Heolstor studied the chessboard, staring at it as if it were the enemy itself. Seeing the fruits of your labors was, of course, the best part of planning. But when everything was running smoothly, even the preparation could be pleasurable.

He wasn’t prone to give himself premature self-congratulations, but he was feeling pleased with himself tonight. Pleased, and abnormally eager to see the next stage of his plan unfold. He’d planned carefully, and although a certain captain might cause him difficulty, he felt confident in the evidence he had gathered, which even now lay safely locked away. How could anyone in his right mind refute such incriminating evidence? Even Thengel couldn’t possibly brush it off as nothing, simply on the basis of his friendship with Thorongil.

But he didn’t even have to think of that yet. If he could…persuade Captain Thorongil to go away quietly now, there would be no need to ever force the King to such a decision. If Thorongil would submit, and be banished, he would be gratified on many accounts. He didn’t really want to kill him, after all. Such a formidable mind to simply kill... Even as he hoped for such a thing, at the same time he waved it off. “Submit” and “Thorongil” in the same sentence sounded ludicrous, if it wasn’t an outright oxymoron. No, if he judged his fellow captain aright—which he was sure he did—then there would be no backing off for him. He would probably think leaving under pressure the act of a coward, and the captain’s quaint code of honor would never allow that. Ah well, that was where the evidence would come in. He almost believed that himself…

His eyes were still glued upon the chessboard, spread out on the low table before him. Heolstor sat forward in his chair, stretching out his hand and letting it hover over the various pieces for a couple of seconds. Then he snatched up a pawn, eyed it with disdain, and set it down on the table.

“Well, my Lady, you were most ingenious,” he spoke quietly to himself, as if Morwen were present. “I must admit, I didn’t see it coming until it was nearly too late. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you from now on.” He looked back at the pawn. He’d taken Morwen into account, but he was irritated to realize he’d primarily been considering the actions of a certain hot-headed lieutenant. A messenger from the queen, to hasten Thengel’s return—he should have seen that one coming from the very start. Thanks to one of his many sources, he’d been notified of the situation, and the problem was now averted. He would indeed have to keep a closer eye on Morwen. “However, it’s too late for any more of your subtle plans to help the dear captain, now, my Lady.”

Amusement colored his former disdain, as his hand dove again, this time ensnaring a knight with his fingers. He wasn’t so hasty to set it on the side-lines, instead turning it continuously between thumb and forefinger.

“And you, Captain. What are your thoughts right now, I wonder?” he muttered, softly. “Will you play my game, and give in easily, or will you fight it out and seal your own death? You certainly have an overabundance of loyal friends. Who’ll come to your rescue next—perhaps a contingent of elves?” Considering the letters scrawled in elven script that he’d discovered in Thorongil’s desk, that statement lost most of its humor. Even if he couldn’t understand the words they contained, their significance was not lost on him. It appeared Thorongil did have friends, even among the elves. His eyes narrowed, as he continued to turn the chess-piece between his fingers. “I really do admire you, but I admire you too much to leave you as a threat to me.”

The knock at the door forced him to set the knight aside. He rose, unlocked the door, and ushered Rador into the room with a curt gesture of his hand. He didn’t offer him a seat.

“Stand right where you are, don’t even think about touching anything, and don’t say a word. I don’t relish the risk of having you here in the first place, so listen carefully and do not make me repeat myself. I want you out of here before five minutes are up.”

Rador nodded stiffly, and did as commanded, staying where he stood, hands clasped behind his back. His black eyes followed Heolstor, as he unlocked and opened one of the cabinets that lined the wall. He withdrew two vials and set them down on a table nearby to relock the cabinet, before picking them back up and walking back to him.

“Take these.” Heolstor held the vials up for him to take, only to pull back slightly when he reached for them. He looked warningly at him. “Be careful with them. Poisons such as these aren’t made overnight.” He held the vials to the light, their liquid contents sparkling in the firelight.

