Title: Alias 1
Author: Sivan Shemesh sivan325@walla.com

Beta: Tena
Rating: PG-13 or T

Disclaimer: Not mine, except the OC’s.
Timeframe: Pre-LotR. Aragorn is 49 years old.

Warning: Angst, violence/torture, tissues alert.

Summary: Aragorn finds himself in a strange situation, and then in the dungeons of Gondor. But who is it that wants him dead so badly and why?

A/N: Written for the EAC entry, ‘Prejudice in Middle-Earth.’

2980

Aragorn sighed with relief.

It was good to be at home with no one to hunt him down, and no one to torture him.

Elrond watched his foster son as he came nearer; he noticed the way that he sighed, and he felt concerned about the man who stood in front of him. He wished that he could help him, but he could do nothing as he was held by both councils of his kingdom and Mirkwood.

He heard what had happened; rumors had been sent back and forth in the elven kingdoms.

Elrond approached him, clasped his hands on the man’s shoulders, making the man look him in the eyes.

Elrond could always tell if the man was lying to him, and if he was hurt or angry; the eyes were the mirrors of the man’s heart.

“How are you faring, Aragorn?” Elrond asked, concern lay in his face.

“Sore but relieved, my Lord Elrond.” Aragorn replied, and then he moved away from the lord as remembered the hell he gone through in the last three month…

3 Months earlier…

Thorongil left Gondor to head back to Imladris. He knew that his time was well spent in Gondor, helping Ecthelion in the mission that the king gave him, and now his time to leave had approached.

He left Gondor riding on his horse, and then a group of men surrounded him, giving him no room to escape.

“Do not move!” one of the men warned him, and the other added, “You are arrested, Thorongil, or should I call you Strider from the North?” the men spit at him, and looked at him with disgust..

“What did I do for you to arrest me?” Aragorn asked, and felt like a mouse cornered by a cat.

“Leading an innocent family to their death, luckily there was one survivor.” The other said, with a smile upon his face, “And while this man is recovering, we will guard you as we see fit.”

And with that, Aragorn was shoved from his horse, and fell hard upon the ground. His body ached, and then the darkness engulfed him.

Later, as he woke from the unconsciousness, his back hurt though his head was throbbing. He was dragged upon the ground and one of his legs was tied to the saddle.

Aragorn hoped that he would survive until he reached Minas Tirith of Gondor.

The dragging stopped, and Aragorn lay motionless on the stone ground; the pain was unbearable as his back bled, and he was certain that his head was bleeding too from the rocks on the ground.

Aragorn sighed with relief when they stopped, and hoped that they would let him go. He hoped he would survive so he could defend himself against the horrible accusation that was set upon his name.

Aragorn watched like a hawk as another man got a long thick whip from his saddle, and smirked at him.

Then Strider flinched with horror as the sound of the whip was harsh against the blank air, as if it was ripping it. Aragorn’s eyes opened widely as he realized that soon the whip would meet a part of his body. His heart raced like it never had before.

End of Chapter 1.

Beta: Cal & Aranel

4.

After the second lash, Aragorn could not bring himself to hear whatever Denethor was saying. He only tried to concentrate on how to bear the pain, and how not to show his weakness, how not to scream.

It was getting harder, as the third lash tore through his skin; he could feel it, how the blood dripped down from his burning skin, it was too much to bear. But more than anything, he did not want to let the Steward have the pleasure of hearing him scream. Every lash only showed his victory over his screams.

“Are you listening to anything I said, Ranger?” Denethor sneered at him, as he raised the whip and hit the battered body in front of him, smiling as he watched the blood dripping from the cross mark he made.

Daren glanced over at the crowd and now noticed the Steward’s wife with their child, watching in worry at the man, and her husband.

He immediately walked to the Steward, and told him, “Denethor, your family is here. Is it there something you need me to do?”

Denethor stopped lashing against the now helpless ranger and stared at his wife, noticing the fallen tears, and his two-year-old child, Boromir, crying.

He turned to his second in command and answered, “Yes, there is something that I need you to do: Take the whip and spare no mercy. Give him at least a dozen stripes, then throw him into the dungeon, and do not allow anyone to see him.”

“That will be my pleasure, my Steward.” Daren nodded, taking the whip, and stood in the Steward’s place before the Ranger.

