Part Four

The Ridge

Aragorn shoved one hand deep into his overcoat's pockets, clenching and unclenching the stiff fingers to restore a bit more circulation. The other curled frozen around Maethor's reins and would have to thaw loose. It was too cold to ride and the horse's bulk provided a bit of resistance against the lashing wind. Longingly he thought of the breakfast fire they'd left behind but quickly shook it out of his head. He'd decided on this course and he would honor his word. But he couldn't help glancing over at his companion who seemed enviously unaffected by the chill wind battering their company as they picked their way still further up into the treeline.

Thick branches still possessing handfuls of their leaves blocked the weak and watery sunlight which offered no comfort anyway but Aragorn missed it. His sword's pommel, icy cold, bumped against his hip with every long, uphill stride but he was too used to it by now to feel the ache.

Three days they'd been searching with little luck. Still it had been a pretty hopeless venture in the first place. The only starting point they'd had was Carlóme's twenty-year old recollection of where she'd seen the "ghost" last. He probably deserted it long ago after being discovered, Aragorn couldn't help thinking they would never find anything.

"Tired, Brenn?" he addressed the sleepy, nodding figure trudging alongside him. Brenn was the only other male human aside from Zaren and Aragorn himself though he was younger- no more than fifteen. His tousled, sandy-colored locks swung into half-shuttered eyelids until the itching made him swipe at them irritably.

"When are we going to stop?" It was the most he'd spoken since he woke up.

"Soon, I hope," Aragorn chafed his hands together again. "What say we give Zaren a little nudge- make Carlóme stop for lunch?"

The boy raised his eyes which looked bright and alert for the first time all morning. But not for the chance to convince Zaren to stop for lunch. Haldir walked up front with the scarred man and Carlóme, leading Lintedal beside him. For the past four days, he had been a source of constant worship and fascination for the young man though he hadn't been brave enough to talk to him yet. That and his leader refused to let him anywhere near the elf.

He followed Aragorn eagerly as the ranger handed off his reins to Kari and slipped up the line until he walked behind his elven friend.

"What did he look like?" Haldir was saying, trying to sound as patient as possible given the circumstances. He'd done an admirable job of overlooking what they had done to him.

"He looked like you."

But she was really starting to push her luck. The marchwarden carefully tamped down on his rising annoyance. This had been the last quarter of an hour and he was tiring of it. "Yes. Other than that. Was there anything distinguishing? A cloak he wore, a blade he carried- anything."

Her face twisted in irritation as she stared into the trees that sloped sharply downward from the path into a ravine. "I told you, it's been seventeen years."

"And human memories are deplorable remembering important things, I know. What can you tell me?"

"Look, elf, you'd better watch the insolence or you won't have a tongue for it," the dark woman snarled. Her ire, always close to the surface, was already roused by the long days without success. It was not a good time to push her.

Haldir inhaled deeply through his nostrils, the air frosting when he breathed out again. "All right. Please, if you wish me to help you, I need to know anything you can tell me. Insignificant or not."

Carlóme looked back over her shoulder at the land they'd just traversed, still not ready to be overly cooperative but sated enough to avoid another shouting match. "I never asked for your help…and I didn't get a good look at him anyway."

"Are you even sure we are looking for an elf?" His skepticism must have touched a nerve because she spun on him suddenly, halting the entire line.

"Yes, of course, I'm sure! Damned sure! You don't see something like that and forget it."

Her choice of words rankled a little too much as he coaxed Lintedal into a walk again. "This is not an animal you are tracking- not a deer or a wolf."

"Near enough."

He ignored that. "Your man…Caleb was killed with a knife," Not really asking for an opinion just offering one aloud. "It was long, about as long as your forearm, thin."

"What's your point?" the woman said, her eyes glittering dangerously.

"My point is," Haldir said with careful patience. "He was intelligent enough to leave a man bleeding to death at your feet and you could not catch him."

"We caught you easy enough," she said, her head swiveling around to catch his eyes. He knew she was remembering that night in the cellar.

