"I see you, God of Truths"

"The prisoner has once again attempted to escape, my lord," grumbled the orc as he removed the blindfold masking Aragorn's eyes. "He injured two of our men during the maneuver."

"Leave him here, I will take care of him personally," murmured a voice from a dark corner of the room.

Aragorn lifted his head, straining to discern the silhouette of the creature in the confined dimness of the tent.

"He will be dealt with according to your orders, my lord," the orc saluted before taking his leave.

Like a shadow, swift as a serpent, slid silently toward Aragorn, dominating his slouched figure on the ground. The ranger's soiled hair fell disheveled in front of his weary eyes. It had been three days since they had been held captive by the orc army, and no soul from Middle-earth had come to rescue the vanished Rohirrim.

For three days, they had been subjected to forced labor, digging trenches within the very camp of their enemies. This exhausting toil was relentlessly eroding their strength. Fortunately, none among them had revealed their true identities thus far. It remained imperative that their adversaries remained ignorant of the significance of their persons. If the orcs were to discover they held an elven prince, a noble dwarf, and an heir of the Arathorn lineage in captivity, the consequences could be disastrous. The enemy would possess a most valuable bargaining chip, an opportunity for negotiation they would surely exploit.

Aragorn had been attempting to orchestrate their escape, but the surprisingly cunning orcs had thwarted every move, annihilating any chance of breaking free from their clutches. The ranger swiftly realized that the only viable avenue for him and his companions lay in a direct confrontation with the orc chieftain. However, no multitude of stratagems seemed to offer a way to reach the entity responsible for their torment. At least, not until this very hour:

"So, you're the one giving my men a hard time?" inquired the creature, its monstrous eyes seeming to pierce the fringed mask as it scrutinized Aragorn.

Unyielding, the ranger slowly straightened his posture.

"I do not surrender without a fight," he replied, his voice calm yet resolute. "Your men will not break my will."

A smirk formed on the uncovered mouth of the monster, its fangs briefly gleaming in the dim light. "Ah, I admire your bravery, human. But you are in my domain now. Here, I set the rules of the game."

Tension escalated, creating a taut silence between the two adversaries.

"And what is this game you're playing?" Aragorn inquired with a cutting tone, seeking to buy time while assessing potential counteractions.

"The game of survival, of course," the creature responded with a deep voice.

Tightening his grip on a rough stone nearby, Aragorn swiftly gauged the distance between them. His mind raced, searching for any opportunity to turn the tables.

"And what does the winner of this game gain?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The horned creature advanced slightly, revealing more of its terrifying aspect. "The right to live, naturally."

Suddenly, in a flash of calculated action, Aragorn hurled the stone he held toward the creature's fringed mask. The projectile ricocheted off the surface, causing a subtle shift in the mask's position. Seizing the momentary distraction, the ranger lunged at his opponent with the grace of a predator.

"It seems you're about to lose that privilege," Aragorn exclaimed, managing to pin the creature to the ground in a deft move.

It was then that he locked eyes with his adversary. The creature's eyes were entirely red, from the sclera to the pupil.

Before Aragorn could make another move, the balance shifted suddenly. The blue skin of his opponent burned like molten metal, forcing Aragorn to release his grip on the wrists with a cry of pain.

With disconcerting ease, the creature reversed the situation, rolling itself before pressing a threatening dagger against the ranger's throat.

Blinded by tears of pain in his eyes, Aragorn could barely make out the face of his enemy.

"Stay still, human," the man's voice rang out, tinged with a menacing tone. "Otherwise, the only game you'll be partaking in is one where your head will roll on the ground."

"Loki?" a voice called from the entrance of the tent. "Is everything alright in there?"

"Everything's under control, Grishnákh," the creature responded, its gaze unwavering from Aragorn.

A tall orc with an imposing build entered, allowing a few rays of light to seep into the tent.

"Our guest seems to be causing you some trouble, judging by what I see..." the orc declared with a grumble that could almost be mistaken for a kind of laughter. "Why haven't you already killed them all? If one of these humans manages to escape, you know the cost..."

The creature towering over Aragorn wiped away the blood welling under its lip.