Denethor hurried to Finduilas’ side and taking the child into his arms, he led her back inside the great hall, away from the scene she just saw.

Once they were there, Finduilas turned to ask him what all this meant as she had always thought well of the ranger, “Why are you hurting him?”

“I have my own reasons. Why?” Denethor asked her, as he stared at her.

“I thought that you loved him like a brother.” She replied, and tried to hold the new tears that threatened to fall.

“Well, you thought wrong, my dear wife.” Denethor said to her, and caressed the child, who was starting to cry again.

“Boromir, child, why are you crying?” Denethor asked his child softly, running his finger down his soft cheeks, seemingly ignoring his wife’s question and turning his attention over to the child.

“Why do you think your child is crying?” Finduilas asked, and then added, “Where were you whenever he asks for you?”

“I was elsewhere, where I felt that I was needed.” Denethor replied, noticing how she flinched and the pain crept like a shadow in her eyes.

“And what about us? You do not think we need you as well?” She asked him, trying hard to fight against the tears.

Taking matters into her hands, Finduilas reached for Boromir. As soon as he saw her hands close to him, he reached out and cried for her.

“Where do you think you are taking him?” Denethor asked, as he felt the pain piercing his body at the sight of his own flesh and blood, and the one he truly loved, turning away from him because of this wretched ranger.

Denethor was angry at his wife, but he knew it was all because of Thorongil. He was the main reason behind all this happening.

“Away from here, anywhere away from all the madness that crawls in your mind.” Finduilas snapped at him as she tried to sooth her child while he cried in her arms.

Now fuming with stronger rage, Denethor left the great hall and walked outside, taking the whip from Daren, and began to vent out at that accursed ranger who caused all this trouble. He did not care how the man had already lost conscious with every one of the lashes hitting at his battered body with so great force.

Then he suddenly stopped at the sound of his friend calling him.

“Denethor, Thorongil has lost consciousness. You need to stop.” Daren said, looking at his commander, having already noticed how angry he was after he had returned.

Denethor, now feeling the exhaustion, dropped the whip, letting it fall onto the floor. He was tempted to simply give in and collapse on the floor, but gathered himself, and staring at the hung form in front of him, he turned to Daren and asked, “Why is he not in the dungeon?”

“Well, that is because you kept whipping him. But now we can throw him there as you command.” Daren replied, a hint of a sneer in his seemingly pleading voice.

At his silence, the second-in-command scanned the steward’s face and asked, “What is it, Denethor?”

“It is not for you to know.” Denethor snapped at him, now feeling the anger spreading within him.

Before long, the guards took Aragorn’s battered body, and bringing him to the dungeon, they threw him towards the wall and watched as he shuffled like a leaf on the cold floor.

Then they slammed the cell door and locked it.

--

‘Where am I?’ Aragorn’s mind flew with that question.

He could feel the cold floor under him, and shivered at the chilling effect it had on his body. And even without opening his eyes, he knew he was in the dungeon.

His back was still livid with the pain that burned with the hottest fire from the lava deep in the depths of Mordor, a fire that sheered through any muscles or bones.

How he wished that his Adar would tend to his wounds as he always did. But now, he could only hope that they would not get infected, because if they do, he might give Denethor just what the cruel man wished for.

Even so, Aragorn could not understand why Denethor hated him so and the pain from the unmerciful lashes only ensured he could not follow what the Steward was talking about.

“My Lord Elrond…” he mumbled the words in the cold cell, wishing his foster father could be there to attend to the injuries he was receiving from his very kin.

End of Chapter 4.

Beta: Aranel

Author Note: I want to thank everyone who stick with my story, and i hope you can forgive me for the long time.

5.

Finduilas carried her two-year-old son with her into the dungeon. She could not stop thinking of Thorongil, and the horrible scene of what her own husband did to him with his very hands.

She had decided, in her mind, to come and aid the man, no matter what would happen; she had the supplies, and her son would help.

Finduilas could feel how the boy woke and shivered in her arms. She shushed him, assuring him that he was safe with her. His little mind understood that he could soon play with the guard and kick him like how he did with his toys whenever his father preferred to be elsewhere instead of playing with him.

The guard lowered his weapon when he noticed the Steward's wife walking toward him with her child.

He bowed and spoke gently, "My lady, this is not a good place for you and the boy to be; you should be with your husband."