He forced down the urge to slap her vicious mouth. "I was not expecting to be hunted," he placed a light emphasis on the last word as he determinedly turned his gaze straight ahead into the trees. "But we will find nothing out here if we just wander aimlessly."

"Well, brilliant, what's your suggestion?"

"I am working on it."

Aragorn thought this might be a good enough time to intervene but before he could open his mouth, Haldir dropped back beside him with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

"The woman is insufferable," he said, still knowingly within the "insufferable woman's" hearing. Lintedal snorted her agreement.

Brenn laughed. When Haldir switched his gaze to him, the lad blushed and ducked his head.

Aragorn smiled. "Haldir, this is Brenn. He's wanted to meet you. Brenn, Captain Haldir of Lothlórien."

The youth's pale skin and wide, green eyes contrasted sharply with the black of his compatriots. But the obvious awe in his face amused Haldir despite himself.

Brenn bobbed into something that looked a little like a bow and more like a bird trying to pull up a worm.

Unable to hide the smile anymore, Haldir inclined his head with a sidelong glance at Aragorn. "He looks like you."

"Have you ever killed anyone before, Captain?" the boy asked, his eyes huge in his pale, hungry face.

A weighted silence pressed momentarily on the company. Aragorn noticed the whispers behind them ceased abruptly and Kari leaned almost over his shoulder to hear the elf's quiet reply.

"I have."

Aragorn realized that Carlóme and Zaren had stopped talking up ahead and shot a warning glance at his friend which went ignored.

Brenn's eyes went, if possible, even wider. "How'd you do it?"

Haldir stopped and leaned over the boy, his face smooth, hard and completely serious. "I slit him from neck to navel for asking me if I killed anyone."

Zaren's hand clamped firmly around Brenn's slack wrist and dragged him up front, oblivious to the boy's loud complaints.

"You are not helping," Aragorn muttered, trying to smile apologetically as Carlóme scowled suspiciously over her shoulder.

"I see no reason too," Haldir said, the slightest of smirks twitching his lips. "Nothing I do or say will make any here think better of me."

"But you didn't do any such thing! Did you?" Aragorn frowned at his friend who merely widened his eyes in mock-innocence as he leapt further up the path.

It was past midday before they turned off the overgrown and little-used path. Picking their careful way between the bare trees for a bit, they came upon a high bank with a dense scattering of pine trees, the earth soft and supple with dropped needles. A green sward sloped down to a freshwater stream where they decided to rest for a bit.

"Your elf going to come eat, Strider?" Kari asked, casting a sour glance by the horses as she swung the pot out of the fire.

"He's not 'mine,'" Aragorn said, nettled. "And he has a name, Kari."

The blonde woman grinned unrepentantly and shrugged.

Carlóme came up and scooped up a bit of stew, scalding her fingertips. "Let him forage scraps."

"You are unwise, Car, to treat him so," said a woman seated beside the pot, busily rebraiding a frayed bit of bowstring. She was long-limbed and fine-haired, not beautiful by any means but with clear, intense eyes and an innate wariness about her that made the casual observer look twice.

Carlóme laughed. "Don't start your 'Hail the Firstborn' speech, Saeryn. We've heard it too many times already."

"Yeah," Kari jumped in with a sort of fond irritation. "Shut it and come get lunch." Most of the others had already found places close to the fire with their bowls cradled on their knees.

Saeryn ignored them both though she did accept a bowl. "The Eldar are our elder kindred, beloved of Ilùvatar. Under different circumstances we would honor him for they have not been seen in men's dominion since the ending of the last War against the Dark Power in the East."

"I told you before, you're welcome here. Ilùvatar's not," Carlóme growled with the slightest flash in her eyes that told the other woman to watch her step.

"But she's right, we should respect the elves- not all of them can be as bad as the one we're looking for," Narturi, a thin-jawed woman who looked only a couple years older than Brenn, chimed in. But she was looking at the tall elf at the clearing's edge with something clearly more than respect in her eyes.

The blonde woman snorted and muttered something Aragorn didn't catch but Carlóme laughed. Though she said nothing, Saeryn's brow puckered with disapproval.