"It's not just a mere shepherd," the leader argued with a shrug almost human in its nonchalance. "I believe I've finally spotted their leader among them."

Slowly, the creature stood up, still holding its menacing dagger pointed at Aragorn. It was then that the ranger fully realized the difference in size between the orc and the leader.

While the orc was massive and imposing, the horned creature seemed even smaller than the ranger himself. Its muscles were lean, evoking the stature of a young adult. Yet, it was its face that troubled Aragorn the most.

Orcs generally had prominent jaws, leaving their lower fangs visible. The individual facing him possessed a peculiar beauty, even more fascinating than that of the elves, owing to its exotic nature. Amid the melee, its hair had come undone, cascading down in a flurry of jet-black braids.

"What are you?" the ranger couldn't help but ask, curiosity outweighing caution.

The creature before him grimaced disapprovingly.

"That's not the most polite question to ask," its foe grumbled.

"Show more respect, human!" the orc beside him snapped angrily. "You're in the presence of Loki, father of the orc nation and king of the Dark Lands."

The named Loki reassuredly placed a hand on the warrior's arm, instantly soothing him. This simple gesture deeply unsettled Aragorn.

"Calm down, Grishnákh," the leader murmured in a gentle voice. "I believe I discern a king here, if my intuition doesn't fail me."

The silence, thick as a starless night, enveloped the tent. Gazes locked in this confined space, a silent dance of wariness and curiosity played out between the two shadowy creatures and Aragorn.

"Our guest is wounded," the enigmatic king of the Dark Lands eventually declared, his red eyes fixing on Aragorn's burned hands. "Can you take him to Lug? She will know what to do."

Aragorn was taken aback by the unexpected tone of concern in the creature's words. After all, this man was their enemy, the chief of the orc army who had captured them.

"Who is Lug?" the ranger asked cautiously.

Loki inclined his head slightly, a nearly imperceptible smile hovering on his lips. "Lug is our healer. If you want to save your hands, human, you'd do well to place your trust in her."

Curiosity overcame apprehension. Aragorn needed care; that was an undeniable fact he couldn't deny. And if this "Lug" could truly help him, then perhaps playing by Loki's rules would be necessary, at least for the time being.

"I accept your offer," Aragorn responded with an equal resolve, while the pain in his hands cruelly reminded him of his vulnerability.

Loki nodded, silently approving of his decision. Without another word, he headed towards the tent's entrance and issued a brief order towards the aforementioned Grishnákh.

The orc hastened to obey, compelling Aragorn to follow him.

"Don't blindfold him," Loki added imperiously. "I want him to see the camp."

"What do you think you'll see here?" Aragorn challenged with a defiant undertone in his voice.

Loki smiled, a smile that held a cryptic quality. "Perhaps reality," he said, his tone carrying a sense of mystery. "All too often, Men judge without knowing, condemn without understanding. Maybe what you see will surprise you, who knows?"

Aragorn couldn't help but feel intrigued. There was something about Loki that left him perplexed, a complexity that surpassed the mere notion of an enemy. As he followed the orc out of the tent, leaving the chief to his solitude, the ranger's eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, seeking landmarks, potentially exploitable weak points.

The curious and hostile gazes of the surrounding creatures fell upon him, each silhouette oddly illuminated by the campfire flames.

The discordant sounds of camp life resonated in the air, blending laughter, grunts, lively discussions, and even music.

As he walked, Aragorn was suddenly jostled by small, noisy creatures, their energy bringing them up to his knees. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized he was surrounded by children, children of the orc race. The scene was surprisingly disconcerting, evoking a myriad of conflicting emotions within him.

The burning curiosity in the children's eyes couldn't be ignored. They stared at Aragorn with a mix of fascination and questioning. For the first time in a considerable while, Aragorn felt his certainties waver.

After a few minutes of walking, they reached another tent. Inside, a creature with greenish skin stood with its back turned, focused on tending to one of the orc guards that Aragorn had wounded a few hours earlier.

"Lug, I have a new patient for you!" Grishnákh announced, shoving Aragorn unceremoniously into the tent.

The creature turned around, and the ranger was once again surprised to see the feminine features of the orc before him. Her skin was green, and her hair was pulled into a multitude of red braids.