Finduilas looked at the guard, and said simply, "Well, my husband prefers to be elsewhere."

"Is there anything that you need, my lady?" The guard asked.

"Yes, there is," She answered and added, "Please take care of my son while I do my duty."

She placed Boromir in the guard's arm, while she took the things that she needed, and walked through the hallway, her eyes searching for the cell where Thorongil was kept.

She sighed heavily when she found him, and motioned with her eyes for the guard to open the cell.

The guard walked to her, and tried to protest, "My lady, I cannot. He is a criminal."

"Open up!" She ordered, and was relieved he obeyed.

Then she said with grace, "This man did nothing wrong, and no man should be lying there, waiting for death to take him away."

Before Finduilas entered the cell, she kissed Boromir on his forehead, and then she stepped in, her hand gently caressing the man's blooded features.

She flinched when the man moved a little away from her touch and in her heart, Finduilas cursed her husband for his cruelty to this man who did everything within and beyond his might for them.

"Please…" Aragorn pleaded, not wishing to be touched any more, not with the heat from the pain still clouding his mind.

"You are not alone… my dear Ranger," Finduilas tried to assure him, but was surprised as the ranger shrugged her hand away as he felt her touch.

"I am here to help you…" She started again, feeling only nothingness beneath her fingers as the ranger moved away yet again.

"No one can help me…" He muttered quietly. His lungs were burning with every breath he took, and he found it increasingly hard to talk.

"I can help you, my friend." She said, desperately hoping to ease the pain that made him suffer that much.

"Need no help… I can… Manage on my own… Fair lady." Aragorn replied, gritting his teeth as the pain climbed up his body.

Finduilas stared at the ranger, noticing the pain that showed from his grey eyes. She could not simply watch and do nothing; she had to do something at least to ease the pain.

"Please…" he asked in a weak voice, coughing as his throat turned dry.

Finduilas had no drinking water to offer, but she took a piece of cloth she had brought along, and, pouring some water on it, she started to clean his battered back.

Aragorn grimaced at the pain, then slipped into the darkness by the time she started to clean the next wound.

The steward's wife watched the ranger apprehensively. She had never seen him so fragile and yet not seeking any help, and Finduilas hoped to break through that wall the ranger had built around himself.

She set her eyes back on Thorongil’s back, and cleaned the torn flesh which was starting to grow infected, all the while thinking of how to help the man escape from her cruel husband.

'I hope you can forgive my husband's action, young man,' She thought and then softly whispered into Aragorn's ear, hoping he could heard her, "I will help you, Thorongil. Just stay alive."

She finished wrapping him in bandages after cleaning away the blood, and then after one last look before she left the cell, she promised to herself what she had whispered in his ear, "I will get you out of here, my young man."

The cell door was closed, and Aragorn, known only as Thorongil, lay alone, covered in bandages on the cold floor, pale as the moonlight.

Finduilas sent a glare toward the guard to say nothing of her coming. She did not wish to know how her husband would react if he found out what she did. As she left, she thought she heard the guard sigh in relief.

Finduilas then returned to the palace, and entering their bedroom, placed Boromir into his little bed beside her husband and hers, then she leaned towards her husband, and kissed him gently, making sure that he was asleep.

As soon as she was sure, she left the bedroom, and hurried toward the hallway that led into the library. She was seeking some information about something she needed to know was within their home and not outside Minas Tirith.

As she opened the pages of the book, she sighed in relief, glad that what she wanted was in fact very near the palace. All she had to do now was to collect it.

--

The next day, Finduilas left her son with the maiden who helped watch over him while she did her errands.

As she passed through the garden in the bottom level, a basket in her hand, several women came to her and quietly asked her of the man in the dungeon, concerned for his safety. The steward's wife felt overwhelmed as she never guessed that this young man was so popular in Minas Tirith, more so than her husband.

Encouraged, she told them her plan and they agreed to help her collect the herbs that she was looking for. In fact, they soon returned with more than enough for two cups of tea.

Then each of the ladies left for her own home, waiting to hear from the steward's wife the next day to know if it went alright. Once they knew that it had worked, they would do the same for their own husbands and unite to work as one.

But first they needed to keep this to themselves, and not let their own husbands or anyone else know of their plan, or it might end as it had started – like a wind that swept away the ashes from the ground.