"So they have not forgotten all the old lore in Gondor," Haldir had come up silently beside them and they all jumped. Ignoring Carlóme's discourteous glare, he helped himself to the stew pot and raised his eyes to the only woman who had spoken in his defense. "How did you come to be so disgraced?"

Aragorn stared at him, too shocked to offer a vocal reproach.

But the Gondorian woman lifted her eyes and chin with grave dignity. "I am not."

The elf captain didn't look convinced but he nodded and, pointedly avoiding Narturi's longing-filled eyes, sat beside Aragorn.

The ill-success of the last few days hung around the camp like a pall and few spoke, intent on their meals and the promise of sleep afterwards. As the rest of the group tossed their bedrolls as close to the cooking fire as possible and lay down, Carlóme settled her back against a tree trunk, deliberately drawing out the light javelin that was her chief weapon from its oil cloth wrappings and sticking it in the earth by her side.

Haldir met her eyes steadily.

Unwearied and sick of listening to these two snark at each other, Aragorn buckled on his knife and picked up his quiver.

But Haldir's quick eyes spotted him before he made it out of the camp. "Strider, if you're going hunting, take someone with you."

Aragorn shouldered his unstrung bow. He would have asked his friend to join him in a heartbeat but he could tell by the slight strain in the elf's jaw that his ribs were hurting more than he would admit. "I'll be faster alone. I won't be gone long."

"An hour."

"Do you want something better for supper than soup?" the young man protested. "I might not be able to find a deer much less bag one in an hour."

Haldir did not relent. "Then track fast. You might be willing to risk your life. I'm not. There's too much we don't know about the land here- or its inhabitants," he cut a sidelong glance at the huntswoman who still refused to let up her gaze.

"There are deer further south a bit," Carlóme said, waving vaguely towards the water. "Follow the stream and watch your step."

Aragorn nodded shortly and set off with Haldir's eyes burning into the back of his neck.

"An hour or I'm coming after you."

Once he was out of sight of camp, the ranger broke into a light run, his long strides carrying him effortlessly through the pathless trees alongside the bank. Every so often, he stooped and scanned the ground for signs of disturbance. Lower down where the stream was wide and shallow, he crossed and detected fresh hoofprints in the sandy bank.

They led him away from the stream and into a grove of close-growing deciduous trees. Here and there he caught more marks: bark stripped from the low hanging branches, a tuft of brown-white fuzz from a winter coat. A mile past the grove, the trees opened and, slowing his pace, he paused cautiously on the edge of a meadow.

A wide expanse of grey-green grass stretched across at least fifty yards to the other side where the trees began again. Kneeling to make himself small and unobtrusive, his keen eyes searched the clearing for the twitch and jump of game. But it was empty. Disappointed, he eased his hold on his now-strung bow and had just begun to get to his feet when a glint of gold like the flash of metal in sunlight attracted his eye.

In the pine shadows to the left of his position, something shifted. Not a deer, it was too narrow and walked upright. But Aragorn continued to watch it, strangely fascinated. It did not come any closer to him, its pace furtive as it brushed thigh-length bracken aside without any real sound of its own. Then it broke from the trees into the sunlight.

Aragorn caught his breath.

There, not fifty paces away, an elf emerged from the forest edge.

If he hadn't known better, he would have thought it was Haldir. But his upbringing served him well again. He noticed little differences that no other human would have had they dared venture close enough to look. He was as tall as the elf captain and his forearms possessed the lean, wiry strength of a born hunter. The cloak that swept from his shoulders might once have been dyed grey but long seasons and much wear had turned it an almost russet color. Golden hair clipped loosely back spilled over a quiver of brown arrows though the elf did not carry a bow. Instead, a knife swung from the back of his belt.

The elf didn't seem to notice him and took off around the tree fringe with a long, even strides, quick but unhurried. Passing within five yards of the ranger's position, he turned suddenly and vanished into the trees on the right.

Letting out a shaky breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, Aragorn crawled backwards, still half-crouched. Only when he had put a screen of trees between himself and the meadow did he dare straighten. He sighed and wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple as he turned.

The elf smiled at him.

