Hood » LotR ((ON HOLD))

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Slave Market

The carts came to a stop right before Robin was about to fall back into unconsciousness.

Snapped awake by the pause of the rumbling and jolting, he blinked, gazing blearily around. Easterlings dismounted their horses, a handful swarming toward the cages. As the door to his was yanked open, Robin climbed unsteadily to his feet. Two men jumped inside, grabbing his arms and yanked him roughly out.

"Ladies, ladies, please be gentle," Robin protested, feeling their grips tighten. "I'm delicate property."

"Shut it, elf," one man growled in a rough accent, tightening his already bruising grip.

"I prefer the term 'Human 2.0'," Robin muttered. Judging by fact that only one of this captors reacted to the statement, he figured only the one who had spoken back understood his tongue.

Ahead, Aragorn and Aria seemed to be receiving the same treatment. Though, it looked a little more gentle.

Of course.

Stumbling, Robin glanced around. There were others— other prisoners, that was. Or maybe fighters was a better word for it. He noticed a few huge gladiators dressed in chainlink armor, muscles rippling up their arms. To his surprise, he also spotted a rather tall looking dwarf, with a thick brown beard and bruised face. But he looked deadly, two axes crossing his back. He leaned against one of the sandstone pillars, eyes half closed.

They had stopped in a wide courtyard surrounded by tall, leaning buildings. The air was blisteringly hot, a reddish sky above. It took Robin a moment to recognize it was a courtyard he'd seen last time. For the fighters of the Pit.

"Mordor," he cursed.

"Seen this before?" One of his captors smirked.

"I've traveled my share," Robin shot back. To his irritation, the Rhun man only smirked wider. As if his words were a source of entertainment.

"Give it a week. You'll be dead in less."

Robin yanked his arms loose at that, shooting both men a dark look. But they only turned away and he glanced around the Pit training center, trying to note all his possible competitions. Between Aria and Aragorn, only the king had been let loose among the rest of the competitors. Across the courtyard, Aragorn rubbed his wrists, glancing up and catching Robin's eye.

But where were they holding Aria?

Slowly, nonchalantly, Robin made his way over to the Gondorian king. "We'll have to fight our way out."

"I can see," Aragorn said tightly. Robin clenched his jaw.

"We might have to kill to survive."

"Yes," the king replied simply. Robin tilted a brow but the man didn't say anything further.

"I could start a distraction," Robin glanced around, though didn't let his eyes linger on any of the other fighters for longer than a second. Any prolonged stare could be taken as a conflict for invitation. Or worse.

Questions.

"Not here, not now," Aragorn kept his own gaze down, voice low. "I doubt the guards will care much of a few prisoners go down in a brawl. It'll probably just be free entertainment."

"Then what do we do?" Part of Robin couldn't believe he was leaning so heavily on the king's advice. The man whom he'd punched in the face less than a week ago. But he was out of ideas.

And his shoulder hurt.

He was doing his best not to show the pain, but if felt like the blade was still in his shoulder blade, twisting slowly. Despite the bandages, he could feel a damp warmth with every breath, and knew the wound had started to bleed through.