--

When Finduilas returned to her chamber at the palace, she started to work on this specific herb, comforted in the knowledge that if it did not work, she had another ace in her sleeve that she could use. For now, she needed to know for sure how much time this herb would buy her.

She breathed in the scent of the mint as she prepared the sleeping draught for her husband in the kitchen. The mint calmed her that so that she did not feel the enormous weight on her shoulders, and that was good.

Later as daylight faded, she was ready.

Finduilas watched her husband as he returned, noticing the black circles that surrounded his eyes. Taking the drink she had made earlier, she came to sit by him and passed him the cup.

"Denethor, you’re looking very tired. Here drink this tea, it will soothe your mind." Finduilas said, relieved as he drank it all down.

She helped him to move into their bed, and then she sat on the chair beside the bed, watching her husband sleep while she calculated the duration to know how effective the herb was.

After a while, she walked down the hallway until she reached Boromir's room where the maiden was there taking care of him. She smiled, happy that her son was being cared for even in these darkened times.

It would only take a moment for her to leave the palace to check on how Thorongil was faring. Hopefully, Daren, or the others who cooperated with her husband, was not around him.

She hurried toward the dungeon in the darkness, and as she walked down the stairs and heard the screams, her hopes were dashed.

Finduilas took a cautious step, only to see Daren whipping Thorongil without mercy and demanding to know who had treated his wounds when the Steward had given the order not to.

The Steward's wife glanced at the floor and noticed the bleeding guard, who seemed to have taken most of the beating before Daren found Thorongil to put the blame on.

Even so, she was relieved that no one had betrayed her to Daren, as, if the man found out, she might never be able to free the young ranger from her husband's cruelty. And she now knew she had to act the very next day, or death would take Thorongil.

Finduilas left the dungeon with haste, not wishing to meet Daren anytime soon. Walking back to the palace, she entered the bedroom where her husband was still resting and joined him in their bed.

--

The next day, she went down a level to meet with the ladies she had met previously, and each of those brought back some of the herb for their husbands.

She knew she had to work fast; there was no room for any hesitation, as they needed to move Thorongil away from Minas Tirith and Denethor's cruelty.

And along with those ladies she met, Finduilas knew that this was the time they rose from the ashes, took control and fought for something they stood for. Thorongil, the one who stood beside Ecthelion II and fought against the villains, gave them the courage because they knew they owed him this at the very least, for all the good that he had done for them.

It was time for them to take a stand.

Every one of the ladies prepared the herbs before daylight ended, before giving them to their loved ones. Even Daren received a cup before darkness fell. Soon, the men were asleep, and at the gates, the women were in control, having roped in a few boys to help open the tall, heavy gates.

Soon, with darkness and silence as her guide, Finduilas gave a kiss to her son, leaving him with the maiden as she left the palace, for the dungeon, knowing that now she had to make arrangements both for Thorongil and also the guard who had indirectly saved her life. She owed them as much.

As she hurried down the stairs, some five to ten women joined in to help with whatever she needed, and so, they carried both Thorongil and the guard up the stairs where some other women had prepared a wagon for them.

Finduilas sat beside the young ranger and carefully tended to his wounds while the other women directed the horses to pull the wagon through the city.

Once they reached the large gates, Finduilas left the men in the wagon and went over to the women, nodding at them. With a strong creak, the wooden gates pulled open to reveal the full moon in the sky.

The women quickly untied the horses from the wagon, preparing the two horses for Thorongil and the guard. As the women helped the men mount, they checked that they were doing well, and passed them a small supply of food and water for the journey ahead.

The Steward's wife turned to Thorongil. "You are a free man now," She said and patted his leg lightly before continuing, "Ride through the Druadan Forest; it is the fastest way to escape from my husband's cruelty. Go and may the Valar watch over you."

Aragorn only nodded, not knowing how to thank her as he was still stunned by what Finduilas and the other women did for him.

Then the gates were closed and Aragorn turned around to stare at the large gates, hoping that nothing would happen to Finduilas for his sake, as she had a heart of gold and such deep courage to stand up for him.

He urged his horse faster through the forest, sensing that the injured guard was right behind him. Not knowing what might happen on the road, he rode faster and tried to ignore the pain as he rode toward his home at last.

The End…