"We don't tend to humans here," the healer grumbled as she resumed her work.

"The Lord Loki sent him. This foolish human burned his hands trying to touch him."

"And can you explain why this vermin still has its head on its shoulders as we speak?" the healer asked in a sharp tone.

"The Lord believes he is a king. Therefore, it wouldn't be politically correct to kill..."

"I see," the orc woman sighed, casting a hateful look at the ranger.

The healer continued her work with focus, largely ignoring Aragorn's presence. He remained silent, observing the scene with curiosity. Lug seemed far removed from the brutal image typically associated with orcs. She had agile hands and an evident knowledge of medicinal herbs.

Finally, the healer straightened up and wiped her hands on a worn piece of cloth. Her green eyes then settled on Aragorn.

"Know that I'm not treating you out of sympathy, human. It is the Lord Loki's command, and I am bound by honor to obey his decisions."

Aragorn nodded, staying quiet as the woman applied some kind of ointment to his burnt palms. He couldn't help but wonder about the motivations behind the orc chief's actions. Was there a genuine desire to communicate, or was a devious ruse at play?

Lug finished the treatment and stood up, ignoring Aragorn as if he had become invisible.

Shortly after, the ranger was brought back to his companions' side, their faces lighting up with hope at seeing him return unharmed.

"How did it go?" Legolas whispered, looking concerned.

Aragorn briefly recounted his exchange with the chief. However, he kept his doubts to himself, not wanting to sow further confusion in his friends' already muddled minds.

"Do you know what their intentions are?" one of the Rohirrim asked, his face showing signs of exhaustion and frustration.

"I don't know yet," Aragorn sighed. "But it's clear that this Lord Loki has plans that go beyond just capturing a few strangers. We must remain vigilant and find an opportunity to learn more."

*

The sun sat at its zenith, radiating its oppressive heat onto the prisoner's back. Aragorn's forehead was beaded with drops of sweat as he toiled away, digging a new trench. Despite the effectiveness of the salve that had soothed his burns, the ranger's hands were now afflicted with blisters and sores, evidence of the relentless labor to which he was subjected. Aragon had been isolated from his companions two days prior, after he and Legolas had attempted to bribe a few guards.

Each shovel of dirt was a new trial, every movement a reminder of his captivity.

"Are you human?" inquired a small voice from atop the earthen wall.

Aragorn lifted his head, his eyes settling on a child. However, the unusual boy was quite different from the young orcs he had observed playing around the camp. His skin was a radiant white, adorned with raised patterns and arabesques. Two small horns protruded from his forehead. His features were angular, and his eyes a light brown.

Aragorn was taken aback by this extraordinary creature. The innocence in the child's gaze strangely contrasted with the grim atmosphere of the trench.

"Yes, I am," the ranger replied in a voice made hoarse from lack of water.

The child seemed more than enthusiastic about this revelation.

"Really? So, this is what you look like? Mom always told me that my father was the most handsome human she had ever met!

Are you a half-blood?" Aragorn choked out in horror. "Is your mother an orc?"

"Of course not!" the child laughed as if Aragorn had made a joke. "Mom is a Jotun!"

"Jotun?" Aragorn repeated, perplexed. The word sounded unfamiliar to his ears.

"Yes, they come from the stars!" the child explained as if it were obvious. Just like Daddy. But he stayed there..." His tone grew more melancholic, his eyes clouding with deep sadness.

"How is that possible?" Aragorn murmured, baffled.

The child shrugged with disarming innocence. "I don't really know. Mom says Daddy protected us from the evil sorcerer by sending us here…"

Aragorn observed the child with renewed intensity. Could the child be a child of the Valaars?

"I absolutely have to ask Mom if Daddy looks like you! Come with me, human!" the strange boy suddenly ordered, pulling Aragorn out of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, little one, but I have work to finish here..." the ranger said with a contrite smile.

Disappointment suddenly etched across the child's face, and he let out a sudden call, "Grishnákh!"

The orc responsible for watching over Aragorn approached them with heavy steps.

"I wish for this human to accompany me to meet Mom," the child declared with an unexpectedly authoritative tone.

Grishnákh nodded his head in agreement before responding, "Your wishes shall be granted, young lord."