Rador couldn’t quite fathom the almost fond manner in which Heolstor handled the two vials. However, confusion was almost a perpetual state of being when he was around Heolstor. Especially when he was in one of these brusque moods, which he’d come to recognize as Heolstor’s version of cheerfulness—he took his happiness out on his underlings. He’d given up trying to understand some of his quirks. He didn’t really want to know, anyways. Heolstor thought he was repulsive, and the feeling was mutual. They were both in this for their own gain. Unfortunately, he was the underdog, and had to act it. Instead of rolling his eyes, therefore, he merely gave a tolerably civil nod of understanding, and a quick, “I will be careful with them, my Lord.”

Heolstor, who knew perfectly well that he was the superior of the situation, was not so restrained as to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Oh, yes, I know just how careful you can be. I’ve seen nothing but an overabundance of gentleness, caution, and general reserve from you ever since I enlisted you.”

Rador kept his face blank, not looking Heolstor in the eye lest he betray his insubordinate thoughts.

Heolstor knew all the same. He knew Rador was nothing less than a volcano ready to burst. All the same, he would instill some fear in him, at least. “Don’t think I can’t feel your anger. But I warn you, Rador, if you ruin my plans and you will regret it.” He left it at that, turning back to the subject of the vials, as if Rador was nothing but a respectful, cringing serf. He held the vials forward again, this time allowing Rador to actually take them.

Heolstor’s words had done anything but reduce Rador to a cringing coward, but he took the vials with another deferential nod. “If I may ask, my Lord, what are they for?”

“They are to help you with the prisoner. I do not suppose he’s been forthcoming?”

“No, my Lord. Anything but forthcoming. He’s being very stubborn.”

“I could have told you that. I expected you might need a little…help. These may convince even the great Captain Thorongil to abandon Rohan.”

Rador looked dubiously at the vials. “These? What’s in them?”

“Poison, in that one.” Heolstor indicated one with his finger.

“But you said we couldn’t afford to actually kill him…”

“Diluted poison, you fool,” Heolstor said sharply. “Diluted, non-lethal, and specially created by me. It won’t kill him, but it will have interesting…side-effects.”

Rador was looking more interested, although he still eyed the vial somewhat suspiciously. He preferred more conventional means of persuading prisoners. “What kind of ‘side-effects’?”

“I’ll let you find that out for yourself. But I would advise you to administer it before you turn to your own methods. I think you will find its side-effects most complimentary.”

Carefully, Rador stowed the poison in one of the inner-pockets of his overcoat. “I will do as you say, my Lord. But what about the other one?”

“That would be another special concoction of my own. It an acidic compound.” When Rador’s face didn’t dawn with understanding, he continued patiently, “I would recommend that you do not let it touch your own skin—or you’ll be figuring out its properties first-hand.”

Rador eyed the vial now with more respect, and curiosity. “I see.”

Heolstor’s hand rested on the door handle, but before he opened it he added, “Start early tomorrow morning. I don’t know how much time we have left. Push him hard, but don’t do anything permanent yet. The poisons will do much of the encouragement for you, so don’t work him over too hard until you see their effects.”

“Yes, my Lord. First thing tomorrow morning.”

Rador strode out into the gloomy hall grinning. Who said business and pleasure couldn’t be the same thing?

***

“Good morning, Captain. Did you sleep well?”

Thorongil didn’t reply. For one thing, he was just waking up, and feeling horrible. For another, he’d long ago learned that responding to taunts from men who hated you was not necessary. Such men usually continued to talk whether you answered them or not. Besides, they didn’t usually want an answer, much preferring the sound of their own voice.

“No? I suppose stress does get to all of us, and besides, that position really doesn’t look too comfortable.”

“How observant of you.” Thorongil’s retort turned into something more resembling a croak. They hadn’t brought him water for hours, and he could feel dehydration setting in. And he was incredibly sore. Actually, sore didn’t even begin to describe the feeling that seemed to generally envelop every last muscle in his body.

