Hood » LotR ((ON HOLD))

Chapter Twenty-Four: Unexpected

"So, how exactly do we get into the dungeons?" Robin asked, trying to pull his thoughts from the missing weight around his neck. Next to him, Aragorn winced.

"I... I don't know."

Looking around where they were kept, Robin noted the barred gates and handful of armed guards. Clearly, no one got in or out without permission. But there had to be another entrance if the fighters went directly from here to the Pits.

He eyed the gate opposite them. Where the shouting was coming from.

Mindlessly, he reached for his neck, before remembering and yanking his hand down. He could feel the King's gaze. One of pity.

Clenching his jaw, Robin glared at the man. "What was it?"

"What was what?"

"What you hid," Robin tried to keep his voice from shaking. "When that orc of an idiot giant demanded tribute. You slipped something out of sight."

Something flickered in Aragorn's eyes and he hesitated for a moment. Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silver ring, embedded with a green gem. "The Ring of Barahir," he said. "It's an heirloom of my kin."

Robin's stomach churned. Gritting his teeth, he forced a nod, turning away. 

"Hood--"

"We need to find Aria," Robin cut the man off. He wasn't sure he trusted himself at the moment, keeping his words clipped. "Before they throw her into the Pits. Only one Champion comes out alive and skin-changer or not, she's wounded."

"Last I checked, so are you."

Robin blinked, glaring at the king. "Excuse me?"

Aragorn's grey eyes went to his bandaged wrapped shoulder. Huffing, Robin turned away. "It's a flesh wound, your highlyness. I'll survive." He glanced meaningfully back. "Or you'll get lucky and get rid of me. We made it to Rhun. The only thing left now is to get your sword and I'm not needed for that."

"Getting back my sword is the least of our worries right now," Aragorn said flatly. Robin only rolled his eyes.

"Course. Thanks for stating the obvious, dear."

The king didn't answer that, but Robin could sense his irritation. Good. Let him be mad. That seemed to be the way they worked best anyway.

Over in the shadows, Brot leaned against one of the pillars, his two sidekicks guarding his back. He was inspecting something that Robin had no doubt was his ring. Anger rose in his stomach, accompanied by a twisting of grief.

He shouldn't have given it up. He was going to die soon anyway, he should have just let the man-giant finish him off.

But it was too late to go back now.

He rolled back his shoulders, wincing at the sharp pain that shattered down his spine. The bandages under his tunic were definitely warm now-- with both blood and sweat. Soon, it would show through his tunic. Then, he would be damaged goods.

Maybe their captors would rebandage the wound. Either that or he'd be a burden.

One that could easily be tossed aside.

The roars of the Pits were still audible, swinging between highs and lows. Sometimes, he could hear screams for blood. Other times, echoing booing.

Prisoners from their enclosure came and went. The dwarf had gone earlier in the day.

He hadn't returned.

"Say," Robin looked back at Aragorn. "Brot said they keep the valuable prisoners in the dungeons, right? The dangerous one... and probably the Champions. Maybe those that make trouble. Those they want to keep secure."