Perched on a fallen log, he sat, one ankle resting on the thigh of the other. He was very still. In his lap, he cradled the unsheathed knife which glittered despite a rusty stain near the hilt. It was a beautiful intricate weapon, magnificently crafted and sharp as an iced-over river.

Alarm bells went off in Aragorn's head but he couldn't move for shock. He stood there with his boots frozen to the ground, gazing up into the elf's face, all but the lower half veiled by the hood.

The elf stared back in return, considering rather than menacing as he appraised the young man. This was the one who had escaped him in the inn by virtue of sleep. He liked them better awake and was glad he had spared the boy. And yet, something about this one in especial felt strange. He was…different from the others- those cowards who pleaded for their lives before he snuffed them out. This one did not run. He was almost unafraid… almost, but not quite. A sheen of sweat glittered at his temples and his eyes were wide. But he stayed where he was. The elf came dangerously close to admiring him for his bravery. He hadn't had a man linger this long in his presence for centuries. Alive, anyway.

Feeling surged back into Aragorn's legs and he staggered backward, his bow clenched in one hand though he was too close to use it. He wasn't sure what he was going to do had he a useful weapon anyway. Killing an elf went against everything he had ever been taught and as much as Carlóme said this rogue was to be despised and hunted down, he found himself intrigued by the thoughtful, mercurial gaze seeking his from under the shadows.

With a supple movement the elf slipped from the fallen log and paced a little closer, his steps as fluid as a stalking cat. The rogue was looking at him strangely, head canted to one side as though trying to remember something. But the knife glinted in his hand.

Aragorn held his hands out, palms up, showing the elf he was unarmed as he tried to circle away. He had to get back to camp. Warn the others. He hadn't come here to fight.

The elf stepped to the right, smoothly intercepting his avenue of escape. Just that. No closer, just one sidestep to keep him from getting past. With an icy ripple, Aragorn realized, the elf was…playing with him. A soft, condescending smile touched those pale lips.

Aragorn knew the elf could hear his heart hammering.

Suddenly, the rogue's head whipped to one side, staring in the direction of the meadow. Aragorn, sensing a deliberate deception, did not follow his gaze and instead took a furtive step back. He knew it was futile- as fast as he was he couldn't possibly hope to outrun the elf. But the rogue didn't look at him; the knife went lax. Then to Aragorn's shock and bewilderment, he stepped back.

Incredibly, impossibly, he was retreating. Step by back step, quicker now that whatever he sensed drew closer. Guardedness but not fear burned in his invisible eyes and for a split second they lingered on the white-faced human, searing him into memory. Spinning about, he plunged into the trees and within seconds was gone as fast as smoke. Aragorn stared, confused and so weak with astonishment he could only lean against a tree trunk in thanks. But why run? There was no one around here for miles. Nobody would have heard or seen a thing had the elf decided to gut him like a freshly slaughtered deer. He was still pondering that when something slammed into his back and knocked him off his feet.

"It's been too long."

"Just relax and sit down, will you? Your pacing about like a frantic kitten isn't going to bring him back any faster."

Haldir ignored Carlóme's snide remark and glanced up at the sun for the third time in the last half a minute. It had dipped dangerously past the appointed hour and Aragorn still hadn't returned. Normally he wouldn't put it past the ranger to delay on purpose just to prove his independence but with the present situation…If he had, the elf captain was going to do more than cuff his skull in when he found him again.

His cracked rib protested as he crouched and picked up his saber. He had taken to not carrying it around the camp when it made the women nervous but he couldn't just stand here and wait for Aragorn to show up. If he did.

"Where do you think you're going?" Carlóme asked, throwing off her blanket and snatching up her knife.

"I am going to find Strider," he said with deliberate enunciation that barely masked his growing impatience.

"Then I'm going with you."

"I don't have time to wait for you," he was already striding away towards the stream. "And it would be better for you to stay anyway, the camp needs to be guarded."

Carlóme's hand fastened on his upper arm and tugged him back. The dark woman's eyes blazed into his face. "You think I'm going to let you go anywhere, elf? Despite what you think, you aren't free yet. What makes you think I'm going to let you just saunter off wherever you please. I still don't trust you."

