-stick he needed to support him, and with a last caress to his daughter's sleeping face he turned to the door. He wanted to go to Frodo, more than anything. His only comfort was curling next to his love on their bed, and holding him, watching the smooth face so motionless beneath the heavy bandages wound around his head.
This was his time to be with Frodo, but tonight, Aragorn couldn't immediately seek the haven of his rooms and be with his love. That thought only fueled his anger as the King prepared for an onerous duty, following the corridor to the back of the Citadel, limping past the kitchens and servant quarters, and slowly making his way down the stairs that led to the wine cellars and storage rooms.
In the third such room, he lit a candle and found the doorway carved into the stones behind the last wine rack. He removed a key from around his neck, and unlocked a passage that led further down, long narrow stairs cut into the mountain itself. Aragorn had taken this path only twice before, and he clearly remembered how, that first time, he'd vowed never to use this room and its facilities.
He could smell the filth before he entered. Naldur the carpenter was still strung up, naked, dried blood from old lash wounds marring his back and legs. His carpenter-assistants were cowering against the wall, also naked, chained hand and foot. They cried for mercy with parched throats, for Aragorn had ordered them neglected this day, hoping the lack of food and water would terrify them.
It seemed successful. He ordered water and bread brought, and two of his guards left via the official entrance to this section of the dungeon to seek what he required, while the other two moved the carpenter to the rack. The man's screams and pleas fell on deaf ears, for the guards here knew their duty, and all Aragorn required to steel his heart was the memory of Hope's bruised face, and how it felt to watch over Frodo's still form for two endless days now.
Aragorn had a chair brought so he could rest his leg while he once again questioned the assistants. By the time he finished his interrogation, their meager food had arrived, and he had time to consider what each had said. It was now obvious these men had no information. The head carpenter had been the one who built the reviewing platform and positioned it that day, and a witness had remembered seeing Naldur set the bench for Frodo and Hope himself.
Aragorn rose and stood to the side, watching as the two assistants wolfed down their bread and drank from the bucket. When he signaled for them to be released, neither man understood his intentions. One soiled himself and collapsed on the stone floor, believing he was about to join Naldur on the torture rack. But soon enough the guards had removed them, leaving Aragorn with his prisoner -- the truly guilty man.
"Mercy, majesty," the man begged in a hoarse whisper.
"Did you show mercy to my daughter? You deserve to be flayed, Naldur, and left for the crows to eat." As he spoke, he began to crank the huge wheel, just the noise of it making the guards jump and the prisoner cry out.
"I ... the wood was faulty!"
"You're a liar and a murderous traitor. We found the rope you used to pull out the support post, fool. Do you know the penalty for attacking the Steward?"
"Lord King, my family..."
"If you don't confess everything, I'll have them brought here and tortured before your eyes. I'll order my guards to make sport of your children, male or female." He turned the wheel again and saw the pull in Naldur's arms and legs as he gasped in pain. "I'll put them in a cell with the lowest, most dangerous prisoners in the dungeon."
"You won't," the man gasped. "You wouldn't. But if I tell you who hired me, he will kill my family." Aragorn loosened the wheel for just a moment, studying Naldur's face. Perhaps this was the truth, at last.
"If I arrest him he cannot harm your family."
"He told me ... he has powerful ... friends. My children are innocent!"
Aragorn turned to the guards at the door. "Is Naldur the carpenter's family in custody, Randir?"
"As you ordered, your majesty. They have been given rooms in the guest wing, and four guards watch them in rotation."
"Give him water." He paused while the man noisly drank from the guard's hand. "Do you understand, Naldur? Your family are safe, for now, in my custody. But if you don't tell me the truth, I'll release them and spread the rumor that you've confessed. Then they will surely die. Now speak."
"My lord..." He stopped, then groaned. "It was Eritor, lord King, who paid me."
"His payment does not excuse your crimes." He turned the wheel and felt satisfaction at Naldur's cry of pain. "You accepted that money to attempt murder."
"My lord... I thought it was the only way--"
"There can be no justification for what you did. If you feared Eritor, you should have gathered your family and come to the Steward immediately."
"But I couldn't, majesty. He told me... no, I cannot. If I repeat his foul lies you will strike me dead this instant. I know it..."
"What did Eritor say?" The man gasped, and Aragorn quickly gave him another dipper of water, waiting impatiently while he choked and reached for more. "Speak," Aragorn ordered, holding the water away from him. Nalur sobbed, took a breath, and continued his confession.