He hadn’t yet worked up the energy required to lift his head, and thus lost the gesture Rador must have given the guards, but he soon felt rough hands seizing his arms. He bit his lip in pain, as the hands lifted him. Chains rattled, and then he felt the coolness of the pole being slid out from between his back and arms. The pain that followed was every bit as excruciating as having bonds cut after a long time of being bound.

Over the hours, he’d had to slump against the pole for support. As much pain as it caused him, he couldn’t kneel forever, and as he dozed on and off, he’d awoken a number of times to find his hands and arms numb from lack of circulation. Of course, as soon as he pulled himself upright he would regain some circulation. Now, however, the sudden onslaught of blood rushing back into his abused limbs was overwhelming, as was the wealth of complete feeling.

Biting his lip even harder, he tried to pull his uncooperative feet out from under him so he could stand, as the guards began to drag him forward. Just when he thought he might be able to stand upright, they pushed him forward, and his legs crumpled from under him once again. It was probably just as well, since he doubted they would have let him stay standing for long.

When Rador’s shadow fell over him, his automatic response was to push himself up to his knees. To his chagrin, he found his knees sore and unwilling to bear his weight, and ended up only half upright. His hands were still bound in front of him, and the cord bit so deeply into his skin he found he could scarcely feel his fingers, as he struggled to support himself with irritatingly shaky arms. Slowly, he lifted his head.

As if he’d been waiting for such a response, Rador instantly lashed out, catching him straight in the jaw with his booted foot. Thorongil’s head snapped backwards, and his arms collapsed, sending him unceremoniously sprawling forward.

“Really, Captain, I had expected a little more endurance from a legendary man such as you.” Rador leaned over and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head upwards until they were eye-to-eye.

Glazed silver eyes fluttered wearily open, but widened slightly when a small vial entered their line of sight. Unexpectedly, Thorongil pulled back with all his strength, freeing himself momentarily. Then the guards grabbed for him again, one of them pummeling him in the stomach, before pinning him back down. Chest heaving from the effort, Thorongil finally lay subdued. But he clenched his jaw tightly, eyes flashing dangerously when Rador again advanced with the vial.

“Excellent, excellent,” Rador lauded. “I do hope you didn’t put up that little fight just for me…”

“I’m not taking any of your poisons,” Thorongil ground out between his teeth. There were a thousand possibilities as to what the clear liquid could be, but he had a pretty good guess it wasn’t water. Beatings he could handle—he hoped—but, more than that, he feared what he might become under the influence of mind-drugs, or poison.

“I didn’t think you’d be cooperative. So ready to sacrifice yourself, aren’t you, Captain? But would you be so defiant, I wonder, if it were someone else in danger?”

Thorongil forced any fear he felt not to show. “You are full of idle threats.”

“So you say. But would you care to test this one?”

Thorongil clenched his jaw tighter, but the resistance was gone from his demeanor. He was blind to everything going on outside of his cell, and completely powerless. He’d given his word to Thengel that he’d watch over Morwen. Now, it appeared the only way he could do that was do as he was commanded—or threatened—to do, and pray to Illúvatar that the situation without wasn’t nearly so grim. Surely Morwen couldn’t be in danger. He didn’t know who “else” Rador could be talking about, but he feared to ask lest he draw attention to the Queen, and his own fear for her safety.

Rador saw the defiance drain from him, and thrust the vial forward. Thorongil drank. In truth, it didn’t taste bad. In his thirsty, feverish state it was pleasant to taste liquid of any kind.

“See? That wasn’t so difficult. Oh…but I did forget to ask you before we began: are you ready to accept the terms?”

“Guess.”

“Very well, if you wish to play thatgame. I should warn you, thought, my self-control is about spent. I am not a patient man.”

Thorongil smiled humorlessly. “Really?”

Rador’s eyes were hard as they flickered briefly to the two guards. “I intend to get an answer—” Rador slammed his boot into the side of his head again “—my answer—” He kicked him in the side, barely missing his only partially-healed dagger wound. “—and it would be in your best interest to tell me now.” Rador made a slow circuit around him. “Although, if you’d like this to take all day, I assure you, I won’t mind at all.”