"That is your problem, not mine," the elf said lightly, staring at her hand on his arm.

She jerked it away but her scowl had not lessened. "I like it better when I can keep an eye on you. Don't worry, I won't slow you down. Just give me a minute, I'll wake Zaren. He can guard the camp while we're gone." Keeping her eyes on him to make sure he didn't try to slip away unnoticed, she roused her companion quickly and just as quickly stalked past him towards the stream, throwing over her shoulder,

"You coming, elf? You got to keep up!"

Pressing his lips together so hard they whitened, Haldir hurried after her.

Aragorn rolled onto his side as he hit the ground. This time the knife was in his hand before he rose. He had a brief glimpse of torn clothes with disturbingly darker spots spattering the collar and shirtfront before the ragged frame leapt away from him and let him stand. His attacker was a man, thin, unkempt and feral-eyed. But he was unarmed and reeled away from the knife, his hands thrown up as though to protect his throat when Aragorn stood.

The ranger made no further move towards him, his own chest heaving with surprise and adrenaline. "What are you doing? Why did you attack me?"

For the first time, the man's thin-colored eyes focused from the knife to his face. "You're not him." His voice cracked with mingled fear and frustration.

"No," the ranger said, not sure what the other was talking about.

The man's arms trembled uncertainly and his eyes raked the tree trunks as though to rend them all to pieces with just a glance. But whatever he had hoped to find, he didn't and at last he gave in, covering his face with a forearm as he leaned his weight against the tree previously occupied by the now completely bewildered ranger.

"Are-are you hurt?" Aragorn ventured after a strained silence, gazing hard at the speckled drops on the man's shirt. "Do you need help?"

The man glanced down at himself and his face crumpled as though he were about to cry. "No…uh, I'm not. It-it's my friend…He-" The man shook his head hard and ground his palms against his eyes. "He's bad hurt. I was chasing who got him…but he got away from me."

"I have some skill in healing," Aragorn offered, sheathing his weapon. "Take me to him."

Their supplies were woefully inadequate. Aragorn barely glanced at the pitiful herb pile as he knelt beside the sweat-soaked man. "I need warm water and any bandages or rags you have," he ordered more to give the man still standing something to do than for any real purpose. Water and rags would do little good now.

The wounded man lay on his right side, covered with a stained wool blanket. When Aragorn peeled it back, he let out a low hiss of sympathy. Whoever this man was, he had obviously been through hell. His back was a mess, slashed and exposed to the chill air. They had been cleaned but not very well and swelling around the injuries hinted at infection. The slashes were long and straight, thick on the shoulders and tapering at the hips. Aragorn bent close, ignoring the sickly sour stench of sweat, pus and fear.

"They look like…lashes. This man was whipped." Aragorn frowned, at once thoughtful and disgusted. He looked at the other who had said his name was Yyrin. "Where did you find him?"

"He found me." By bits and broken pieces, the story came out. The man, Ral, had been a laborer taking the odd job from a few outlying farms that still let their men go out at night to gather the sheep. The next morning, the master husbandman had found his beasts strolling down the country lane and Ral nowhere in sight. Fearing the worst, he sent Yyrin to go up into the woods with four or five others to search for him who scoffed at rumors of the "ghost" that lived there and preyed on man flesh. They discovered the truth of the rumor all too well. After the loss of two of their companions, the third had ducked out and gone back. Alone, Yyrin had continued to search for two days without any luck or mishap.

"I found Ral by the stream, crawling for the water. I brought him back here just yesterday morning. He hasn't said a word. I just…" Yyrin shook his head, unable to explain himself as he raked a frustrated and shaking hand through his hair. "Anyway, I went off to the stream this morning and I heard shouts coming from our camp and I ran back. I found a…demon standing over Ral with a knife. He was…Well, I tried to grab him but he slipped right out of my hands like smoke," Yyrin rolled up his sleeve to reveal a messily wrapped bandage on one arm. "Think I surprised him or I would have gotten it to."

Yyrin pointed towards his wounded friend, indicating the dirt and blood-crusted bandage wrapping one side of Ral's face. "The devil did that-cut out his eye," Aragorn's onetime attacker told him, his fury and fear rekindled. "Can you do anything for him?"

