Deprived of Hope

by Henrika

Chapter Two

Aragorn watched the sun rise, and in that moment he suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong. Gandalf had left the company about one and a half hours ago, and though Aragorn had seen him leave, he had not asked Gandalf for the reason. Now he regretted his decision not to.

The other members of the Fellowship were still asleep around the dying remnants of a fire inside a cave that had served as their resting place for one night. Aragorn, who was on watch, had to make sure that no unfriendly eyes saw their camp.

Why did this ominous feeling come over him all of a sudden? Was it due to Gandalf? Aragorn knew he shouldn’t be concerned about his friend; Gandalf could take care of himself better than most people. He wouldn’t let anything happen to himself.

Aragorn was less than sure about that now, though. Glancing back over his shoulder at his sleeping companions, he rose and went inside the cave to wake Legolas. The beautiful, blond Elf was sleeping with his crystal eyes wide open, as always, and although Aragorn had gotten used to it by now, he still found it creepy sometimes. Before waking his friend, he glanced in Frodo’s direction. The little Hobbit was sleeping seemingly peacefully, keeping one small hand pressed to his chest where the Ring lay. Aragorn was glad Frodo always kept it under his shirt. The sight of it, gleaming in the dark, would be unnerving.

"Legolas?" he whispered quietly, shaking the Elf’s shoulder. The glassy look in Legolas’ eyes disappeared, and he blinked a few times before turning his gaze at Aragorn.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Can you keep watch while I scout around the area?" the Man asked. "I have a feeling that… It doesn’t matter. I have a feeling that we are not alone here."

The look in Legolas’ eyes immediately passed from confusion to worry. He had learned to trust Aragorn’s intuition and knew that if the Ranger sensed something, he was likely right.

"I can come with you," he offered. "If there are Orcs around, we must dispose of them as quickly as possible. Boromir and Gimli can watch over the Hobbits."

"No," Aragorn replied sternly. "You stay here with the others. I will go alone."

"But Aragorn --"

"I will say no more. Whatever it is, I can handle it," the Ranger said, and with that he turned around and left the cave. Legolas called after him once, but he did not turn around, so the Elf accepted his decision to go alone. He just hoped that Aragorn knew what he was doing.

The forest around him was silent, but Aragorn knew that despite the illusion of peace, dangers could be lurking behind every tree. He wished he knew where Gandalf had gone. So far he neither saw nor sensed anything indicating that Gandalf had gone this way. His concern for the wizard had not lessened at all; on the contrary, it was increasing. Something very bad was happening to Gandalf at this very moment. Aragorn could feel it as clearly as the wind in his face.

Suddenly he could hear the sound of several branches breaking nearby, indicating that two or more beings were close. Aragorn tensed immediately and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. He passed his gaze over the surroundings, listening for more suspicious sounds.

He soon heard it again, from another direction this time. The sounds of their movements were undoubtedly Orc-ish, and they were definitely more than two – perhaps three or even four. Aragorn quickly hid behind a tree when he realized that the sounds were coming his way. The Orcs had begun to talk between themselves, and although they were not speaking in the Black Speech, Aragorn had trouble understanding what they were saying.

He drew his sword, Anduril, and stood prepared to defend himself against the party of enemies. He probably could have sneaked past them unseen, but it was likely that they had already caught his scent and knew of his presence. Aragorn was confident. Orcs were usually not good fighters, and a small group of three or four individuals should be no problem. He was ready.

When the group passed the tree behind which he stood hidden, the Ranger jumped out from his hiding place, whipping his sword against the neck of the first Orc. His aim was perfect. The creature didn’t even have time to blink before the Man’s mighty sword had severed its head from its shoulders. The wretched creature’s body fell to the ground, black blood spewing from its severed neck.

Aragorn knew that he couldn’t depend on the rest being as slow-witted as the one he had just killed. Also, one of them was an Uruk; as foul as an Orc, but well-trained in the arts of fighting. He could afford no mistakes.

Next he thrust his sword at another Orc’s chest. The creature tried to jump out of the way and would have succeeded if it had not stumbled over something and fallen, thus spearing itself on the Man’s sword.

Aragorn drew Anduril out of the dead Orc’s body and threw the stinking corpse away. They were five. Two down, three to go. An Orc with blood still dripping from its mouth had drawn out its dagger and raised it to jab at him. Aragorn slashed swiftly one more time, severing the Orc’s arm from the rest of its body. The creature gave an inhuman scream, clutching at the place of the lost limb. Incapacitated, the creature was easy to finish with a final blow to its chest.

The Uruk was undoubtedly the most capable warrior of the filthy beings, but so far it had made sure to stay out of Aragorn’s reach. The fourth Orc was driven by fear instead of carnage, after seeing what the Ranger had done to its companions. It had probably realized that it wouldn’t stand a chance against the Man and his long, shining sword, so instead of attacking Aragorn, the creature attempted an escape.