Thorongil didn’t answer, taking the short pause to catch his breath.

“Your answer?” Rador demanded.

“My answer remains the same, and will remain the same.”

“We’ll see about that.” Rador eyes hardened, flickering briefly to the two guards. “Hold him.”

Thorongil was hauled up by his arms again, grimacing against the pain. One of them then commenced to cut away his shirt. The thin undershirt had afforded him little enough protection, but he felt even more vulnerable with it gone. He felt his heart speed up with fear at a precursor he was all too familiar with. He had a dozen different ideas as to what might come next, all of which only made his heart pump more urgently.

He closed his eyes briefly. Pull yourself together, Thorongil.

Usually, if he just distracted himself—thought about anything but what might happen to him next—he could compose himself somewhat. But even his most tranquil memories of Rivendell failed to ease the panic that was gripping him. The fact that he couldn’t seem to calm himself, as he usually could, only served to double the feeling of powerlessness. Then he remembered the vial, and its contents that he’d been forced to drink. He examined the way his heart was hammering away in his chest, and tried to be as detached about the panic he was feeling as possible. It wasn’t working. Whatever it was he’d been given, it appeared to have a great effect upon emotions. He forced his mind, at least, to relax, even if it was next to impossible to make his body do the same.

Realizing that his eyes were still closed, he reopened them. Rador’s grinning face met his. And he was holding another vial.

Rador offered mock sympathy. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to make you drink this. I don’t have many limitations as to what I can with you, but I do need you alive in the end.”

“How comforting,” Thorongil enthused dryly.

“I thought you might find it so.” Rador uncorked the vial. “And now, down to business.”

For the first time, Thorongil noticed the thin stick that he held. It was a little longer than a man’s hand, and as he watched, Rador dipped it into the vial. He also noticed, now, that Rador had put on thick leather gloves. If he’d put his mind to it, he might have been able to make an educated guess as to what was in the vial, but he purposely kept his mind blank. Thinking too much at a time like this was never a good idea.

“I’ve never tried this either, Captain, so it will be a learning experience for both of us.” Rador withdrew the stick from the vial.

Thorongil had to hold back a surprised gasp of pain, as Rador touched his shoulder with its tip. His expression of surprise was not lost on Rador.

“Burns, does it?”

Rador traced a line down his collar bone, and then on to his next shoulder, the thin instrument leaving a trail of fiery pain in its wake. He pulled it back just long enough to dip it again, before running it across his chest, this time turning it slightly length-wise to cover more skin. This time Thorongil did utter a small gasp. Elbereth, it felt like a live coals.

Rador was obviously pleased. “And here I was half afraid it wouldn’t work.” He admired his work: lines of red were beginning to spread across Thorongil’s skin. “Anything to say before we continue? No? I was hoping you’d say that.” He ran the stick along his side, touching the edges of his already inflamed dagger wound. Thorongil moaned as he repeated the movement, going back over the same skin and adding another layer of burning pain. Rador paused to order the guards. “Unbind him.”

The guards obeyed, cutting the cords that bound his wrists in front of him. Thorongil nearly moaned again, as the blood rushed to his fingertips, and his arms and shoulders were released from the position they’d been forced to endure for the last hours. The guards’ fingers dug into his skin as they each gripped one of his arms.

Rador wasn’t done with the vial, either. He steeled himself to keep from flinching away, but when Rador began to trace the stick along the sensitive skin of his inner forearm he automatically jerked away. And he couldn’t stop jerking away reflexively, every time he applied the burning substance. His mind told him to clamp his mouth shut and hold firm, but soon he wasn’t doing very good at either one. He clenched his teeth, but a hiss of pain escaped him, and as the stick touched his arm again, he pulled back, trying to wrench himself from the guards’ hold.