The ranger's mouth set in a straight, narrow line as he carefully washed the blood and dried bank mud off. The wounds were bad. Aragorn knew it at a glance. "You were fortunate- he would have killed you too."

"Do you think we can catch him?" the man asked, his eyes wide and frightened as though he half-hoped the ranger would tell him such a feat was impossible.

"Not tonight. Not with your friend like this," Aragorn said as the wounded man gave a quiet sob.

"Demon eyes," Yyrin shook his head and sank to the ground beside his friend's head, not looking at him or seeming to hear his pained gasps. "I swear I've never looked evil in the face before now."

The words sent a chill down Aragorn's spine that had nothing to do with the wind.

They both jumped as an irritated voice swept out of the shadows. "So, here you are."

Aragorn spun on his heels as Haldir strode towards him, his face white and furious. "Did I not say 'an hour?' What happened to 'an hour'? I can't leave you for less than that before you-"

"Haldir, you're making a scene," the young ranger interrupted with impressive calm.

"And you are a fool," the elf captain spat back, not to be pacified. "What happened?"

Yyrin's face went white and he gaped, sitting down hard on a stump, his eyes fixed on the elf. "You're him."

"Not the one that hurt your friend," Aragorn interjected over his shoulder, still trying to stare down the irate marchwarden who looked ready to breathe fire. "He's with our company. We're hunting the one who did."

"You're crazy. Nobody can catch that demon."

"We will," Until now, Carlóme had kept herself back. Her quick obsidian eyes flickered from the ranger to the wounded man. "What happened here?"

Knowing full well he would have to give a full account to Haldir later, the ranger knelt by Ral's head. "He's hurt. Badly." In brief, he explained what Yyrin had told him.

Carlóme cursed under her breath and even Haldir did not rebuke him again.

Haldir squatted beside the ranger and examined the man whose single eye widened frightfully under the elf's gaze but he didn't move. The marchwarden's head tilted slightly as he examined one of the man's hands which stuck out under the edge of the blanket. Nudging the cloth aside, he touched the thin wrist, the purplish, oddly twisted fingers.

"This man was tortured."

Aragorn scooted instantly over to him. "What?"

"Look at his wrists. He was tied to something," Haldir pointed to the bruising circling over the man's skin. "And his fingers broken if I'm not mistaken."

"You know a lot about such bruises, elf?" Carlóme jumped in.

Haldir ignored her. Something was very wrong here. He glanced from the whiplike slashes that reminded him all too much of Caleb's body to his wrists and back again. That strange uneasiness he'd felt at the inn tingled at the back of his scalp. Like an unreachable itch, the feeling wouldn't go away. But he still couldn't tell what it was. He dropped the man's wrist and shook his head, carefully speaking to Aragorn in elvish so as not to panic the other man who was watching them with hungry, pleading eyes.

"Whatever hit him, damaged him thoroughly. He's dying. But there will be a great deal of pain before the end."

"We do not know that for certain," Aragorn replied just as swiftly. "We can bind the slashes. I have some salve in my pack. We can't do anything about the eye but I can stop the infections from…" He trailed away as Haldir slowly shook his head and leaning forward parted the man's clothes and coverings until he revealed a small puncture just under the man's rib cage; it had bled little but a strange sucking noise came from it now along with a froth of fresh, bubbly blood.

"I was listening to his breathing but I wasn't sure…until now."

"A punctured lung," Aragorn hissed in disbelief, sitting back on his heels. What monster would condemn a man to such a slow agonizing death?

"What's that?" Carlóme resented being left out and shouldered her way back into the conversation.

Aragorn explained to Yyrin and the dark woman turned fierce, distrustful eyes on Haldir. "How did you know to look for it?"

During the Last Alliance, the Galadhrim had used just such a technique to down orcs swiftly in the melee of battle without having to take the precious seconds to kill them. The Lórien captain himself had been proficiently taught that very move and others like it until the end of the War illegalized those tactics. But he wasn't about to tell her that. "I have been around enough wounds to know."