Aragorn would have none of it. The filthy vermin had to die, or they would cause mischief later in another part of the world. He intercepted the Orc’s escape by kicking its feet from under it. Growling furiously, the frothing beast fell onto its stomach. Aragorn didn’t want to prolong the ordeal and quickly ended the miserable, wretched life by stabbing his sword through its back. With a gurgling sound and a glassy look in its small, yellow eyes, the creature died.

Only the Uruk-hai remained now. Aragorn turned his head up and saw that the soldier Orc was grinning at him with a vicious glint in its eyes. The Man raised Anduril, ready to deliver the deadly blow. The Uruk drew his sword in a swift movement, and when Aragorn saw the sword in question, his blood nearly froze in his veins.

It was Glamdring. Gandalf’s sword. He would recognize it anywhere. One thing he also knew was that Gandalf would never, ever go anywhere without his sword, so it had to mean that this beast had taken it from him.

Where was Gandalf now? What had happened to him? Aragorn realized that he must not kill the creature before he had the answers, no matter how badly he wanted to see the Uruk dead.

"Where is he?" Aragorn asked coldly, determined not to let his anger take control. He needed to stay cool, no matter what.

"Who?" the creature sneered.

"Gandalf! What have you done with him, you filth?"

"The wizard?" Aragorn hated the sound of the Uruk’s barking laughter. "Oh, he’s here, somewhere. My friends and I did a pretty good job on him."

Aragorn knew he needed to incapacitate the Uruk before he could force the answer out of him. Measuring the creature from head to toe, he charged. The Uruk dodged the Man’s sword with an agility his smaller companions did not possess. Aragorn’s sword then clashed with the Uruk’s – or rather Gandalf’s. They were both forged by Elves and were equally strong.

The Uruk roared and with the advantage of being heavier, shoved the Man backwards. Aragorn struggled to keep his balance, knowing that he’d be in serious trouble if he didn’t stay on his feet.

"Was he a friend of yours?" the Uruk said with a snort after dodging Aragorn’s sword once more. "Don’t worry; we left him somewhat whole!"

Realizing that his friend and sometimes-lover was probably dead, Aragorn couldn’t restrain his boiling fury anymore. The creature had to pay for what he’d done even if it cost Aragorn his life!

Aragorn was lighter than his adversary, and he did not wear the shielding armour of the Uruk, but his body was muscular and sinewy, hard and fit from years of exercising and sword-fighting practice. When the seemingly clumsy creature finally swung his sword at him, he dodged with no great difficulty. In the same moment he slashed at the Uruk’s legs.

The creature howled when the Man’s sword sank several inches into its left thigh. Aragorn now aimed at its right hand, which rightfully should not be holding Glamdring. With one single movement he managed to sever the Uruk’s hand from its wrist.

Glamdring and the foul, clawed hand fell to the ground. With a cry of pure rage, Aragorn thrust his sword into the staggering beast’s abdomen. The Uruk’s eyes bulged, and a look of surprise came over its face, as if it couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

When Aragorn withdrew his sword, the Uruk – lethally wounded, though not dead – fell onto its back with a half-choked gurgle. Aragorn knelt beside the fallen creature, wishing he had time to torture it for what it had done to Gandalf. There was no time, though. He had to make the creature tell him where his friend was. There was a small chance that Gandalf was still alive, although Aragorn was not optimistic.

"Tell me where he is, and I will grant you a quick death!" he hissed, putting his sword to the coughing Uruk’s throat.

Black blood bubbled from the beast’s disfigured mouth and its lips curved into a hideous grimace. Aragorn realized that it was laughing.

"Is that so, human?" it said. "You have defeated me. Why should I tell you now?"

"If you don’t, I will cut you open while you’re still alive!" the Ranger growled, slamming the wounded creature hard against the ground. "Where *is* he?! Tell me, damn it!"

Aragorn did not enjoy killing, not even Orcs, and he certainly never enjoyed prolonging anyone’s suffering, enemy or not. This time he felt different, however. He wanted this creature to suffer for what it had done to Gandalf. Now he just had to force the answer out of the wretched thing before it died!

"I give you one more chance," he said in a deadly calm voice. "If you refuse to answer me now, I will cut out your eyes and your tongue. Where did you leave the wizard?"

The Uruk grimaced again, but this time it was a pained grimace, not gleeful. "In a clearing… North of here… A mile, maybe more..."

Aragorn’s eyes hardened. "Are you telling me the truth?"

"Why don’t you go and find out, Ranger?" the creature sneered, spitting a wad of black blood at Aragorn’s face.

The Man didn’t waste any more time. He lifted his sword and struck down with full power, severing the beast’s head with one single blow. At least he had kept his promise of a quick and easy death.

Aragorn got back up to his feet and didn’t pay anymore attention to the five corpses around him. He had to hurry to see if the creature had been telling the truth. A clearing, north of here, maybe a mile or more…

He pried Glamdring from the Uruk’s severed hand and attached it to his belt next to his own sheathed sword. He just hoped the true owner of the Elven sword was still alive so it could be returned to him.

Aragorn started to run.

TBC

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