Rador knew how to time things perfectly, stopping periodically to ask him the same question, and when he didn’t receive the answer he wanted, pushing on until he got a reaction out of him. And Thorongil soon found that the drug that he’d been forced to drink earlier did, indeed, play upon its victim’s emotions. Every twinge of fear he felt seemed to be magnified until he felt engulfed in a whirlwind of panic and irrational thoughts. He felt lost in a haze of confusion and pain, and only a small, grounded part of him stubbornly kept him from replying “yes” to any of Rador’s questions. It was something to do with his honor, something to do with the Queen, something to do with keeping his word to Thengel… His thoughts because less and less clear, but he held on to the fact that he simply must not give in. Logic also kept reminding him of Rador’s previous words: he was still needed alive. They wouldn’t do anything fatal. They probably couldn’t even do serious damage. It felt like serious damage, though.

His senses seemed to fade in and out—one minute rising to a level he didn’t know existed, and then declining until he thought for certain that he was going to pass out. But he didn’t. Just when the blackness reached out to enfold him, pain would spike through him, jolting him to awareness. And always—always—there was Rador’s grinning face to greet him, whenever he roused himself enough to open his eyes and lift his head.

When the flashes of burning pain did stop at last, he only slumped limply in the guards’ hold, hardly daring to hope that Rador could actually be done. Although he’d been bracing himself for it, he still almost cried out when he felt the burning sensation again, this time unexpectedly close to his face. He jerked his head away, as Rador began to tip his chin up using the stick. His jaw stung from even the brief contact.

“Having second thoughts yet?” Rador taunted. “So you’re still not talking to me.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You want to make this difficult, don’t you?” He spoke through an exaggerated yawn. “Well I don’t know about you, but this talk has thoroughly worn me out. It must be nearing noon already.”

Thorongil couldn’t repress a shudder when Rador motioned to one of the guards. So far, commands from Rador only meant more pain. But, at least he’d put away the dreaded vial and stick. Whatever came next might be half bearable. Not that he was congratulating himself upon having survived yet. However, the returning guard only brought a flask and cup.

“I call a truce, Captain.”

Thorongil looked wearily at Rador, too exhausted to be quizzical. Rador would do what he would do. There was no stopping him. Rador pulled the stopper out of the flask, pouring some of its contents into the cup. The sound of trickling liquid filled the small cell, and reminded him of just how thirsty he’d become. He looked purposefully away, unwilling to let Rador see just how tempting a drink of water sounded.

Rador took a small sip, then a longer one, draining the glass. He took a satisfied breath. Echoing his own thoughts, he asked, “Ah, amazing how good a simple cup of water can taste, isn’t it?” As usual, not receiving any response, he sighed and poured himself another cup full. “Thorongil, Thorongil, this is really getting most tedious, talking to myself…”

Thorongil tried to block the sound of the water filling the cup. “Then why don’t you stop?” For having been meant arrogantly, the retort came out annoyingly faint and slurred.

“So you do still possess a voice. Wonderful.” Rador took another sip of the water, and then turned the cup sideways, allowing the rest of it to slowly—ever so excruciatingly slowly—trickle out, onto the floor.

Despite himself, Thorongil couldn’t help but watch, swallowing thickly.

Rador squatted in front of him, holding the flask just inches from his face. “There’s more where that came from. And wine, ale, and a soft bed, for that matter—all waiting for you beyond this cell. Consider your answer again, Captain.”

The drug was wearing off slightly, or at least ebbing briefly, leaving him a modicum of power over his own mind again. Thorongil fought with all his will to sound firm for just one more reply. “No. I will not abandon Thengel-King in his hour of need.” He didn’t know what evidence they held against him, he didn’t know how dire the situation outside the dungeons was, he didn’t know why someone was so determined to make him leave, he just didn’t know… But he knew Thengel would clear it all up when he returned, and he would have to bank on that hope for now. Whether it was Heolstor or someone else, whoever was responsible for this situation had no good intentions for Rohan, of that he was certain.

Rador was at the cell door now. “Just think about it, Captain. Some loyalties can be taken too far. Thengel wouldn’t want you dead.” He nodded to the guards. “Tie him back up as he was.”