The injured man began to toss his head in agony, his face white and eyes screwed shut as he heaved in shallow breaths that would never give him enough air. Yyrin watched him, hands folded against his chin as though praying.

"I'll do it," the dark woman said, drawing her knife and kneeling down.

Yyrin raised his head out of his hands, his neck suddenly stiff as he stared from one grim face to the other. "What are you talking about? What do you mean? Do what?"

Aragorn bit his lip and rested a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "Your friend's wounds are very grievous. There's no help for him out here, no time. It will only cause him more pain…"

At first Yyrin didn't seem to hear him though his muscles began to tremble all over. He shook his head hard as though he could shake out the truth behind the words. "No… no, there's got to be something…something you can do…We can make a stretcher! Don't you have salves and things…?"

"Salves won't help him now."

The bleeding man shook his head slowly, the power of speech beyond him as he slowly asphyxiated. But his remaining eye gaped wide. Haldir had seen that look before in the eyes of those who still had breath enough to plead for the mercy of death.

"It would be better," he said, softly. His eyes seemed distant, detached as he stared at something beyond the dying man, his face full of conflict. No one moved or spoke. "You won't be able to do it quick enough with that." He said at last, nodding to Carlóme's small knife.

"I won't let you," Yyrin wrestled away from Aragorn and planted himself in front of his friend. "He needs help! Just give him something to take the edge off the pain…that's all…I'll carry him down if I have to."

"You fool," Carlóme snarled though her own face twisted as though she'd swallowed something unspeakably bitter. "Can't you see he's as good as dead? But I promise you, we'll find the monster that got him and put paid to him- I can promise you that if it's the last oath I make."

Haldir drew his saber.

Aragorn walked Yyrin out of sight, gripping his shoulder with perhaps more force than necessary. They stayed there with their backs to the clearing, waiting in agonizing silence. Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut tight, wishing Haldir would hurry up and get it over with. He was wishing so hard he almost missed it. Haldir shifted his weight and faintly, he heard a sharp, sudden gasp. Then silence rolled over them in thick waves. Yyrin shuddered under his hand.

All of them were shaken. Carlóme stared at the dead man with emptiness in her eyes, her hands white-knuckled on her ornate knife.

Releasing Yyrin who sank as one dead himself beside the body, Aragorn searched out his friend and found him leaning against a tree, wiping his sword lame clean. His face, what little the young man could see of it through the shadows, was immobile, a frozen mask of marble that divulged nothing of the thought behind it.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice sounded hoarse and raw even to his own ears.

The elf didn't look up. Aragorn didn't think he'd even heard.

Feeling the need to do something - anything - Aragorn walked back into the clearing. Together he, Carlóme and Yyrin chipped a shallow grave in the permafrost and buried Ral near the bank of the stream. The dark woman, taking pity on the grieving man, invited him to join her band for at least a hot supper if nothing else. Empty-eyed, he nodded.

Once Yyrin was settled and sleeping, Carlóme told her band briefly what happened. Aragorn heard without listening, his mind and stomach churning with unease as he sat with his back against a boulder that retained a bit of the sun's warmth. Brenn lay full-length beside him, staring up through the bare canopy of leaves and straining attentively for the rise and fall of his leader's voice.

Aragorn followed his gaze, his breath misting as he searched for the stars. There were none out tonight or maybe the campfire was too bright to see properly. A black void opened above his head, a silent and empty vacuum. Swiftly, the ranger pulled his eyes earthward and glanced at the boy sprawled at his side.

"Why don't you go off to bed?" he nudged Brenn. The lad didn't need to hear all this. Typically, he protested but a stern look from both the older ranger and Zaren sent him, complaining loudly, off to sleep.

Strider watched him kick his bedroll out over the ground and burrow under the covers for warmth without removing his boots. The fond smile faded, however, as he contemplated the dark water flowing past him. Ral would never have to unroll a bedroll again. Somehow the presence of death was a thing Aragorn could never get used to. Maybe being raised among beings that never acknowledged it, he didn't expect death to touch everything else. It made him feel cold, empty and very much aware of his own short life. He needed to get up and do something but there was nothing to do tonight anyway.