"He told me Lord Frodo had been unfaithful to you. Eritor claimed the Rohirrim king was Frodo's lover, sire, and the girl his bastard child. He said that you'd learned the truth, and ordered this very public accident to rid you of them both. He claimed the gold came from your treasury, and I believed him, for Eritor has been in disgrace -- where else would he get such a sum? And he told me if I ever said a word, my family..." He began to sob, then, and Aragorn moved away lest he forget himself, and injure the man in his rage.
"Randir, take a squadron to Eritor's house. Arrest him, and anyone in the house with him. I don't believe he has any family, but he may have allies there, conspiring with him. Bring them here and lock them in this chamber tonight, chained to the wall. And burn Eritor's house when you leave." The guard looked startled but obeyed, and Aragorn motioned to the remaining men to release Naldur. "Take him to his family, let them clean him up. They all remain under guard until further notice."
Then he was alone, his anger melting away and disgust returning. He'd had no choice, but even if he had, he might have tortured that man. Aragorn didn't think there were any limits on his behavior when Frodo and Hope needed protection.
He was still pondering this as he painfully walked back up the stairway, and found himself wishing for someone to discuss this situation with him. Unfortunately, his best advisor and the person he most wished to speak to was Frodo. He trusted his love's judgement and wisdom, and felt those gifts had been taken from him just as brutally as Frodo's health had been ripped away by the collapse of that platform.
Aven and Wena assured him Frodo was healing, though he hadn't yet moved or spoken. Wena claimed she could sense his spirit, and those of the children in his womb. His own powers were useless in Frodo's case, but soon, he hoped, Wena would be proven correct. Then he would have Frodo back again, to speak with him, love him, and advise him. But he knew that even Frodo couldn't be impartial on this topic for he, too, would only be able to see that Hope had been seriously injured, and their unborn children could have been lost.
Even Wenathen was in a rage over this treachery, and the same was true of Gimli. Either of them would cheerfully slit Eritor's throat if they learned what he'd done. Perhaps if Faramir or Legolas were in Minas Tirith -- but, no, they both loved Frodo and Hope, too. And surely Aragorn asked enough of all his friends and allies as it was. They were completing his unfinished business in south Gondor, and Aragorn could not escape a judgement that was King's responsibility. He'd been born and raised to deal with such problems, though he'd never thought to be so personally involved in such horrors.
He'd arrived on the main floor of the Citadel while lost in these thoughts, and he quickly followed the corridors to his suite of rooms. When he entered, all was as quiet and still as it had been the previous nights. Aven rose and bowed, and the other healers scattered, giving their king privacy.
Frodo was clean and so very pale in the candlelight, breathing deeply -- was there a difference? His eyes seemed to be moving beneath their lids. "Aven? What has changed?" He turned to the healer, who was smiling more cheerfully than Aragorn had ever seen before.
"He is waking, my lord. Sit with him, and call to him if you have the strength. Or just speak to him, and help him find his way back." The healer placed a bell on the table and made certain Aragorn saw it. "Ring this if you need us, or when he wakes."
When Aven left, Aragorn sat on the bed and took Frodo's hand in his, his head still reeling. A sudden knock on the door roused him, and he called "Enter," not moving from the bed. He wondered if that was because his leg ached, or because he was finally near Frodo.
A guard walked in. "King Elessar, Captain Randir thought you would wish to hear this report immediately."
"Go on," he ordered.
"Eritor's house was empty, Lord King, and he has fled the city. Randir ordered the squadron mounted to pursue him from Minas Tirith, and they have departed."
"Very good. Is there more?"
"Only that we burned his house and all its possessions, majesty, as you ordered."
"Thank you. Dismissed," Aragorn said. He knew he should feel rage, but when the door finally closed, he sank down on the bed next to Frodo, pulling the lax body into his arms. He tucked Frodo's head under his chin in a pathetic imitation of how they often would spoon together after lovemaking. "Frodo, love. Come back to me now, I need you."
There was no response -- he truly hadn't expected any. But his heart still beat faster with anticipation at last, and he found it easy to sing softly in Frodo's ear, a song about life and springtime and happy expectations. When his voice grew tired, he simply rocked Frodo and whispered words of love.
"Aragorn," Frodo sighed, and at first Aragorn thought he was still asleep, and dreaming of their loving. But then the arms that had been motionless tightened in an embrace, and Frodo's lover finally released the tears the King could not shed.
TBC