A sharp glint of gold caught his eye like a spark suddenly doused. It flitted across the stream a few yards down. Even at this distance, he recognized it and leapt to his feet.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, running down to meet him as Haldir stepped onto the bank, his hood thrown back and cloak hem dripping.

The elf captain eyed him with something akin to reproach as he stepped past him up the muddy bank. "So, it's your turn to be worried. How does that feel?" he said, evading the question.

"Hey," the ranger grasped the back of his cloak, worried. "Where did you go?"

"Why does everyone insist on physical restraint if they want my attention?" Haldir glanced pointedly at the man's hand until it dropped from his garment. "When the woman and I looked for you, we followed your trail to a meadow. I saw something there I wanted to find again."

"A little less cryptic?" Aragorn prompted, repulsing the shudder at the memory of the meadow. The excitement of the night had driven his encounter with the rogue elf clear out of his mind until now.

But Haldir wasn't paying attention, his gaze focused on Carlóme's form, silhouetted against the fire. She was retelling Kari and a few of the other stronger-stomached women the events of the night in more detail now that the distraught man and her young charge could no longer hear.

"-watched his face the whole time. Never even flinched when he brought the blade down even though the guy was writhing, trying to rip it out of his heart. Bet you enjoyed that, didn't you, elf?" she spat the sobriquet as though it were the foulest curse word in her vocabulary. Her voice dropped as she faced him, her tangled black hair making her somehow more threatening. She stepped in close, her voice dropping to a hoarse purr. "'Nearly killed me' you said under the harsari. It never lies. Men nearly killed you and you want revenge. Well, I don't care if they strapped you down and beat you, it doesn't excuse what you did."

A tiny grimace flickered across his face. But it was enough to catch her eye and her slow nod of sudden understanding made his blood run chill. "That's what it was, wasn't it? They beat you."

"Do not talk to him like that!" Aragorn couldn't believe the hypocrisy of this woman who had been willing enough to put a knife in the dying man herself. "He had no choice!"

The other women were silent, avid. Kari clutched Narturi's hands in her own and Miren, a vulpine-colored woman with a flask cradled against one hip, sat up, her gaze darting uneasily between her leader and the ranger. Saeryn alone was still, her gaze never leaving the elf captain's rigid form.

Haldir made no move to defend himself, his face white and eyes staring into the dark trees unseeingly. Every muscle in his body locked as though by sheer will alone he could turn himself to marble, insensate and cold. At that second, he wished it were so.

Zaren laid a hand on her tense shoulder. "Car, come on. Leave him alone, he did what he had to. What would any of the rest of us have done if we'd been close enough?"

"You would've killed him?" She turned on him incredulously, her eyes raking his face.

With a quick, sidelong glance at Haldir, the scarred man stared levelly at her. "With wounds like that in the middle of the wilderness, and a choice between hours of suffering and a sting before death…Yes. I would have."

Carlóme brushed past him, shaking her head as she stalked away from the fire to the farthest edge of the camp.

Haldir remained silent. He didn't know what to say to this strange man who, until hours ago, had been his enemy.

Zaren shrugged, glancing back as the rustling faded to sullen silence. "Don't mind her, elf. She's bad-tempered when she doesn't get any cuddle."

Haldir had winced at the epithet. But coming from him it didn't sound so much an insult. "You'll attend to that then."

The man flushed but a sly grin strained the edges of his neck scar as he fluttered his fingers in goodnight to Strider and Brenn who was listening covertly from under his blankets. The others were still watching them, varied looks of interest and hostility in their fire-bathed faces.

"She had no right to talk to you like that," Aragorn said, his hands still curled into tight balls at his sides. "If she dares-"

The marchwarden only shook his head but it was enough to silence the ranger's threats. A wave of concern washed away the lingering exasperation as he saw the strangely vacant expression in his friend's eyes as he drew away. "Do you want to talk?"

"Goodnight, Estel," Haldir was already striding out of the camp, the desperation in his movements nearly palpable. Aragorn could only stare helplessly at his back as the elf slipped out of the fire's gaze and into the silent, unquestioning darkness.